“Who’s this guy?” Kitty asked, her eyebrows drawn together, a very accusing finger pointing at Ethan Greene.
“This is Ethan,” April said. She rolled her bottom lip because Kitty was on a tear and she knew from loads of experience that anything she said could feed into it.
“Ethan Greene is the chef helping April,” Rachel said as though speaking to one of the kids.
“I was told Emeril Lagasse would be here!” Kitty gestured wildly. “I watched your whole macaroni show and there was no Emeril. Unless you’re keeping him in the pantry with the potatoes.” She strutted to the pantry, pulled open the door, poked her head inside. “Nope. Not here.”
“I never said Emeril.” April suddenly felt an intense desire to defend herself. “I told youEthan, the celebrity chef.”
She pointed to the celebrity in question. The celebrity who watched the whole thing with wide eyes and an odd purse to his lips that was part smirk, part horror. Clearly, he hadn’t decided how he felt about the Kitty invasion.
“She did.” Rachel nodded. “I was there when she told you.”
“No.” Kitty shook her head, feathers clinking against massive hoop earrings. “I would’ve remembered that.”
“Kitty.” April channeled all the patience that motherhood afforded. “Why would I tell you Emeril would be here when it’s Ethan who was coming?”
Kitty seemed to percolate on that, her stiletto-covered foot tap-tappa-tapping as she pondered.
“You’re a celebrity?” she asked in Ethan’s direction. Though the toaster was there, too, and this was Kitty, so…
Ethan pointed to his chef-jacket-covered chest in question.
“Of course, you.” Kitty sighed.
“On behalf of all of Denver, I’d like to apologize for Kitty,” Rachel said, glaring at Kitty with wide eyes.
April wasn’t certain, but she wouldn’t be totally shocked if Rachel figured out how to muzzle Kitty with a dish towel.
“I’ve been told that ‘celebrity’ is a term some use to describe me.” Ethan settled on a smirk for his expression. April wasn’t certain that was the best choice. She’d have probably gone with horror. “I don’t particularly like labels, however,” he finished.
Kitty gave him a once-over that would’ve peeled paint. “Do you have an air fryer named after you?”
For pity’s sake. April opened her mouth to tell Kitty she could—
“Uh, no,” Ethan said. “I prefer the oven. Like they taught us at cooking school.”
“Emerilhas an air fryer named after him.” Her eyes turned to eyelinered slits. “Do you at least have a catchphrase likebam?” She smacked the counter as she said the word. The camera guy taking down the umbrella things dropped one.
He scrambled to pick it up.
“Nooo.” Ethan shook his head. “But I could work on one of those.”
“The shimmy thing could be your calling card,” April suggested. Although, since he was Ethan Greene, he probably didn’t need a calling card. His food was enough.
Kitty gave a curt nod. “That would work.”
She pointed her manicured talon at April. “Do you have any of those Capri Suns I like so much? The tropical ones?” She turned to Ethan. “Mix ’em with a little Captain Morgan and they are divine. Do you like cats?”
Oh God. April groaned.
Ethan nodded an affirmative because anyone in their right mind in that kitchen with Kitty would have done the same.
“Uh. Yes.” He nabbed a fork and handed it to Kitty, pushing the tray of macaroni toward her.
April laughed on the inside. While she may have been horrified, Ethan was a smart man. He was feeding Kitty to get her to calm down.Good job, Ethan Greene.
“Do you want one?” Kitty asked, taking a big ol’ bite of casserole. She paused. Pulled a face. Then took another bite. “A cat.”
