Page 37 of Mister Mom

My head is in the fridge by the time I hear Via’s light footsteps enter the room. When I glance over I see that Vance is right behind her.

“Honestly?” He thinks he’s so suave, his hip resting on the island in the kitchen, his arms crossed and that damn smirk on display.

I take the chicken I had in the fridge and place it on the counter then turn to face him, waiting for him to continue.

“I thought you were a prima donna, making me come to the trailer to present the script when a courier could have sent it over.”

I unwrap the butcher paper, move over to the cabinet, and grab a knife and cutting board. “I apologize for that. I’d gotten off the phone with Carver minutes before and it put me in a bad mood. In my head I was thinking if they want me so bad, show me.” I shook my head, staring down at the raw chicken. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be happy I don’t go off first impressions.” He chuckles, and I remember our conversation from Yolk Me. He comes over and takes the knife from my hands. “I got this. What are we making?”

“Stir-fry.”

He licks his lips. “Yum.”

“Yum,” Via echoes from where she’s playing on the floor with one of her toys.

Vance glances her way and then laughs at her, his eyes lighting in amusement.

It’s like overload for my brain. Do I focus on how hot it looked when he licked his lips or think about how adorable it was when he laughed at my daughter? A girl can only take so much. At least one who’s been celibate as long as I have.

Not noticing my reaction, he takes one of the chicken breasts and places it on the cutting board.

“You know how to cook?” I ask him, raising my eyebrows and mimicking his earlier question.

“Nah, but I do know my way around a good set of breasts. Have faith.”

I laugh at his bad joke and as I back away, I try my damnedest not to think about what he could probably do with my breasts if I let him.

* * *

An hour later, we’re at the table finishing up dinner while Via’s spreads what’s left of hers all over the tray of her high chair.

“Thanks for dinner,” Vance says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You can hardly thank me when you did half the work.”

Vance chopped the chicken and the vegetables. All I did was make the rice and mix the sauce.

“I never cook for myself. I came back from my hometown a few weeks ago and I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since. This was great.” He pushes his empty plate away from him and leans back in his chair.

“Where are you from?” I ask, curious to know more.

“Up in Oregon. Small town.”

I nod. “Small towns are nice. I grew up in one, too.” The memory of my own small-town upbringing in Kentucky flashes through my mind.

“They can be. I bet when you cross the county line you get a police escort.” He smiles.

A small laugh huffs out of me. “Yeah, but I’m also the first one they call when the town needs money.”

No joke. And I want to help my town, they helped me become who I am, but it’s hard to hand a check over to the girl who bullied you throughout grade school.

“Your parents still there?” he asks. I’m guessing his are still in his home town. Otherwise why would he return? I can’t remember the last time I went home.

“No. They’ve moved on up. Malibu now.”

I spare him the tragic child star tale about how all the money they have was money I earned. Not that I begrudge taking care of my parents, but when you’re fourteen and the only breadwinner in a family there’s an unbelievable amount of pressure to succeed. Maybe that’s why I’ve been okay since Carver left. I’m used to being the one who has to step up and take care of everybody else’s needs, leaving my own on the backburner.

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