“Yes, but can we please try these now?” Charlotte says. “I want to record our input.” She whips out her phone and shows me a color and pattern-coded task management program. “This way we can make sure we have data-driven menu decisions.”
I set a hand on my heart. “Those are some seriously beautiful words. Also, yes. Eat.”
Corbin nods to his daughter, then says to me, “Someone’s a little organized.”
Charlotte breaks off a bite of a brownie, finishes it quickly, then says to her dad: “Would that someone be you?”
With avid eyes, I look to my business partner like I’ve caught him. And, really, I have. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Corbin?”
He sighs as he looks at his kid. “Charlotte, you’re killing all my cool cred.”
“That’s assuming you had any to start with,” I say, then turn back to the little chatterbox. Wind her up and watch her go. I tap the table. “Tell me about Organized Daddy.”
“Mabel,” he groans, then reaches for the seven-layer bar, cuts a few slivers for all of us, and takes a nibble of one.
“What?” I ask with an overly sweet shrug. I avoid that bar since it has walnuts but note how Corbin’s eyes flicker with satisfaction as he eats it. “Sounds like that’s what you are. Hyper-organized Daddy.”
Charlotte finishes a bite of her seven-layer bar slice and jumps back into the conversational fray. “He labels all his food. On the day he buys it, he marks down the date it entered the house. Then he marks it off on an inventory app.”
As I break off a bite of a blondie, I make a beckoning gesture with my other hand. “More. Tell me more. Don’t leave a single detail out. Did he make the app himself?”
Charlotte chuckles, shaking her head. “No! He’s not a techie.”
Corbin clears his throat. “I feel like we’ve discussed enough about the app.”
I meet his gaze head-on. “We will never discuss enough about your inventory ordering app. This is like a whole new level of Corbin intel.” I return all my focus to the precocious girl in front of me. “Do you have to update items on the app when you use them?”
“Of course. How else would we know when something is low?”
By checking. But I don’t say that since different strokes and all. “Are his pantry shelves labeled?”
“You’re creating a monster, you know that, Charlotte?” Corbin asks.
But Charlotte seems to like feeding me. “He keeps ingredients on particular shelves. And don’t even try to put anything away on the wrong shelf. I’m pretty sure my dad has a camera in the pantry.”
“I do not,” Corbin says with a huff.
“Dad! If I put something in the wrong place, you’ll come in and move it back where it belongs.”
“Like, the next day,” he retorts.
She shakes her head. “Within hours, Dad. You hate mess.”
Mess.
For a few seconds, that word rolls down my spine uncomfortably.
Messes…like me?
I mean, it’s a fact I’m a bit of a hot mess.
But hot messes like to have fun, so I keep feeding quarters into Charlotte as we sample the treats. “Can you get video of him reorganizing his shelves for me? I feel like that would be something I could watch over and over while eating popcorn.”
Her grin is the stuff of legend. “I can do that. It’s like a homework assignment.”
I smile smugly before I look at Corbin, who’s heaving a sigh as if he can’t quite believe Charlotte is rolling over on him so quickly.
I can’t quite believe I ever worried we might not get along. Turns out teasing this man is a shared passion.
