“She got a little fussy today at the grocery store. She kept trying to eat her toy and was drooling everywhere. I think she could already be teething.”
“This soon?”
Elodie nods. “There was a baby at the daycare that cut his first tooth when he was four months old. Every kid develops at different rates.” Taking her seat, she reaches for her glass of water, takes a sip, and theninhales deeply over her plate. “God, I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
My mouth begins to water as I assess my plate. “It smells amazing, but again, you didn’t need to cook.”
“Well, like I said, you haven’t exactly given me a list of job duties and cooking is something I don’t mind doing, especially when I have a proper kitchen to do it in. My place in L.A. barely had room for a microwave.”
I blow on my first bite, watching the steam waft through the air. “I didn’t even know I owned placemats.”
Elodie covers her mouth as she chews. “I actually bought those today at the store. Your table needed some color, and they help protect the wood.”
“Ah. Good to know I’m not just that sleep deprived.” When I finally taste her cooking, I have to fight the urge to moan from how good it is. “Damn, El. This is incredible.”
“Thanks.” Her proud smile almost makes my lips tilt up too. “I still think my mom’s is better, but that just might be me being too critical.”
“Your mom taught you how to cook?”
“Yep. Me and my brother. She was a big believer that homemade is always better.”
I keep shoveling food in my mouth. “I’m more of a convenience guy, myself. Never really was taught the basics of a kitchen, but I manage. I can grill a mean burger.”
“I honestly don’t mind cooking, Henley,” she says softly. “You can add it to my list of duties.”
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. Remy continues to sit on my lap, kicking and waving her hands around while watching us eat. “I’m paying you to take care of Remy, not be my personal chef.”
She finishes chewing, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I’ll tell you what. How about I make a list of the jobs I’m willing to do, and then we can agree they are included in what you’re paying me, especially since you’re letting me live here rent-free.”
I twist my lips as I consider her proposition. “Fine.”
She claps her hands once, standing from her chair and walking over to the couch, flipping pages of scribble over until she finds a blank one. “Okay. Elodie’s duties,” she says as she writes, her handwriting just as soft and feminine as the rest of her.
Jesus Christ, Henley. You’re admiring her handwriting now?
“So, we agree that anything pertaining to Remy is my responsibility, and I agree to cook at least three nights a week. The other nights you can eat cereal for dinner if you wish. But please let me spend some time in your kitchen while I can.”
I look over my shoulder to admire the kitchen with its top-of-the-line appliances that I barely use. “Fine. Three nights a week and no more.”
“Deal. Now, what about laundry?”
“You can do yours and Remy’s, but I’ll do my own.”
“That’s fair.” She scribbles more words on the paper. “What about cleaning?”
“Cleaning?”
“Yeah, mopping floors, dusting…”
I hold up my hand to stop her. “You’re not a fucking maid, Elodie.”
She’s taken aback by my tone. “I know…”
“I have a cleaning company that comes every two weeks to do the deep cleaning. If you want to tidy up between those visits, you’re more than welcome to. But you are not going to mop my fucking floors all the time, do you understand me?”
I can’t tell if the look in her eyes is one of fear from my command, or appreciation. If this woman only knew how commanding I can be in other aspects of life. “Understood,” she finally croaks out, swallowing roughly. “Okay then.” Turning her attention back to the paper, she writes a few things down and then glances back up at me. “Grocery shopping is okay?”
“Yeah, I can handle you taking on that responsibility. I don’t remember the last time I saw my refrigerator that full.”
