“Bye, Mom!” Max yelled the next day as he jumped out of the car and headed for his classroom.

“Love you!” I called through the open window.

“Love you, too!” he called back.

I smiled and pulled out of the drop-off line, soaking up the sentiment even as I recognized that the little boy I was raising wasn’t so little anymore.

“You’re next, Allie.”

“Okay, Mom,” she said, then went right back to humming the ABCs.

“Feeling all better?”

“Mmmhmm.” A pause. “I miss Daddy.”

“I know, honey,” I said, even as my heart squeezed tightly. I missed her dad as well. “But he’s working hard to keep everyone safe.”

“From the bad guys?”

“Yup.” I nodded, and when we stopped at a signal—one of five in the entire town—I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Daddy has an important job, but he loves us very much. Did you know he snuck in after you were asleep last night and tucked you in?”

She smiled, brown eyes widening. “He tucked Mr. Tails under my arm.”

Mr. Tails was the rainbow stuffed cat Allie carried with her everywhere. She’d had it since she was a baby and though it was definitely tattered, she loved it.

Mr. Tails was also currently buckled into the seat next to Allie.

Safety first, in our family.

“He sure did, and he always puts your blankets just right, doesn’t he?”

“Yup.”

The light turned, and I pulled forward. “Should we sing a song before your school?”

“The Silly Pizza Song!”

I groaned. “Again?”

“Again!”

I laughed, but since this was our routine, the song was already cued up on my phone. I pressed play, and the song blared through the car’s speakers.

We sang about crackers and candy and banana-topped pizza until it was time to drop Allie at school.

Back at home, I finished throwing the kids’ sheets and blankets that remained from the previous day’s Operation Plague into the washer before sitting down with my laptop and a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I pulled up my blog, replied to comments, checked that the next several posts were cued up to publish automatically, and wrote a quick check-in about the drama of the previous day.

At least being sick had the benefit of providing me blog material.

I shared my latest recipe video to Facebook, then a pretty and stylized shot of the finished product to Instagram.

When the business part was done, I finally got to do my favorite thing.

Cook.

In honor of yesterday, I made soup.

Not standard-issue, bland chicken noodle soup, but hearty, filling, and a little-bit-spicy-sweet potato with rice, carrots, and kale chicken soup.

It was delicious, and I found myself sampling, then breaking down and heating up a loaf of homemade sourdough to go with it. I scooped up a large helping, buttered several slices of bread, and ate my first peaceful meal in what felt like an eternity.

Each bite brought something slightly different to my palate. The creaminess of the cooked sweet potatoes, a little explosion of brightness when parsley landed on my tongue. Salty, tangy, savory, the crunch of the sourdough’s crust when I dipped it in the soup, and just a hint of sweetness when I got a bite with everything all at once.

I ate the entire bowl. Plus, half the loaf of sourdough.

My phone chimed as I was styling a bowl for photographs.

“Hello?” I answered, distracted as I sprinkled an artistic arrangement of crumbs next to the spoon. I’d taken a bite from one last slice—someone had to do the hard work—and placed it on a pretty blue plate next to the bowl of soup. That way I could link both recipes on my website.

“Miss!” My sister’s panicked voice exploded through the airwaves.

My stomach clenched, mind reeling at what could have happened. Was Abby okay? “What is it?”

“I burned dinner!”

I laughed, relief coursing through me.

“It’s not funny.”

“Kel, you always burn dinner.”

“Well, I have no backup plan and Rosa is on vacation.”

“It’s only one o’clock,” I said, adjusting the angle of the bowl and spoon before snapping a few photos. “You’ve got hours. Order a pizza. Or defrost something from the freezer. I know Rosa stocked it for you.”

Rosa was Kelly’s husband’s housekeeper. She’d been with the Roosevelt family since Justin was a child and was an awesome cook. She was also getting very close to retiring, which meant that those days were coming to an end.

“I can’t,” Kel said.

“Why not? Or have Justin bring something home.”

Kel sighed. “He offered, and I got all mad.”

I snorted. “Kel . . .”

“I know. I know I can’t cook, but then he got all superior about having someone cater this, and I just lost it.”

My phone between my ear and shoulder, I took a few more shots then put my camera down. “Cater what?”

“Justin has work people coming over tonight, and I—”

“Wanted to impress him?”

Kel huffed. “Yes.”

“You know you already married him, right?”

I felt her eyes roll through the phone. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to impress him.”

Yeah. I knew the feeling.

“Okay, I have to grab the kids, but as long as you don’t mind the monsters coming with me, I’ll bring by some ingredients and we can cook together.”

“Are they recovered?”

“We’re more than twenty-four hours in the clear, but if you’d rather not risk Abby getting sick, I can just drop by some stuff for you to heat up.”

And hopefully not burn.

“Hmm.” Kel was quiet for a moment. “No, I’d probably ruin that too. If the kids were well enough to go to school, I’m sure they’re good to come.”

“Sure?” I asked.

“New mom jitters,” Kelly said. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” I did a little jig in the kitchen. I was going to cook for new people, and that made me happy. “How many and any allergies?”

“Six people including Justin and me, and, um . . .”

“You don’t know about allergies?” I asked, filling in the pause.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Okay, ask. And then text me. I’ll stop by the store on the way over.”

We hung up, and I bustled around the kitchen, packing up the soup, downloading my photographs from the memory card and onto my laptop. I’d bring my camera with me, knowing this too would give me good material for a blog post.

How often did I cater events?

Never.

Not that cooking dinner for six people really counted, but I was excited for the chance to try out some new things.

I portioned the soup into containers and put them in the freezer before running out the door to pick Allie up from school.

“Did you have a nice day?” I asked while we meandered back to the car. We had thirty minutes before I had to get Max. Enough time to do . . . basically nothing.

“Uh-huh.” A pause. “I’m hungry.”

My lips twitched at the familiar exchange. She wouldn’t dish on the details of school until she had a little food in her belly. “I’ve got a snack for you in the car.”

“Yay!”

Hunger forgotten, or perhaps more acute, Allie picked up the pace and sprinted for the car.

Minivan.

It was a minivan.

I’d gotten to the point in my life where I drove a minivan.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I pushed a few buttons on the key fob to remotely start it and then opened the side door.

Minivan or not, those perks were good.

Allie found the thermal pack I’d put on the floor in front of her car seat and quickly unzipped it.

“Swatermfelon!” she shouted before shoving a piece into her mouth. “I rofe swatermfelon!”

Of course I had to translate that—“I love watermelon!”—since her mouth was full, but I knew my baby girl.

And she loved all fruit, most especially watermelon.

“We’ll get Max, stop at the grocery store, then head for Aunt Kelly’s, okay?”

Allie paused in her inhalation of the melon. “Did she burn something again?”

I laughed as I buckled her in. “What do you think?”

“Definitely.”