unreliable-seance:
Klaus is too busy shoving the cookies in his mouth to really hear Grace. The crumbs manage to fall all over his shirt. “But they’re so good.” He spews crumbs as he speaks, already reaching for another cookie.
He pauses only when a napkin is brushed against his shirt. In that moment he slowly chews his food, swallowing it down with a gulp. He grins at the question, quickly nodding his head. “You can teach me how to make them so when I get older, I can do it myself.” He feels giddy that he will get to make the cookies– it isn’t like it can happen often.
“Can I eat some of the cookie dough too?”
Grace bites her lower lip to keep from laughing aloud once more at Klaus’s antics. He’s trying his hardest to become a complete mess (approximately 7.3% of the cookie has already fallen out of his mouth) , despite her best efforts to clean him up. Taking advantage of his pause, Mom quickly finishes wiping smudges of chocolate from the corners of his mouth, nodding her agreement at Klaus’s suggestion,
“–I think that’s a lovely idea, dear. Perhaps when you’re grown, you’ll make cookies for me, hm?” Reaching for her son, Grace easily lifts Klaus from where he stands on the kitchen floor, resting his weight on her hip and holding him steady with one arm. Her free hand collects the remaining bowl of cookie dough and a small, metal ice cream scoop. “… and you may have some of the cookie dough if we don’t use it all on the cookie sheet. Waste not, want not.”
Klaus blinks back, face moving away from the napkin against his face. He waits for Grace to be done before taking another bite. He really did love cookies enough that he would definitely learn how to make them. At Grace’s suggestion, Klaus beams, “I can make you different kinds!” He states, looking excited about the opportunity to do so.
Leaning into his mother’s touch, Klaus eyes the cookie dough closely. “So... we need smaller cookies then.” Klaus suggested, lips curving into a grin. Klaus grabs the pan, pushing it closer to the bowl for his mom. “How many do we need to make? There are seven of us but...” He glanced towards the door. “Do... Do you think dad will want one?”
