With a worried glance at his daughter, he led me into the relatively cozy kitchen. Everything was paneled in a light-grained wood with a few touches of stainless steel and charcoal granite countertops. In this spotless kitchen, my crocheted potholders and tiles painted by my niblings would’ve slunk off into a corner to die.
He opened the pantry to show me the sparse shelves. “See?”
“Holy hell, Cole. You really don’t cook.” I scanned the cartons of power bars and jugs of workout recovery supplements. “Wait. What’s this?” I pulled out a gift basket that was still bundled in cellophane and tied with a jaunty plaid bow. I untwisted the wire closure.
“Our audit firm sent it for Thanksgiving. My housekeeper must have shoved it in here. Completely useless and a waste of?—”
“Aha!” I pulled out a packet of pasta, some fancy shape I couldn’t pronounce the name of. Emboldened, I said, “What else are you hiding in here?” I opened the Sub-Zero refrigerator next. It was almost as sparse with a few condiments rattling in the door shelves. “Ooh.” I snagged a foil-wrapped brick. “Butter, the fancy kind. And…” I opened the freezer side and scanned the stacks of frozen prepared meals to the bin at the bottom. There were a few plastic bags of vegetables. “Does Caitlyn like brussels sprouts?”
“Maybe? Why the fuck do I have brussels sprouts? I haven’t eaten those since I was a kid and my nanny forced me.”
Of course he had a nanny.I kept from rolling my eyes. “You’ll like them the way I make them.” I shut the door. “Go ahead and order the Children’s Tylenol, though. Grape-flavored is the best. And add some chamomile tea, honey, and Vicks VapoRub. I’ll get started on dinner.”
While Cole tapped on his phone, I located a shiny stockpot and started the water to boil on his fancy French range. I turnedon the oven and massaged some olive oil (thank you, auditors) into the brussels sprouts. As I waited for everything to come to temperature, I opened the e-book app on my phone and pulled up my selection of children’s books. When I handed my phone to Cole, his eyebrows went sky high, but he returned to the living room to read it to Caitlyn and wait for the delivery.
Meanwhile, I worked in a kitchen designed for a giant. Even the range was extra tall, and the gas flames were dangerously close to my boobs when I dumped in the dried noodles. But I’d lived forty-three years in a world that didn’t accommodate my gender or size, and I made do. Until I plucked open the top cabinets with my fingertips and gazed up at the plates and glasses above my reach.
I had my ass in the air, hunting through his lower cabinets, when Cole came in, carrying Caitlyn. “What are you looking for?”
I straightened, tugging my skirt back down to cover my knees. “A stepstool? Normally, I’d climb up on the counter, but…” I waved at my pencil skirt. I’d have had to hike it to my waist to clamber up there, and Cole and I were no longer at a point in our relationship where seeing my underwear was acceptable.
“I don’t own one.” He settled Caitlyn in a chair at the small table in the breakfast nook.
“Wow, what’s that like?” I asked dryly.
“Daddy,” Caitlyn said. “You’re not wearing your bracelet.”
“Sorry, baby. I forgot.” He went to a kitchen drawer and pulled out a beaded friendship bracelet like the ones Ashlyn and I made sometimes. He tugged it onto his wrist and straightened it so the beads at the center readDAD.He showed her and then kissed her forehead.
He approached me, and a layer of Johnson’s baby shampoo overlaid his regular scent. It was all I could do not to sway intohim and inhale him into my lungs. “Glasses and plates?” he asked.
“Please.”Please stop being so sexy.
His usual smirk was absent as he selected three glasses and three plates, then a single wineglass. He must have been really worried about Caitlyn. I patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”
He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his pec, drawing me dangerously close. “Thank you. We’d probably be in the hospital waiting room right now without you.”
“Of course. I’m happy to help.” And that’s all I was doing, helping a colleague in need, I reminded myself as I pulled away from him and spooned noodles onto the plates. I definitely wasn’t playing house with Cole and his daughter.
He poured me a glass of chardonnay. We sat at the snug table, and it felt almost like we were in our bubble in Costa Rica again, except for the coughing little girl between us and the San Francisco skyline lit up against the blackness of the sky at eight o’clock.
I was pleased that, despite her fever, Caitlyn ate all of her noodles and almost all the brussels sprouts. Cole devoured the rest.
“I thought you didn’t like brussels sprouts,” I teased as I finished the last sip of my wine.
“These are amazing.” He scraped up the last of the maple glaze from his plate and popped his fork into his mouth.
“It’s a simple recipe. I’ll…” I winced as I finished, “I’ll show you sometime.” But this was a one-time thing. There wouldn’t be anothersometime.
“I’d like that,” he said, going along with the pretense.
It was too much. I scraped back my chair and grabbed the empty plates. “I’ll clean up while you two get ready for bed. I mean, while you get Caitlyn ready for bed.” I all but ran to the sink to hide my flaming cheeks.
“I’ll clean up,” he said. “You cooked.”
“I’ve got it.” I rinsed the plates, but he took them from me and loaded them into the dishwasher. He insisted on scrubbing the pot and baking sheet clean, then I dried them and put them back where I’d found them.
“Braid my hair, Daddy?” Caitlyn had changed into pajamas. She held a stuffed iguana, much cuter than the ones we’d seen in Costa Rica, and smelled like toothpaste. He nodded and reached for the wine bottle.
