#day7

“Ok, hun, do you have all the ingredients we talked about?” Dennis’ mom’s voice rings out from your phone. As you place it down on the loudspeaker. 

“I think so,” you reply, scanning everything before you. “Thanks for taking the time to help”

“Of course sweetie, anything to help make this day special for my baby boy,” she beams. 

Your lips curl up at her words. 

Despite having not met her yet in person, Dennis’ mom was always so kind to you. Warming and loving. 

You suppose that was where Dennis had gotten it from. 

In the lead up to today you had messaged her to try and learn the best way to make today special. 

And after a little digging. A few choice questions to Dennis. 

You landed on making these Maple Brown Sugar Cookies. 

With the very recipe his mom would use. 

He had mentioned the cookies once. Just in passing, a fleeting memory he shared with you. How on special occasions the kitchen at home would be drenched in an aroma of toasted pecans and sweetened by maple syrup. 

As perfectly chewy and crisp cookies would sit on the window sill to cool. 

It was something you had tucked away. Saved for a rainy day in your memory. 

Something you reached for when you learnt Dennis’ birthday was coming up. 

You understood that living so far from home could be difficult. 

How he sometimes craved the familiarity of home. 

Homesickness was something you understood all too well when you were serving overseas. 

So today you decided to help bridge his longing by taking the time to bake the very cookies he dreamt of. 

And who better to help you than his mom. 

“So, let's get cracking sweetie.” Her voice rings out once more. 

Her words filled the air as she guided you. Step by step. 

Until eventually all that was left to do was wait for the dough to firm in the fridge. 

As you moved around the kitchen to clean up, she remained on loudspeaker. Adding her own anecdotes, her own little stories of fond memories when Dennis was younger. 

How he was always so hardworking, even as a soft spoken child. Pride melted into her words. 

Listening with a smile you let her talk. 

Laughing at her funny stories and sharing your own in between. 

Until soon enough it was time to roll out and shape the cookies, popping them into the oven as your home was enveloped in the sweet soothing scent of maple syrup. 

“Now for the icing, you’ll need to keep a close eye on it so it doesn’t burn and become a messy mistake,” she joked, “Just melt the butter, and whisk in the maple syrup. And then it’s important to pull it off the heat once it's combined. Oh! – and make sure you measure out the icing sugar first so you don’t have to fiddle with that– so after you pull it from the heat you’ll add the icing sugar and a few pinches of salt.”

Moving around you listen to her instructions, “Now I’m not there to taste it, but I trust your judgement”

As you pull the tray of cookies from the oven, you sigh in relief. The perfect balance of crunch with a tender inside. With little bits of pecan within to balance the sweetness. 

Not a burnt bit in sight. 

Moving your phone you take a photo and send it through to her, as she says with glee, “Oh, sweetie, they look perfect. Now tell Denny happy birthday for us and that we love and miss him.” 

“You’re too kind,” you reply. 

“And you’re an absolute sweetheart! Oh we simply have to have you come visit when Denny and you have time”

“I can’t wait, thanks again Ann,” you smile at her words. 

“You are going to make a great daughter in law,” she says quickly catching you off guard and before you can say anything else she adds, “Bye bye now” 

And with one final goodbye, you hang up. 

You had just a few moments to get everything else ready before Dennis would be walking through your front door. Her words, simmering in the back of your mind. 

Moving around you pull out the present you had wedged in the back of your closet. 

Rushing back into the lounge, as you hold the present behind your back, as you hear Dennis call out, “Hey, I’m back” 

Smiling as you meet him by the door, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, feeling him smile against yours. 

As you mumble softly, “Happy birthday, love” 

Stepping back slightly you present him with a gift bag. 

Tilting his head as he looks at it, “You didn’t have to get me anything”

“But I wanted to,” you insist. Grinning, “Ok, open it”

Taking it gently from your hands, he lifts the tissue wrapped object from the bag, raising a brow, “Is this?-is this a Littmann?”

Eyes widening as they dart between you and the stethoscope in his hand.

“You really didn’t have to, this must’ve cost a fortune”

“Every good doctor needs the perfect stethoscope” 

He pulls you into his arms, peppering kisses against the apple of your cheeks, before gliding his lips against yours. Mumbling sweet soft thank yous in between. 

Pulling away you grasp his hand in excitement. Tugging him along, “There’s one more thing I think you’ll love”

He looks at you puzzled as you continue to pull him into your kitchen, the sweet smell of maple syrup enters his nose, the aroma of something familiar. 

Of home.

“Ok, close your eyes for me” 

He furrows his brows at you, while you only add, “Just trust me”

Relenting he softly murmurs, “Always”

Eyes now shut. 

Plucking a cookie from the tray, still warm as the icing begins to set atop it. You turn, holding it up to his mouth. 

“Ok, now open your mouth”

“If this is something weird–”

“I would never– now just take a bite of this,” you laugh softly, simply placing part of the cookie in his mouth as he opens it slightly. 

He hums in delight, mind flooded by the warmth of fond memories. 

Eyes opening to look at you, a wide smile forming on his face. 

“Is this what I think it is?” 

Biting your lip nervously, worried at what he thought of it. 

Maybe you overstepped? Maybe it was taking it a little too far? You had only been together for a few months now? Maybe–

“They’re your mom’s maple brown sugar cookies, I thought it might be nice–I know you've been a little homesick lately – and you’ve mentioned them before, saying how you used to enjoy them on special occasions. So I called and spoke with her–” You started to ramble. 

“Thank you” he says sweetly. Looking at you as though you were his world entirely. 

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you into him. Just holding you. Hugging you closely. 

Tucking his head into the crook of your neck. 

Breathing your company in. 

The smell of toasted pecan and a sugary sweetness coats your hair. 

“This really–It really means a lot to me,” he adds. “Did I mention how in love I am with you?”

Smiling in his arms, you let your own curl up around him. 

“I love you too”

A few moments pass. 

Just you two holding each other. Relishing in the comfort of each other’s arms. 

“I can’t believe you called my mom,” a light laugh of disbelief bubbles out of him. Thinking over your words. 

“She mentioned we’ll have to visit sometime soon,” you said. 

“She also mentioned I would make a great daughter in law”

He freezes at your words, panicking from what his mom had said, “I am so so sorry, oh. She sometimes just says things–”

“Dennis, it's ok. I thought it was sweet of her” 

Pulling back you place a hand against his chest to console him. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean anything by it– I just. I don’t want my family to scare you off”

“Like anything could scare me away from you,” you reply, placing a delicate kiss to his nose. 

“Now. Let’s take some of these cookies and have that movie marathon you were talking about” 

“You’re the best”

“I am pretty great aren’t I,” you quip. 

Squealing as he presses his fingers into your side, lightly tickling you. A bubbling laughter spills out of you. “Ok, ok, you’re pretty great too…Denny”

He groans at the nickname. 

While you smile in amusement. 

“Your mom also had the time to tell me all about you as a kid”

He rests his head onto your shoulder, groaning from your words. “Tell me it wasn’t something embarrassing”

“She might’ve mentioned something about a cow and a clumsy young farmboy”

Laughing at his dismay. You press a kiss to the top of his head. 

This was something you could get used to. 

Just you and Dennis. 

Together. 

In the comfort of each other’s arms. 

Made sweetened by a little home made dessert.

A dessert you may have delicately written and tucked between the pages of your little recipe book, marked beneath Family Recipes.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed my mini chapter for Tread Lightly. Just a little sweet exploration of you and Dennis on his birthday, cosy and calm. Made sweeter by his mom's influence and maple pecan sugar cookies 💖. Let me know what you think about this chapter and/or the series in general, and if you'd like to be tagged. Also if you want to make Maple Brown Sugar Cookies the recipe I love is here! Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Find Part 1 of Tread Lightly here! Feel free to find my Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here 🩺 Or check out my overall Masterlist here

You turn the old recipe card carefully between your fingers, edges softened with time, corners bent in ways that suggest it’s been used and loved. The ink has faded into a ghost of words that barely clings to the paper anymore.

“This is it?” you ask, squinting at it like if you stare hard enough, the words might come back.

Levi stands beside you, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the card. “It used to be clearer,” he mutters.

“Mm, I can tell.” 

You tilt it toward the light. Nothing improves. Some words are still legible—flour, maybe butter, something that might say bake—but the rest is a mess of half-formed letters and empty spaces, instructions lost somewhere between years and too many hands.

You look at him. He doesn’t look thrilled, but he promised his mother that he would use these recipe cards from her mother. It’s practically tradition. 

Okay, you think. We can figure this out.

“How hard could it be?” you say, already moving toward the counter, setting the card down. Levi’s lack of response is not encouraging.

It turns out, it can be very hard.

“This says… two cups?” you say, holding the card up again, brow furrowed. “Or is that a three?”

“It’s a two,” Levi says.

“It could be a three.”

“It’s not a three.”

“You don’t know that.”

Levi breathes sharply through his nose, stepping closer to inspect it himself, his eyes becoming a narrow line. You wouldn’t be surprised if the ink rearranged itself under the pressure of his stare.

“It’s a two,” he repeats, firmer this time.

You make a sound, unconvinced, but you pour it anyway. “If this goes wrong, it’ll be your fault.”

“You just want someone to blame.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

You snicker. “I absolutely do.”

At some point, the recipe becomes less of a guide and more of a vague suggestion. You substitute ingredients where you can’t read them, guess measurements where the numbers have faded into nothing, and almost fight about mixing longer or not mixing at all. 

Levi is a perfectionist even with a lack of information, moving precisely. You on the other hand…

“This feels right,” you acknowledge after you’ve put in an extra dash of something you don’t know should be there. 

“It doesn’t look right.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He stares at you. “I didn’t agree to this adventure.”

“Are you going to break your promise to your mom?” you ask, nodding toward the card.

Levi doesn’t say anything for a second, gaze flicking briefly to it before returning to the task at hand. “Just don’t ruin it,” he mutters.

We won’t, you think, more hopeful than certain.

That hope dies a little when the smell coming from the oven is questionable. It’s not terrible, but it’s not good either. You both act like you didn’t notice. When it’s finally done—whatever it is—you stand side by side, looking down at the result. You know it’s either a cake or a pie. You shrug to yourself in your mind.

“It doesn’t look like anything,” you say.

Levi sighs. “That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s edible.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know it’s not raw.”

“That’s a very low bar.”

You plate it anyway. There’s a collective determination in the way you both sit down, forks in hand, seeing this through to the end no matter what. You look at him. He looks at you. Neither of you say anything, but you think the same thing. Here goes nothing.

You take a bite. He does the same. 

There’s a moment. A very long moment. You chew slowly, trying to give it a fair chance, trying to convince yourself that maybe it’s not as bad as your first thought suggests. Then your eyes meet his. 

And you know. He knows.

This is terrible.

You swallow reluctantly and press your lips together to keep from laughing, but it comes anyway, slipping out in a helpless giggle. Levi exhales sharply, something caught between a sigh and a huff, setting his fork down before cradling his forehead in his hands, taking a second to process the disaster you’ve both just created. Then he laughs. Actually laughs.

You shake your head, laughing a little harder now. “Either your grandma was a terrible baker, or we’re just idiots,” you say, wiping at your eyes.

Levi stares at the plate for a second longer, his shoulders shaking, then he leans back slightly in his chair. He regains composure, but the slightest smile can be seen at the edge of his mouth. 

“She wasn’t a terrible baker,” he says.

“So that leaves—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

You laugh again as you reach for your drink. Yeah. It’s definitely you. Levi glances at the recipe card resting on the counter, faded and worn and clearly not meant to survive whatever interpretation you just put it through.

“We could try again,” he says after a moment.

You look at him, surprised. “With a different recipe?” you tease.

“With one we can actually read.”

You smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

The food is terrible. The kitchen is a mess. The recipe is a disaster. But as you sit there, laughing over something that totally failed and yet somehow still felt right. So, it doesn’t seem like a failure at all.

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