Page 29 of All Snowed Gin

A few minutes—and a couple of wrong cabinets—later, I’ve found the bowl and pulled out the baking sheets. Sometimes Gram would use parchment paper when baking, but fuck if I know where that is, and no part of me feels like searching for it. So, I opt to spray the sheets down with the canola oil spray perched on top of the oven.

Rose coughs, wafting her hand in front of her face, trying to dissipate the cloud of aerosol.

“Easy there, killer. Don’t want us coated in oil.”

Sure about that…?

Rose winks, clearly reading my mind. Oh, this is dangerous. She is dangerous.

I inhale slowly, letting my lungs fill all the way, making sure I exhale just as slowly, reminding myself this is about a cherished memory. About continuing on Gram’s tradition. Not about playing grab ass with my house guest.

Even if Gramps used to always swat Gram’s backside when she was cooking.

“I’ve got everything mathed out properly…I think…so, what’s first?” Rose asks.

“It’s on the card.”

Rose huffs. “I am aware, but this isn’t just about reading the directions. It’s about experiencing the process.”

“Experiencing the process? You sound like one of those new age gurus.”

“Pierce!”

Mouth in a scowl and hands on her hips, Rose glares at me. Fuck, even when she’s grumpy she’s cute. I grin back at her, trying my best to look just as cute, but I’m sure I’m not. What I am pretty sure I am accomplishing is looking as guilty as a five-year-old with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You’re right, you’re right,” I acquiesce. “First things first, meat goes into the bowl.”

Rose nods, following my directions. We continue on, me walking her step-by-step through the recipe, with her adding each ingredient, one by one, each with a little flourish. A wink, a giggle, a hip thrust. Each item gets something new, keeping me laughing.

Which, I have to admit, feels damn good. It’s been a long time since I laughed like this or had this much fun in the kitchen. Especially while making meatballs.

Memories come flooding back, overwhelming me for a moment and leading me to do something that is so out of character yet feels so incredibly right.

Share.

“Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had were with Gram while rolling meatballs. We used to sit and talk for hours as she made dozens of these things. She made them for every potluck, every meeting she attended, really any occasion.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. I admitted to having my first crush while making meatballs. Gram of course already knew, but I felt like it was the biggest secret in the world.”

“Awwwww. I don’t know that I ever told my parents about my first crush. That just seems…horrifying?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, well, Gram had a way of making you want to spill your guts to her. Her own brand of magic, if you will.”

“I think it’s amazing that you have that. Something to help keep her with you.”

“I feel her everywhere in this house. Gramps only in the garage or basement, which, truthfully, would be the way he wanted it. Man places.”

“Man places…” Rose shakes her head. “The kind of thing only a man would say.”

I shrug, not knowing how else to respond. She’s not wrong, but that was Gramps to a T.

“What do you use to mix everything?” she asks, not skipping a beat.

“Your hands.”

“Hands?”