At least she wasn’t talking about Mick being in our lives forever. Our own puppy was a good idea, I convinced myself.
“Oh yeah, with your arm in a cast for another week, and then physical therapy. And when that’s done, are you wanting to go back to sports?”
“Will you still work from home?” Her head cocked to the side as she watched me bustling around the kitchen, throwing a salad together and checking on the pasta. “You know, when you get your big promotion.”
I gave her a dirty look, telling her it was meant to stay between us.
“What?” she said, feigning innocence.
“Promotion?” Mick, who’d disappeared for a minute, reappeared holding a dog crate in one hand and the puppy in the other.
“Rochelle?” I don’t even know why I asked.
“Yep,” Mick said, setting the crate down and placing the squiggly puppy inside.
Tito whimpered for a beat or two and then immediately crashed.
“Is she Superwoman?” I asked as I whisked some olive oil with lemon juice to make a homemade salad dressing, thinking she’d picked up all these ingredients too.
“Who?” Mick poured himself a glass of wine and took a sip, before setting it down and rolling up his sleeves.
“Rochelle.”
“She’s just good at her job, like you are. Apparently, more than I know.”
This guy knew exactly what to say—it was equally flattering and unnerving. Especially for someone like me who hadn’t been complimented in over a decade.
“Well, it’s only in the beginning stages. So, we’ll see about this promotion business.”
I gave both Mick and Priscilla my back, opening the oven and taking out the food. The kitchen flooded with the scent of garlic. Rochelle had picked up an Italian loaf on her own, so I decided a few extra carbs never hurt anyone.
“Let’s eat,” I said, changing the subject.
Priscilla popped up like she was starving. “I’ll set the silverware out. I can do that.”
Like a well-oiled machine and not the motley crew of unrelated misfits we were, we set the table and sat down to eat.
“What is that?” Mick looked toward the orange bottle Priscilla had brought to the table with her.
“My wine,” she deadpanned, leaving Mick speechless.
The rest of dinner passed with the same easy flow. Tito asleep in his crate, and the three of us acting like we did this every night.
Mick insisted on a quick cleanup, which meant leaving the dishes in the sink for Rochelle, but I didn’t like the idea of that.
“Mom, forget the dishes. Mick said it’s fine. Can we have the brownies? Please?” Priscilla whined at me, batting her eyes.
“Yeah, listen to the girl,” Mick said with a wink.
“Way to gang up on me,” I said while reaching for the pan of brownies cooling on the counter.
“What are those?” Mick peered over my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck, making my whole body heat up.
“These are cookie-top brownies, but from scratch, not from a box.”
“I think my little lady has a sweet tooth,” he whispered along my neck. Sensing my hesitation, he quickly turned his head, looking for Priscilla. “She’s over by the window, checking out the view.”
Sure enough, she was looking out at the night, standing still, behaving with her cast as she should.
