Free The Cottage on the Corner by Shirlee McCoy

care. Add a little fresh fruit into the mix, and they’ll think they’ve died and gone to heaven.” He stuck his head into the refrigerator. “You have any fresh fruit in here? Strawberries? Grapes?”
    â€œProbably.” But there was no way she was going to toss store-bought cookies onto the tray with the lemon bars, Russian tea cakes, and praline crunch cookies she’d spent hours baking. She certainly wasn’t going to slap fruit in the center of the tray and call it good.
    â€œWhere’s the tray? I’ll start setting it up for you.”
    â€œI appreciate that, Zim, but it might be better if you and Zuzu just waited in the other room.” She turned on the mixer and started creaming the butter, hoping that the noise would be enough to put a stop to the conversation.
    She should have known better.
    Zim moved closer, staring down into the bowl while she whipped the butter and sugar into a fluffy mound.
    â€œYou want me to get some other ingredients for you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou sure? Many hands make light work.”
    â€œAnd too many cooks spoil the broth.”
    â€œAre you saying that I’m bothering you?” He scowled, the lines in his face deepening.
    â€œNot at all.” She added vanilla to the mix, cracked in two eggs. “It’s just that I have a routine, a certain way of doing things. When I’m in a hurry—”
    â€œI’m bothering you. That’s exactly what you’re saying.”
    â€œNo, I—”
    â€œNo need to pretend otherwise. Zuzu and I know when we’re not wanted. Don’t we, doll?” He lifted Zuzu. “We’ll just go outside and play for a while.”
    â€œOutside!” Zuzu squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.
    â€œThat would be great, Zim, but she doesn’t have a coat. You can’t keep her wrapped in a blanket while she’s playing,” Charlotte pointed out, measuring a cup of flour into a small bowl.
    â€œWe’ll find her something. You must have a spare coat around here.”
    â€œShe’s too little to wear my coat.”
    â€œWe’ll make it work. Won’t we, Zuzu?”
    â€œYes!” Zuzu agreed.
    â€œEven if you could find a coat that would work, she doesn’t have shoes. Just those feety pajamas.” Charlotte measured out baking soda and baking powder and hoped it was the right amount. Usually she baked in peace, a little music playing in the background. She wasn’t used to conversing and measuring ingredients. She’d probably end up with cementlike flavorless cookies. Maybe she should consider throwing fresh fruit on the tray.
    â€œDo you need shoes, doll?” Zim asked Zuzu.
    â€œNo shoes,” she said.
    â€œSee?” Zim preened, his white hair standing up around his wrinkled face.
    â€œShe’s barely past babyhood. How does she know what she needs?”
    â€œShe doesn’t, but I’m as close to an expert as you’ve got, and I say she’s going to be fine. Besides, I’m not bringing her far. Just out back. She’ll love the baby swing you’ve got.”
    â€œYou mean the one hanging from that rusty old swing set?” The thing looked like it was about to collapse under the weight of time. She’d been meaning to take it down, but every time she thought about it, she imagined the children who had played there and she didn’t have the heart to do it.
    â€œIt’s not that rusty.”
    â€œIt’s not that sturdy, either.”
    â€œSturdy enough for a twenty pounder.” Zim set his coffee cup into the sink. “Your coat closet is in the living room, right?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œNow don’t fuss, Charlotte. You want the girl to be a wilting flower when she grows up?”
    She didn’t suppose that she did, but since Zuzu wasn’t going to be her responsibility for more than a few hours, she didn’t think it