She peeled back the plastic wrap and popped it into the microwave.
“You can sit at the table,” Palmer said.
I did, if cautiously.
“You don’t have to cook us dinner,” I muttered, though I was deeply grateful.
She shrugged as she reached for a bread knife and pulled out a fresh loaf of bread from the breadbox. “I don’t mind. I like cooking. Hailey helped, too. Your mother’s kitchen is amazingly stocked. She’s got all kinds of canned goods, and that freezer is full of meat and veggies. I had everything I needed.”
She buttered the bread and set the warmed bowl of stew in front of me.
“Thank you.” I inhaled the mouthwatering scent, stomach growling. “It looks delicious.”
She beamed. “I think I’d like some tea. Would you like some too?”
I hesitated—coffee was usually my preference—but I nodded.
As she started the kettle, I dug into the meal. It was even better than it smelled, which was saying something. There was no denying that I’d been spoiled with my mother, who was an excellent cook, but Palmer was just as amazing. I finished the entire bowl and the bread by the time she set a steaming mug in front of me and sat across the table.
She lifted a brow at my empty dishes. “Would you like more?”
I wrapped my fingers around the mug, shaking my head.
She sipped her tea. “How was work?”
“Good.” I took a drink, almost burning my tongue. “Busy. I’m not usually this late.”
“That’s okay,” she replied. “Hailey and I had fun.”
I studied her. Loose tendrils of blonde hair had escaped her braid, falling over her face. Her cheeks were slightly chapped, as if she’d spent too much time out in the cold.
“How did Hailey go down?” I asked, wanting to distract myself from her.
“Oh.” She placed her mug on the table. “She did great. I put on one of her favorite musical soundtracks. She wanted her back scratched, and she fell asleep pretty quickly.”
The color in her cheeks darkened. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep with her.”
I watched her closely, surprised by how right this felt.
Palmer was easy to talk to, which was saying something because I often struggled with casual conversation. The day had seemed to go well, and I hadn’t expected to come home to a sleeping child and a warm, home-cooked meal.
It was almost too much.
I cleared my throat, gesturing vaguely between us. “We’ll need to work out a contract,” I said, changing the subject. “Hours.Pay. Expectations. I’m sorry I left you today without figuring out those details.”
“Of course.” Palmer nodded. “And it’s fine, really.”
There was a pause—one that stretched a tad too long.
“Can I ask…” She hesitated, fingers clutching her mug. “How long do you think you’ll need me?”
The question caught me off guard.
I opened my mouth, then shut it.
The truth was, I didn’t know. Though I hoped this would be temporary, hoped my parents would come home soon and things would settle, I had no set timeline for it.
“I’m not sure,” I said eventually. “Hopefully not long-term.”
