“Great.I think you’re going to love what I’m making for dinner tonight.”Nash headed into the kitchen like he owned the place, and Mia and I followed behind, a little starstruck.I could barely believe my eyes—Nash Nightingale filling my tiny kitchen, unpacking groceries, and discussing the menu with Mia.
"So we have chicken, pasta, and vegetables," Nash said, laying everything out on the counter next to my windowsill herb garden."What do you think, Mia?Do you like smoked paprika or are you more of a plain eater?"
Mia crinkled up her nose, then looked up at me for confirmation.
“Definitely plain,” I said, kissing the top of her head.“This girl loves a good butter pasta.”
"Butter pasta happens to be my specialty.”Nash jerked his chin toward my basil and thyme plants."Can I borrow some of these?"
"Of course.That’s what they’re there for.”
“Wasn’t sure if that fell under the succulent secrets clause,” he replied as he began pulling open drawers and poking around.“I do need a knife though.”
“Oh yes.Over here.”I headed for the only drawer he hadn’t opened yet.“Can I at least help?”
“You already are helping,” he said with a quick smile.“I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”
As Nash prepared dinner, I marveled at how easy he made things look.Mia had questions about what he was doing, which led to an impromptu countertop theater performance where he introduced every vegetable and their various personalities.Mia was enthralled—and to be honest, so was I.When I asked how he got to be so good with kids, he revealed he’d spent a few summers as a camp counselor back in Ohio.
After she’d dissolved into a fit of giggles from his third rendition of the carrot mistaking himself for a bell pepper, I felt something dangerous bloom in my chest.
This was beautiful.This was heartwarming.
This also wasn't what I'd signed up for.
Nash wasn't supposed to be good with my daughter.He wasn't supposed to look perfectly at home in my tiny kitchen, making Mia laugh while helping prepare dinner like we were a real family.
And what made it even more poignant was realizing that Mia and I had never experienced this—a man helping in the kitchen, being part of our little family unit, even for just one evening.
Nash's phone buzzed, and he glanced at it while stirring the cooking pasta.
"Well, well, well," he said, his tone shifting back to normal."Haley just posted something."
I came up behind him to look at the screen.The post was a photo of a question mark with the caption: "Getting some VERY interesting tips about a certain billionaire and his Cinderella...stay tuned!”
"Great," I muttered.“Do I have some evil stepsisters I’m unaware of?”
"Actually, this is perfect," Nash said."Let's give her some content."
"What do you mean?"
“Let’s show the nosy influencer just how happy we are.”He swiped the phone into camera mode and his meaning clicked into place.
“Okay.Hang on though.”I turned to Mia, smiling softly as I said, “Can you go dig your princess coloring books out of your closet?I want you to make us a pretty picture.”
Mia yipped with excitement and ran off to her bedroom.
“Okay, let’s make it quick.”I didn’t want Mia to see us being lovey-dovey and get confused.“What should we do?”
Nash looked around for a moment and then positioned me in front of him at the stove.He brought his arms around me to bracket my body.“Now stir the sauce,” he said into my ear.
I wasn’t proud of the heat that flushed through me.Had anyone ever made a command to stir sauce so sexy?I prayed my cheeks weren’t pink as I moved the wooden spoon around the pan.His body pressed against my back as he held up his phone.
"Smile like you're happy," he murmured against my ear.
The warmth of his breath on my neck sent shivers through me.In the phone's camera, I could see us reflected—Nash tall and solid behind me, his arm around my waist, both of us smiling like we were madly in love, background bursting with the green sanctuary I'd created.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were real.If Nash really had come home to help with dinner; if this were our life together, if Mia had a father figure who did vegetable theater.
