Page 5 of Swooning for the Summer Manny

“What can I help with?” I ask.

“Nothing. We’ve got it handled. Right, Chef Amelia?” He sends a look over to my daughter, and she nods vigorously.

I should use this opportunity to go check my emails, I think. But as soon as I have the thought, I realize how ridiculous it is. What am I doing? I just put in a full day’s work. My clients know I’m off the clock until tomorrow morning. Right now I should be doing anything but work.

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” Ryan says, adding more seasoning to the pot on the stove. “Feel free to relax.”

It’s a strange feeling, sitting down and not doing anything. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice—but it’s also weird. I’m so used to taking care of everything, even when I’m exhausted or under the weather.

I should set the table. I start to stand up, but when I glance over at the dining table, I see that it’s already set. I sit down again. That’s when I realize that I’m a bit nervous about the meal we’re about to have. Will it be awkward, the three of us sitting down together? What if Amelia says something embarrassing again? What if I embarrass myself?

Stop worrying, I tell myself. It’s just dinner.

I distract myself by asking Amelia about how her day at camp went, and she happily chatters away about it as she continues to help Ryan cook dinner. I love hearing her talk about her day. But when the three of us sit down to eat, my stomach is still full of nerves. The creamy tomato rigatoni that Ryan made looks delicious, but I only help myself to a small portion. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to eat what I just put on my plate.

Then I take a bite, and I’m blown away by how good it is.

“Wow,” I say, covering my mouth. “This is incredible.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, grinning as he dishes some out onto his plate. “It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

Amelia looks at him curiously. “Was your grandmother a chef?”

“Not professionally,” he says. “She was a homemaker and a mother of seven. She fed them well.”

“Your grandma had seven kids?” says Amelia, wide-eyed.

“Yep. All girls, too.”

“Whoa.” Amelia’s eyes slide over to me. “Mom, can you imagine if there were seven of me?”

I laugh and shake my head. “That would be something, indeed.”

Amelia looks thoughtful as she chews another bite of pasta. “Hey, Ryan? If you had a daughter, what would you name her?”

“Hmm.” He thinks about it for a few seconds. “I really don’t know, to be honest. I think I’d like to meet her first before deciding on a name.”

“I think you should name her Dolphin.”

Ryan doesn’t even look phased. “Dolphin? That’s pretty. I like it.”

Amelia looks pleased. I reach for my water glass, hiding my smile behind it.

As we’re finishing up dinner, Amelia asks Ryan if he’ll play Battleship with her, and even though I interrupt to say that Ryan surely needs to be getting home, he insists that it’s fine and that he’s happy to stay and play the game with her. As they head off into the living room, I bring the dishes into the kitchen and get them rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher.

After cleaning up, I scoop some ice cream into three bowls, add sprinkles on top, and bring the bowls out to the living room. Ryan and Amelia look happy and relaxed, sitting on the floor on either side of the coffee table with the game set up between them.

“What about E-6?” asks Amelia.

“Miss,” says Ryan. “B-2.”

“Miss!” Amelia says triumphantly, then drums her fingers on her chin as she considers her next guess. “Okay, how about C-10?”

I set down their bowls of ice cream and peer at both sides of the game. “Sweetie, you already guessed C-10,” I say, pointing out the white peg on her side of the grid.

“Oh. Whoops. Okay, C-9, then.”

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