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“I’m afraid the kitchen is all out of Swiss chard, Lia-bear,” Grey answers. “How about kale? It’s green too.”

“Okay, keel,” she agrees with a nod of her little blonde head. “Ten minutes. And go!”

Cheese, grapes, chicken, and kale. This sounds like a terrible start, and I have no idea how to make something like kale taste good for a five-year-old. I immediately know that I’ll have to mask the flavor and texture, so I start on the hardest ingredient first. I grab strawberries, blueberries, and Greek yogurt from the fridge, ripe bananas and a kiwi from the fruit bowl, and peanut butter from the pantry. I’ve never seen a kid turn down a fruit smoothie.

I prep everything for the blender before starting on the other elements. I cut two slices from a fresh loaf of crusty bread that I made yesterday, smear a thin layer of homemade grape jam on each side, and top with thick strips of brie. Back home, we loved to pair cheese with everything, so this combo makes perfect sense. For the chicken, I cut up little nugget-sized pieces and coat them in a seasoned bread crumb mixture.

I pan-sear the chicken until it’s tender and crispy. Next, I melt butter in the pan and brown each half of the sandwich beforeputting them together and letting the gooey cheese gush out. Then I grab two tall glasses before starting the blender. Grey and I bump into each other a couple times as we move around the kitchen, but I remain focused on my dish and don’t sneak any peeks at his.

“One minute left!” Elia calls after checking the timer on her mom’s phone.

I hear Grey swear under his breath, but I’ve timed everything perfectly, so I have no reason to worry. I take two plates out of the cabinet, slice my toasted sandwich in half, and place an upright triangle on each plate before adding a circle of golden nuggets around it. I pop two straws in the fruit smoothies before sliding them across the counter to where Elia and Olivia sit. Then I set down my plates beside the glasses, and I’m done.

“Time!”

Grey comes up right behind me, setting down his plates in a rush. His looks more traditionally plated in the gourmet style, but mine was made with the aim to please a five-year-old, not a middle-aged food critic. I’m pretty sure Grey is going down.

“Present your dishes,” Elia demands in a serious voice that makes me think she must watch a lot of cooking shows at home. Given who her uncle is, it makes sense.

Grey goes first. “I’ve made you a balsamic-glazed chicken breast stuffed with feta cheese. It’s served on a bed of wilted kale and garnished with pan-seared white grapes.”

“Very nice, chef,” Elia comments before turning to me.

“I’ve made a kale and mixed fruit smoothie, crispy chicken nuggets, and a grape jam and cheese toasted sandwich.”

“Grape jam?” Grey gasps in offense. “That’s cheating.”

“She didn’t specify whatkindof grapes,” I throw back.

Grey crosses his arms, his expression stern. “I vote for Angélica to be disqualified due to interpretation rather than exactexecution.” Grey breaks character for a moment and cracks a grin, and I can’t help but giggle at his ridiculousness.

“Hmm, what do you think?” Olivia asks her daughter, trying to stifle her own giggles.

Elia looks very pensive as she glances between Grey and me. “Jam is acceptable,” she decides finally. I turn and stick my tongue out at Grey when no one is looking, although I’m pretty sure Olivia catches it, judging from the smile on her face.

They both taste our dishes, keeping their opinions quiet as they whisper back and forth. There seems to be some indecision as they eat from each dish until the plates are clear and the glasses are empty. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t desperately hoping to steal Grey’s perfect record and win over his niece, but I’ll be a good sport about it either way.

“Both dishes were good,” Elia tells us with a straight face, eyeing us both down. “But there can only be one winner. And it is—Angélica! Sorry, Uncle Grey. The smoothie wasreallyyummy. And the seared grapes were weird.”

“Fair enough,” Grey retorts before sticking out his hand to shake on my victory. “Nice work, chef.” I offer him my hand, but instead of shaking it, he spins me around and captures me in his arms before kissing me hard and lapping at my lips with his tongue.

“Okay, time for us to go,” Olivia announces in mortification, which I’m sure was Grey’s reason for the PDA in the first place. I stomp on his foot and pull away before things get any more graphic in front of his niece.

“I don’t want to go,” Elia huffs, clinging to her chair at the counter.

“Uncle Grey wants to have some alone time with Angélica, Lia. We’ll see them again soon,” Olivia compromises.

“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask. “I can convince your brother to keep his hands to himself.”

“No, no it’s alright. I really should have called anyway. It’s the first Sunday in years I’ve not found him sitting alone in his apartment. I’m so happy he has someone to share his time with now. And I can tell you’re good for him,” she adds with a wink.

“Can you play chef’s surprise again sometime?” Elia asks, looking at me with pleading, blue eyes that I could never say no to.

“Of course I can,” I answer with a smile. “I’ve got to help keep your Uncle Grey on his toes.”

“Uncle Grey would look silly on his toes,” Elia giggles. “Like a ballerina. I’m going to be a ballerina, you know? My ballet teacher says I’m the best in our class.”

I know exactly what it’s like to have big dreams for the future at such a young age. And with Greyson’s blood running in her veins, there’s no doubt she’ll reach her full potential and so much more. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent ballerina, Elia. I can’t wait to watch you perform on a big stage one day.”