#iceicebobbyd

Restless chestnuts couldn’t settle on anything.

From the bag of flour pushed further onto the counter, to the bow at the back of his mother’s apron, to the vanilla, to the radio at the very end of the kitchen, to the clock upon the stove, Bobby could barely contain his excitement at the upcoming magic that was bound to happen.

Magic also known as ‘Mommy’s Cookies’.

Fidgeting hands traveled from his own smaller whisk, glancing over and over again onto his mother’s batter, much more interesting than his own. (After all, he was simply shuffling some drops of white, milk and dark pieces into a bowl, but it sufficed him, knowing he had earned the renowned title of ‘assistant chief’.)

But, minutes became weary once all colours and taste were blended enough, leaving the young boy with nothing but agitation to occupy every single one of his limbs, both in anticipation of the delight that would fill his taste buds, and the upcoming arrival of his father.

Once more, Bobby’s gaze shifted from the clock upon the stove, noting an amalgam of diverse numbers. Although he couldn’t quite read the time just yet, Bobby was well-aware than once the big, bright red six was plastered upon the clock, it would take barely minutes before his father would cross the door, and that was more than enough to keep him from being as calm as he actually should have been.

(That, and the fact that he probably ate his weight in chocolate chips when Isabella had her back turned.)

"When are we adding the chocolate chips, mommy?" Stepping on his tiptoes in order to aim his view just a little bit higher from his previous position, just so he could anticipate his father’s arrival even more, Bobby practically jumped on his step. (The homemade device was reserved for him on special occasions when he had the chance to help his parents making food, or desserts.)

“Querido,” Isabella started, softly posing her whisk upon the outdated yellowed melamine, using her left hand to keep her son from falling down. “What did Mommy tell you about the step?” While her gaze was warm, Isabella’s tone indicated that she wasn’t up for yet another discussion about safety within the kitchen area, and the boy quietly nodded, both ashamed and sorry at the same time.

While his excitement somehow managed to get the best of him, Bobby was well aware that he was supposed to behave, and if not, privileges would be taken from him. It was how things worked at the Drake’s, so he knew that if he wanted to to get a taste of those cookies, he’d have to slow down and stay safe.

Just when he was about to excuse himself from his demeanor, the sound of a key fitting into the lock resonated from the front door, and it took merely seconds for Bobby to reach it.

“Daddyyyyy!” Dropping his lunchbox upon the ground, because, hell, he didn’t have any other choice, David wrapped both arms around his oldest son’s chest, who somehow decided to build a nest within his father’s biceps.

After making sure that Bobby’s face was pampered with a million of butterfly kisses, David kicked off his shoes while making sure he got a good hold on the restless child within his arms. “Did you miss me today, carino?”

An excited and restless nod was all he was provided with, so with a wide smile, David stepped forward into the household, aiming for the smell of sweets. “Hola, mi amor,” the dimpled man started off with a chaste kiss upon his wife’s smile as he arrived, to which she replied with a playful slap on his bottom.

The exhaustion was still travelling upon most of his features after his grueling shift at the tire shop, and with a brief look at the surroundings, David was aware that his day was far from over. On the bright side, his ‘Daddy’s duties’ weren’t fulfilled yet, and it did turn out to be the best part of his day. Without skipping a beat, he turned his head to meet his son’s gaze, still settled against his chest. “Niño, do you think it’s time for us both to go get washed up? Maybe we could do a surprise to mommy and come back after our baths?”

Even if Bobby didn’t look convinced towards that new plan, he didn’t rebel against it, and offered to choose his father’s outfit for the rest of the night with a wide smile, minus a few front teeth. (Some of those already loose teeth got into a fight with a slice of apple, and the fruit clearly got the upper hand.)

Since the course of the evening had been explored many times before, bath time took just long enough for the cookies to cool down, and with their matching Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles pajamas, both Drakes emerged from the bathroom and aimed for the kitchen.

It took merely seconds to realize that both the snacks and Isabella were situated into the living room, and within a moment, all three Drake were settled comfortably on the couch, a blanket covering their thighs.

“I like when I bake cookies with mommy,” Bobby admitted after a few moments, and with a sheepish smile, his long lashes barely settling upon his cheeks as he got a better angle to glance at his treat. “I think chocolate chip cookies are my favourite, and it’s sad that Joshie is too much of a baby to eat them, but it’s nice for me because I get more cookies to myself.”

Struggling to keep their laughter down, both Isabella and David leaned forward to allow their son to keep on with his trail of thoughts. But, in lieu of finishing his idea, the child took yet another bite, leaving nothing but crumbles, too engrossed by the taste dancing on his tongue to form a proper answer.

While she was tempted to sigh at the scene before her, Isabella’s lips parted and yet another chuckle emerged from it, which David wasted no time joining with one of his own. “Do you think you’ll ever get tired of eating those cookies, niño?”

“I dunno, mommy.” Bobby shrugged, too busy with the snack to even bother a coherent reply, until he became empty-handed and settled his head against his father’s side. “I love the cookies because they are delicious, and because I get to eat them with you and daddy, and Matty’s ones don’t taste as good. I think it’s because you put a secret ingredient in it.” Without missing a beat, the young boy settled himself more comfortable onto his father’s embrace. “Do you think I will be able to make them all by myself when I’ll be as big as daddy?”

“Querido, do you remember what I told you about these cookies? It’s a family recipe,” Isabella explained with a smile, using her thumb to wipe some of the chocolate smudged on her son’s cheek, replacing the stain with a warm kiss. “Where would be the fun in doing it all on your own, huh?”