with a lot. Not that she was spoiled. He cleared his throat. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start the sandwiches.”
He did a double take. “Yes, ma’am.” She looked like a natural standing on a footstool, fixing their dinner. When had she become so grown-up?
She’d had to suffer through his mediocre cooking since her mother left a year and a half ago. Mona was only so-so in the kitchen, too, so the poor kid didn’t exactly have the best training. Lately, though, Emma had discovered the Junior Chefs series on TV and had been nagging him to let her take cooking lessons. At ten? How would he even go about finding a person to teach a child cooking? The kids on that show probably had parents who were culinary geniuses. Was cooking an inherited trait? If so, sweet Emma was doomed.
She may have inherited the brown hair and eyes from her mother, but their personalities were miles apart. For that he was deeply grateful. Where Emma was naturally bright and sunny, even if a little bossy, Mona had always been moody and hard to read. Maybe because she’d been more interested in flirting with doctors at the hospital in Ventura, where she’d worked, than keeping a home going and teaching her daughter how to grill herself a sandwich. Or better yet, making one for her. But he’d promised not to be resentful about the whole mess of their failed marriage, so he took a breath and tried to let it go.
Mona had cheated on him exactly once, that she’d admit to anyway. She said it was just her luck that she had gotten caught. Not by him. No. By the hospital, while making out in the ward supply closet with one of the orthopedic residents. Turned out they’d been doing more than that at various spots in the hospital for months. Which blew her one-off excuse right out of the water. For once, justice had been served, since both nurse and doctor lost their jobs.
When Zack filed for a divorce, Mona moved out. He’d assumed a custody battle would follow, but it never happened. He shook his head at the incredulous memory. How could she leave this beautiful child behind? Not even fight for her. He squeezed Emma’s shoulder again after she flipped the sandwiches and gazed up proudly at him. “See? I know how to be careful.”
“Well done.”
They’d gotten off to a rocky start after Mona had left, Emma hurt and missing her mom, him angry and nearly devastated by Mona’s lies. But they’d made it through their first Christmas, then Easter and both of their birthdays together, and they seemed to be getting the hang of this father-daughter thing. Just the two of them. His little girl deserved a happy normal life, and he was determined to give it to her.
Cooking lessons. Where did you send a kid for such things?
She made an exaggerated inhale. “Sure smells good. My mouth is watering.” Her chocolate-colored eyes lit up. “Remember that delicious wrap you brought home for me Friday?”
How could he forget. It was the best meal he’d had all week. “Yeah, you wouldn’t share it with me.”
“Because you already had your half!”
True, but he could’ve easily eaten the rest without Emma ever knowing about it.
“Anyways,” she said, “That would’ve gone great with this soup.”
“So will the grilled cheese. You have a knack for pairing food.”
Raising a ten-year-old daughter by himself often baffled him. He only wanted to do right by her, but he worried in the beginning he messed up more than he got things right. Their life together was leveling out now, the two of them had gotten closer, and he cared about this small human being more than he ever thought possible. The last thing he wanted to do was throw things out of kilter again.
He’d love to see Emma learn how to cook if that was what she really wanted, since his talents were in construction not the kitchen. Even his burgers left something to be desired, often dry and tasteless, in need of extra ketchup and mustard.
Because of that TV show, Emma had recently shown a huge interest in the subject of cooking. Wasn’t it a practical life skill everyone should learn? Besides, he didn’t want to raise the girl on fast food. She deserved better.
His mind went back to the redhead, Lacy, for about the dozenth time over the weekend, and it wasn’t strictly over the fact she was a great cook. Mona had caused him to recoil from all things female, which made thinking about Lacy all the more aggravating. It’d been a long time since he’d even noticed a woman, but how could a guy not notice that amazing red hair and those eyes that looked like a piece of the sky itself? See, that’s where he could get himself into trouble, and who needed the frustration at this stage in life. She was a great cook, too, from what he’d tasted so far. He’d slipped up and sort of hired her. Temporarily, he reminded himself. But it was probably a big mistake. What had he been thinking? Hopefully, his crew would like her wraps as much as he had.
“Starting tomorrow, when you have to come to work with me, we can share your choice of wrap three days a week.” Easter and spring break had rolled back around, which meant no school. Last year it had cost a fortune to send her to day camp at the YMCA; this year he figured she was old enough to entertain herself and still get some extra dad time.
The bit about the wrap got Emma’s complete attention, her big brown eyes watching him as if he held the key to life.
“The food truck that wrap came from is going to be parking at my construction site for lunch tomorrow, Wednesday and Friday.”
“Really? Yay, I can’t wait!” Emma ladled soup into bowls with such excitement that a lot wound up on the counter.
He grabbed a paper towel and mopped up the hot spillage. “You’re gonna like her truck. It’s pink.”
“My favorite color!”
That truth hadn’t gone unnoticed the day Lacy had driven up. He threw out the paper towel and got a sponge for the rest of the cleanup. “Don’t forget to bring things to keep yourself busy tomorrow.”
“Like my crocheting? And my Bettina Ballerina books?”
“If you like. Anything but watching movies. You’re going to have to entertain yourself a lot while I work.”
“Like I have to do around here?”
That stung, but it was true. “You’re good at it, aren’t you?”
She nodded, gave that adorable smile, and all he wanted to do was hug his little girl.
“Everything’s ready, Dad,” Emma said, pure pride in her high-toned voice.
“Wow, this looks great.” The sandwiches were browned to perfection, then placed on small plates with a pickle spear each, and the soup was in wide bowls, steam rising from the warm broth. He carried the hot stuff to the table and let her handle the grilled cheese.
“It’s called presentation.”
She’d obviously learned that from the Junior Chefs show, because he simply threw food on the plates. His kid had already figured out how to arrange things to make them look inviting. The next thought hit with a ball of anxiety: he’d be in way over his head by the time she was a teenager.
“Someday, I want to be a cook for a big restaurant,” she said, delivering her plates, then rushing to grab some paper napkins. “I just need to learn how.”
“Shortcake,
