“What thehellis going on here?”
CHAPTER 24
Finn
“Dad!I’m making an omelet!”My daughter looks over her shoulder at me, her face lit up with delight.“And you’re cussing like Uncle Declan again.”
She wobbles on the footstool, but Emma immediately steadies her by gently pressing a hand to her lower back.Emma didn’t jolt or freak out.She was just there for my kid, like it’s a natural thing for her to do.
It reassures me, but it pisses me off too.I wonder why that is.My main concern is Jasmine’s well-being, and here Emma is, ensuring it.
And it pisses me off?
What iswrongwith me?
My daughter is wearing an apron, which is pretty cute but beside the point.I march into the kitchen just as Emma turns my way, ready for whatever I’m about to say.
“She’seight years old.That is a gas stove.”
“I’m aware of both those things, Finn.”Emma’s voice is calm, and her face is… Emma’s face is radiant.She looks as happy as Jasmine, and all shiny.
The whole kitchen is shiny.The whole downstairs is shiny.
And the sound of my name rolling off Emma’s tongue is so sexy that I temporarily forget the other essential point I was about to make.
“Jasmine’s doing just fine, and she’s following all the safety rules.”Emma’s eyes are lustrous and dark as she looks right at me, unafraid.I see something in her I haven’t noticed before.
It’s pride.Dignity.
It suits her.
“But…” I’m searching for that comeback I’d prepared but now forget.I step closer to the stove.“Are you sure?Don’t burn yourself, Jasmine.”
“I know what I’m doing, Dad.Emma taught me.She’s taught me a whole bunch of things.”
Ding, ding, ding!
I don’t know what that sound is or where it’s coming from, but Emma apparently does.She taps a button on the front of the stove, and it silences.Just then, Jasmine expertly wields some sort of silicone spatula to flip a giant omelet.I didn’t know we had a spatula like that.I didn’t know Jasmine could flip an omelet.
Wait… what’s that smell?
“The muffins are ready to come out of the oven,” Jasmine says to Emma, quite matter-of-factly.She suddenly sounds older than I’ve ever heard her.Like a high-schooler.I don’t like it.
“Let’s turn off the heat and set aside the omelet pan,” Emma says to Jasmine.“Can you hop off so I can open the oven door?”
I have an omelet pan?
Wait… did I hear the word “muffins”?
“Sure!”Jasmine hands Emma the spatula and jumps off the stool.It reminds me of a smooth baton handoff at a track and field event, where the teammates have practiced working as a unit.Since when are Jasmine and Emma a unit?
Jasmine runs toward me, throws her arms around my waist, and squeezes me tight.“Good morning, Dad!You look so very handsome today.I sure hope you’re hungry.”As Jasmine hugs me, I observe Emma smiling to herself as she moves the footstool aside, slips two large oven mitts over her hands—I guess I have oven mitts, too—and bends over to remove a large baking pan from the oven.
Oh, fuck.
The way she moves is exquisite.She’s all female curves and grace.Emma’s wearing an apron that goes from neck to knees, but it does nothing to hide the absolutely gorgeous shape of her petite body.
She sets the baking pan on a metal cooling rack that she’s already positioned on the countertop, and I’m not even going to ask myself where she found it because it’s pointless.This is Emma’s area of expertise, obviously.I’m watching some kind of military operation unfolding in my kitchen, one that began with careful preparation and is being carried out with all moving pieces falling into place in the correct sequence.I’m impressed.
