“Vail isn’t that far,” Ethan said, when neither of them responded.
“I guess that would depend on how many kids are in the minivan,” she replied with what she hoped was a hey-I’m-still-fun smile.
Ethan laughed, low and rumbly and well, most women probably would’ve found that laugh pretty freaking yummy. “I love kids.”
April glanced to Jack. He looked a little put out over something, but she wasn’t sure what. Usually when he got that expression, it was because he was checking his phone and then making a follow-up phone call.
“I happen to have several,” she said. “They just keep showing up.”
Ethan chuckled. “You are funny, April Davis.”
“Funnyandcalm,” Jack said, effectively slicing through the jovial atmosphere she’d been brewing with Ethan.
He slid into the space behind her, leaning against the countertop by the sink. Not close enough for it to be perceived as anything other than him joining the conversation, but to her it felt like more. She slid her gaze to Ethan. He raised his eyebrows and went back to unpacking the bags. Clearly, it felt like more to him, too.
“You two are a thing, huh?” Ethan asked. “Never thought I’d see the day Jack focused on something other than work.”
April turned to Jack, his expression inscrutable as he looked between the two of them.
His cell buzzed again, breaking his attention. He pulled it from his pocket. Frowned—he did that a lot when his cell interrupted lately—and mouthed,One minute.
She didn’t ask him about his work because it was absolutely not her place.
He strode to the other room, cell to his ear, leaving April and Ethan alone.
“I am his work,” April said when the moment dragged on a little too long.
Ethan’s gaze tracked Jack’s pacing in the other room. April followed where he looked. Jack was on the phone, yes, and he was frowning, of course, but he also clearly kept tabs on what was happening in the kitchen.
“You know,” Ethan said, pulling out a head of cauliflower and setting it to the side. “This guy—” He jerked his thumb toward the living room where Jack paced. “He saved my bacon.”
“Jack’s good at what he does,” April said, taking a cue from Ethan and unloading the other grocery sack.
He’d saved her bacon, too.
“That he is.” Ethan made his way around the kitchen with practiced ease, as though he’d cooked there a thousand times before. “He mentioned you’re not so keen on the whole live-stream-for-all-to-see thing.” This was not a question. The statement stood on its own.
April nodded. “The whole viral-for-all-the-wrong-reasons thing will do that to a person.”
Ethan had one of his bigger knives in his hand. The man brought his own knives!
He twirled it impressively by the handle. “That it will. Viruses are assholes.”
He began chopping the cauliflower into small chunks of florets. Ethan had his own nightmare under the microscope—she knew this like everyone else who followed the Nosh Network did. Seeing as she didn’t particularly want him to rehash her viral episode, she didn’t push to dive into his.
“The key to being chill when the red light rolls”—he furrowed his brows—“is to pretend like you’re talking to your favorite person in the world. Then whatever you say doesn’t matter because everyone on the other side of the film believes you’re talking to them. That you care about them. That they are the one who matters to you.” He stopped the fierce chopping that, to be honest, had her worried about the future of his thumbs. “Everyone wants to matter.”
Then he looked at her, and she experienced a shock of understanding.Everyone wants to matter.
“Everyone wants to be heard, too,” she said, placing a bag of unshelled sunflower seeds to the side.
He nodded sagely. Which was a total juxtaposition to his bad-boy-chef outer image. “Everyone wants to have a voice. But it’s hard to find your voice when the noise of the world is giving directions.”
Boy, oh boy, could she relate to that.
They worked in silence. He gave direction where needed, and she acted as his assistant chef.
“The key to making the mac and cheese creamy without cream is grated potato with avocado oil,” he finally spoke. “Took me awhile to get the ratios to work out. But my daughter loves this stuff.” He paused, grating a russet potato. “Dairy gives her a stomachache, so I avoid it where I can.”
