Page 113 of Daddy By Design

He didn’t even blink at the total. Just swiped a card and bagged up three-hundred dollar’s worth of food and overpriced things to put the food in because he didn’t have any everyday items like bowls and serving utensils.

I’d cheated a little and texted Macy for a heads up on the menu and ended up with an invite.

Guess this was going to be a weekend full of Nolan and the Devereaux-Gideon clan.

And odd domesticity.

We worked well together in the kitchen. He was startlingly adept with a knife.

As if he’d been taught by someone who was far more professional than me.

In the end, we ended up with a kickass pasta salad full of fresh veggies and a homemade Caesar dressing. The way he naturally put things together in a bowl without measurement made me uncomfortable.

Especially since I was baking a dessert, and I could only function with a recipe—the more precise, the better.

He served me up a bowl of the pasta while we waited for my lemon bars to bake.

“Okay, so you weren’t lying. You can cook.”

He stabbed his pasta and veggies and took a healthy bite. “Yep.”

“So, where did you learn?”

“Little here, little there. I did a sculpture for a chef. Asked for lessons instead of a commission.”

“What chef?”

“Secret.” He took another bite.

“You suck. But that makes sense considering your knife skills.”

“Yeah, he liked teaching, but hated chitchat. We got along well.”

“Shocker. You not liking conversation? No way.”

“I’m having one now, aren’t I?” He finished his bowl and rinsed it before tucking it into my dishwasher.

Without being asked.

Stunned didn’t even cover it for me today, that was for sure.

The buzzer for the oven saved me from trying to extract any more information out of him. I was stunned he’d offered up the chef detail. I barely knew anything about him—except for his exceptional skills with his mouth.

I took out the lemon bars and set them to cool. “Do you want me to follow you out to your place with Gizmo?”

“Nah, you can hold him on your lap, and I can throw his junk in my back.”

He was gruff, yet surprisingly thoughtful. I’d take the win.

Getting Gizmo into his carrier was another thing entirely. It took us twenty minutes of chasing him around the apartment and half a package of treats.

Little stinker probably assumed he was going to the vet.

My guilt ratcheted up at the idea of changing his whole life with this move. I set the carrier on one of the stools at my kitchen island and crouched in front of the mesh opening. “I promise this is going to be so good for you. Mama is giving you a whole mansion to play in. And I bet Harriette will love you.”

“You know that ghost won’t be bonding with your cat, right?”

“How do you know? Might be just what the ghost needs to be a little happier. Maybe even move on.”

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