"Mia, do you enjoy pancakes?"
Her lovely eyes peered curiously up at me as she c****d her head. Like a lifeline, her tiny fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. I lowered myself to her level in an attempt to seem less menacing.
"Pancakes," I said again, grinning. "My stack is mean." What are your thoughts?
Mia paused, looking at the doorway as though she thought someone would enter and stop her. Cath, perhaps. Her mother, perhaps. Something inside me was warped by the concept.
She nodded at last, her curls bouncing. "I enjoy pancakes," she muttered.
"All right. Let's prepare some.
As Mia watched, her arms encircling a plush bear that had seen better days, I went to the pantry and took out the flour and sugar. I couldn't blame her, but her quiet was deafening. She had been c
