My spine catches fire. I swallow—maybe I’m not so cool—and mutter, “Probably not.” I retreat to a stool and put the entire kitchen island between us.
Josh sets water to boil and starts chopping up ingredients—tomatoes, fresh basil, some kind of cheese, tuna, salami—and tosses them in a bowl with a pinch of salt and a drizzle of olive oil. He works fast, efficiently, always with a smile on his face like the chores that sometimes overwhelm me relax him instead.
Ten minutes later, he drains the pasta, gives the bowl one last toss, then announces, “And now for the secret ingredient.” He pulls a tiny jar from the fridge and spoons in a touch of something, mixing it in quick before I can get a good look.
I lean forward. “What is that?”
He grins. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”
“Really? You’re not gonna tell?”
“You want all my secrets on the first dinner?”
“It’s the second one,” I counter.
Right, I had more meals with this man than I had alone in the past three days.
He leans closer, dropping his voice. “Family secret recipes are at least third-dinner material.”
But the chemical reaction currently hijacking my ability to blink is clearly second-dinner material.
I get out of the eye lock by physically removing myself from the room to call Penny in. We sit at the table, and Josh loads our plates. The pasta is bright and summery and, of course, absurdly good, whatever his secret ingredient.Damn him. He can do no wrong.
Mercifully, Penny dominates the conversation like any self-absorbed eight-year-old would. She monologues her way through a mountain of pasta. When she asks if he enjoys ballet, Josh tells her yes, but she calls his bluff asking if he prefersGiselleorEsmeralda. I do my best not to laugh as he squirms his way out of that one. For the entire dinner, I keep my mouth full and let my daughter carry the night, grateful I’m saved from asking more questions I’m not ready to hear the answers to.
By the time we’re finished, it’s well past Penny’s bedtime. Her eyelids are drooping despite her valiant efforts to stay awake.
“We should head home,” I say, standing to help clean up. “It’s a school night.”
“Leave the dishes,” Josh insists. “I’ve got them.”
“But—”
“You can take over kitchen duty next time,” he says, and the words “next time” hang between us like a question mark.
He shoos me off with that lopsided smile that makes it harder to leave. But we must.
At the door, Penny wraps her arms around Josh’s waist with zero hesitation. I wait for the pang of annoyance or worry, but it doesn’t come. If anything, I’m a little envious of how easy it is for her to want affection. Ask for it. Take it.
Josh lets her stay in his arms for as long as she wants. Would he let me too? “Come back any time,” he says, looking at Penny before his gaze drifts back to me.
“Careful,” I say, only half-joking, “she’ll take that as a standing invitation.”I might too.
A shrug, a tiny tilt of his mouth, and something in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe—a tenderness, an openness that I don’t know what to do with. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Penny goes to get her bike, circles around the house, and precedes me down the path, pedaling. I linger behind a moment longer.
“Be safe tomorrow.” The words slip out—muscle memory from a life I barely remember.
“Always,” he promises. And even if we both know it’s a promise no firefighter can truly keep, I believe him anyway.
I’m already halfway down the path when he calls after me. “Hey, Lily?”
I look over my shoulder.
“Lemon zest,” he says with a shy smile.
I lift my eyebrows, not understanding.
