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"Did you wash your hands, baby?" Clint asked his 3-year-old daughter.
Pippa nodded vigorously as she climbed up on the kitchen island's stool watching her daddy take cookies from the oven and put the cookie sheets on the cooling racks.
"I'm going to need to borrow your thumb when the cookies are cool enough," Clint said.
"Why?" Pippa asked, tucking her thumbs into her hands and looking at her daddy suspiciously.
Clint laughed, grinning at his literal daughter. "Your Uncle Steve wants all our Christmas presents to be homemade this year. I thought today's baking project would be thumb cookies."
"Ewww, Daddy," Papa said.
"You like them," Clint said. "They're the ones with the fruit puree in the middle."
"Oh," Pippa said.
"Yes, oh," Clint said. "You can put your thumb in the middle of them when they're cool enough and then I can put the fruit in the dent."
"What kind?" Pippa asked.
"Apricot and blueberry," Clint said.
"Unca Tony likes bueberries," Pippa said. "I ike strawberries."
"No, strawberries," Clint said. "It makes your Aunt Pepper itchy."
"Auntiei Pepper llergic," Pippa said.
Clint smiled tearily, proud of his smart little girl and wishing Phil was here to see her.