He tapped the fragile shell of the egg against the edge of the bowl, humming a small Italian love song to himself as he cracked it into the large bowl. His bangs were held back by a pink clip that he had 'borrowed' from his oh-so-generous daughter. He didn't bother keeping quiet, as he knew you were still working away in your office. Your constant workaholic attitude troubled him. He only wished for what was best for you, yet he could see that it had been taking its toll on both your physical and mental health. Despite his attempts at pleading with you to take a break, they all proved to be utterly futile. He would have to settle with taking on the task of attending to your beautiful little daughter.

Your ego wouldn't allow you to give in to his pleas just yet, so you'd have to satisfy him by eating the baking he was currently making. Cookies. His mother's recipe.

One hand holding the bowl with the other kneading the dough, he glanced at the closed bedroom door. He rolled his eyes, wondering when you'll finally decide to come out just to sass him again. He didn't mind, your attitude amused him greatly.

He felt a little tug at the hem of his shirt. Tilting his head down in search of the source, his gaze met her big doll eyes and beaming grin. She spoke in an eager manner, “Papa, can I help?”

His eyes softened at her innocent request. The corners of his lips curled upward to form the gentlest of smiles. He tilted his head to the side, gesturing towards a small stool, “Go get something to stand on.”