Family: The Secret Ingredient

“Why would I lie about fried rice?”

“Sure, the fried rice was there. But I ate it for breakfast, while Kyle got his bearings.”

“You did that to me, on my birthday?” she asked hollowly.

Michael cringed. “Sorry.”

“I think you’ll enjoy the meals once you get used to them—to me,” Kyle inserted hesitantly.

Was she to be his new source of income, his new career choice? Last Grace heard, Kyle was managing some fancy restaurant in downtown Chicago. What had happened to that job? To his dream of one day owning his own eatery?

“Is this what you really want to do for a living?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Don’t be silly,” Michael scoffed, embarrassed.

Kyle remained polite. “It’s only a sideline I started up in Chicago—”

“He’s got huge plans,” Michael cut in with cheery faith, again peeking out to the stoop. “He’s back in town at Amelia Anderson’s invite. She’s opened up her home and is offering him a whack at reopening Amelia’s Bistro.”

“How nice.” Grace sized Kyle up with a pasted smile of confusion. The Andersons had disapproved so strongly of Kyle proposing to their granddaughter that they’d driven the young couple out of state. Even when Andy died, there was no sign of the prodigal couple at the funeral. And now the marriage to Libby was over as well. What would compel the steely Amelia to give Kyle of all people a break?

“That’s pretty exciting news,” she said carefully. “The place has been closed for a couple of years now, hasn’t it?”

“Since Andy’s death,” Michael confirmed. “Anyway, Amelia is getting older and needs extra income to preserve her lifestyle, so she’s decided to sell out. In a flash of brilliance she realized that Kyle is just the man to resuscitate the place.”

“That’s pretty flexible of her,” Grace noted dubiously.

Kyle was faintly amused. “It does seem like a miracle. And Mike’s very kindly stepped in as a silent partner to help me make the down payment,” he added gratefully. “A second miracle.”

“Michael silent in any capacity is the miracle!”

Suddenly the ping-ping-ping of the back doorbell broke through their laughter.

Michael answered the summons, cracking open the door. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Yeah,” a small voice peeped.

“You want to come in?”

“Yeah.”

Michael ushered in a small girl with a cream-colored kitten in her arms.

Grace clasped her hands joyfully. “I thought this was your game.”

“Just what you ordered, sis. Pure-bred Himalayan long hair. Delivered by the cutest girl in town.”

Grace focused on the child. She was a cute one, dressed in a pink short set, with shiny black hair cut below her chin and fringed across her forehead, striking blue eyes, dimpled cheeks. Grace impulsively held her arms out wide. “May I hold the kitten?”

“Tomorrow, honey,” she crooned in a patronizing mimic. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Grace mouth twitched. The child’s imitation of some adult was quite good. “Did Michael buy the kitten from you, sweetie?”

“No.”

“Is this another trick, Michael?”

As Grace glared at her brother, the child scooted by, darting in between Kyle’s legs. “My kitty, Daddy. Tell that girl.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open. “This is your daughter, Kyle?”

“That’s right.” With open joy he scooped the girl up in the curve of his muscled arm, lines of concern and tenderness grooving his matured face. She cuddled against his chest, nuzzling the kitten’s flat face into his throat.

Feelings swelled in Grace, some of which she couldn’t immediately identify. But clearly she was upstaged in her own home, on her day, by impossible competition.

“This is Grace, Button,” Kyle was saying gently. “I told you all about her, remember?”

The child burrowed her face into Kyle’s red T-shirt. “No.”

“Mike is her brother. You two just went next door to get the kitty from his house.”

Button shook her head, keeping her face hidden.

Kyle addressed Grace over his daughter’s head. “Sorry, Button has been going through some adjustments. No is a favorite response.”

Button raised her face then, lower lip protruded. “Don’t talk ’bout me!”

“We won’t.” Kyle set Button on her pink canvas shoes. “But you must give the kitten to Grace.”

“No, Daddy, no.” Her black-soled shoes danced on Grace’s flooring, leaving some smudges.

“Betsy…” he said more firmly.

“Please?” Grace squatted to the child’s level. She finally handed Grace the kitten with an Arctic stare.

“Thank you very much, Betsy, er, Button.”

“Button’s just a nickname,” Kyle explained. “You know, cute as…”

“I see.” Grace met Button’s gaze again. “I never had a nickname like you.”

She placed a hand on her small hip. “I never had a kitty.”

“It’s my birthday today and all I wanted was a kitten.”

Button was unimpressed as she continued to stroke the kitten’s long pale hair.

“How old are you?”