The Little House of Paints

Chapter 7

My movements must have woken Miller because without warning he jumps up off of the couch and is standing alert in the middle of the living room. He seems to have assumed some kind of fighting stance. His knees are bent and his hand looks like it is going to his belt, which before this moment I hadn't seen has a holster attached to it. Whether or not the gun is still in it is up to debate since it is too dark for me to be able to tell. He also is swiveling his head around surveying for any threats.

After a minute or two, he calms, clearly seeing that the biggest threat my living room holds is the carpet with a turned up corner. If you hit that corner at the right angle, down you go. I actually have a very light scar on my forehead from when I tripped on it. Of course, since that happened within the first couple weeks that we had moved here, I now know that the carpet corner closest to the mantle must be avoided at all costs.

At some point our reality television show must have gone off because instead some kind of celebrity news show is now on. Getting up from my spot on the couch, I head over to the light switch on the wall near the staircase. The room is immediately filled with light, shocking both our sleepy eyes.

After mine adjust, I look over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room that reads close to the one. I'm all about an all nighter, Teagan and I have them all the time, but it is time that Miller probably heads out. He looked exhausted when he showed up earlier and he probably has to be back at work pretty soon again. Getting some sleep would probably do the guy a world of good right now.

He must sense that I am getting ready to kick him out because before I can even open my mouth, he says, "Don't even try to get rid of me. There are some freshly made cookies," He pauses looking over at me to confirm his earlier suspicions. Seeing my nod, he continues, "and I am not leaving until I have had some."

I had completely forgotten about the cookies. However, the idea of having a nice homemade dessert right now sounds divine, so instead of trying to reason with him and send him home, I motion for him to follow.

He practically tackles me on the way to the kitchen because instead of circling the couch like a sane person, he jumps over it. He used to do that alot during his football days and I guess he hasn't knocked the habit yet.

He is about to take one of the cookies off the tray, when I slap his hand. How in the world does this man think he can eat a sugar cookie without any frosting? That is practically a sin. Going over to the fridge, I grab my standby frosting jar. While most people normally eat a pint of ice cream when they are stressed, I have always gravitated to frosting. A habit that my dentist never fails to remind me will rot all of my teeth out.

"My mother must be rolling in her grave watching me use pre-made icing." I state while beginning to frost the first cookie.

"Why was she big against added sugar or something?" Miller asks.

"No, she could care less about added sugar. She was very big on homemade means homemade from start to finish. She used to always say that if you used anything pre-made you have tarnished the integrity of the entire thing." I reply as I continue to frost the remaining cookies. I can barely put one down before Miller is going to grab it. "Well even with the cheater's frosting, these cookies are some of the best that I have ever had." He manages to get out in between bites.

"Trust me, I'll never be half the baker that my mother was. No matter how many times I make the recipe, they never quite taste the same." As I go to grab another cookie I realize that there are none left. Stabbing the knife into the icing container, I grab one of the cookies and take a bite. I have to agree with Miller, these are really good, but they still are not quite as good as Mom's.