Chapter Eleven
“How many times do I need to say the same thing?”
—Shelley, Kent, United Kingdom
Jack
Jack could deal with slow going, but this was ridiculous.
He couldn’t actually fix things if he couldn’t get an audience with the woman herself.
The Band-Aid apology had done the job of staunching the immediate viral bleeding, but they needed to get moving or it wouldn’t hold.
He clicked send on his most recent pitch for April’s brand, to the network news this time.
Then the cursor on his laptop blinked at him from the farmhouse table in April’s kitchen. The family obviously used the table, given the number of scuffs in the wood, but it wasn’t worn. Scuffs added character he hadn’t realized was possible when it came to furniture. All of his furniture looked like it had the day the interior decorator helped him choose it from the showroom floor. Fine. She picked it. He didn’t really care, so he went along with whatever she suggested.
Where his walls were the gray the designer had picked out, April’s white kitchen walls contrasted with a multitude of purple. April sure loved her purple. Purple plates, mugs, even flatware.
He finished returning emails and texting Ben, all while sipping on his not-so-hot coffee out of a mug covered in a dozen yoga-posed stick figures.
April had offered her kitchen table for his workspace until she returned, and he was all on board with that. Not that he was avoiding Kitty’s, but it wasn’t so—Kitty—here at April’s. Which meant he’d get more done without being peppered with questions about…everything.
Like she was waiting for him to think of her, Kitty breezed right on through the back door.
“There you are,” she sang, hips swaying.
“Here I am,” he replied before refocusing on the task at hand.
He had his not-so-celebrity-anymore chef up in Vail, and he had April here in Denver. He was pretty sure there was a way to loop this situation to benefit them both. Kid cookbook. Relaxing foods—was that a thing? It should be a thing. Relaxing. Kid. Foods.
Bam.
Brilliant.
As soon as April actually met with him, he’d pitch it.
Kitty poured herself a cup of coffee from April’s coffeemaker and sat across from him. “I’ve been thinking.”
He glanced away from his screen. “Do I want to know what you’ve been thinking?”
Because last night when she got to thinking, she’d tried to set him and April up on a date and it’d made everything very uncomfortable. He hadn’t been sure exactly why it had rubbed him so wrong when April announced she didn’t want to datehim, but it had. Perhaps it was the emphasis on theJackpart of her declaration. Not that he was interested in dating. Clearly, he was not. Still, a little pin pricked his chest at her declaration that made him start to wonder what was wrong withhim?
He would ask Ben, but then he’d tell his wife and wouldn’t that just be a whole thing?
“What I’ve been thinking is excellent.” Kitty scooted her chair in, sitting taller. “Because it has to do with April, and you’re Mr. Fix It.”
Curious, he closed his laptop and gave her his full attention. Funny thing about people like Kitty—the unique lot who didn’t march to their own drum, but decided they’d rather march to a tambourine—those were the ones who sometimes had the best ideas.
They were also the ones who sometimes had the worst ideas.
“What about April?” He took Kitty’s bait.
“She’s overworked.” Kitty took a sip of her coffee, pulled a face, and set it aside. “That’s not good.”
“It’s coffee.” He took a sip of his own. Tasted fine. A little cold, but not the worst he’d had.
“I don’t care for coffee.” Kitty waved her hand to the mug. “Here’s the thing. April is in a rut of laundry. You should see this place when you’re not here. I mean, it’s like a laundromat bomb went off.” She made an impressiveka-powsound. “And the kids make messes everywhere.” She leaned in to him. “I mean everywhere.”
