Page 178 of Things We Burn

Despair shone in his eyes. I could taste his sense of powerlessness. But he nodded, grabbing my neck and pulling me so our foreheads touched.

“Forever,” he vowed.

Mabel was in her own bed.

A win for the night.

Especially since she’d been in there over an hour. I wasn’t working at the restaurant. I’d managed to arrange things so I was only there every other night. Though I yearned to be home full-time, I knew that I needed the kitchen too. Just not every night. Which I could do now that I trusted my team enough to go a night without me. I was there for hours every afternoon, prepping, but I always made it home for bedtime.

I’d also done something stupid. I added to my plate. With Maisie in mind. During her last visit, I broached the idea.

“Freezer meals?” she questioned as she cut up cucumbers for our salad. Her hands were never idle.

“You’ll help me design them, using simple ingredients. They’ll be like a … made to order menu for new mothers who don’t have the time or energy to prepare healthy meals.”

I’d been brewing this idea for a while and had spoken to Kane about it. Unsurprisingly, he’d instantly been supportive and had already made calls to the people I needed to be in contact with to make it happen. Though I had plenty of my own connections in the culinary space too. I’d also put out feelers and had several companies jumping at the chance to have my name on this.

But it wouldn’t be just mine. It would be Maisie’s too.

“Partners,” I said. “Both of us.”

Her eyes welled. “You’re serious.”

I nodded. My sister had her hobbies, friends, but she’d devoted her life, her early twenties, to being a mother. She’d worked part-time when she was a single mother but now she didn’t need to. Though she seemed perfectly content, I sensedthat she was looking for something new, another purpose as her boys grew older.

“If you don’t want to, don’t feel pressure.” I suddenly felt self-conscious. I had only just started to get to know my sister again; this was presumptuous. Business and family didn’t mix. It was a recipe for disaster.

“I want to,” she clutched my hand. “I love the idea, Avery.”

So the ‘Made from the Hart’ company was born. Kind of a corny name, but I liked it.

We were still in the development stage, figuring out production, scale, packaging, ingredients. But I had a good feeling about it. This was not cheap cookware I was simply putting my name on. This was something immensely personal. This was family. This was my way of helping other mothers who desperately needed it.

And my way of creating something with Maisie.

It added to my pressures, but I was learning to delegate. To switch off from my business and be present in our home.

I’d cooked for us. Nothing fancy, shrimp scampi with herbs from our garden.

Kane was inside doing the dishes, having banished me to the porch with a glass of wine and orders to relax. As if such a thing were possible.

Even with all the changes, the nightmares and anxiety lessening, I still hadn’t learned how to relax. There was always something to be done. With the restaurant, the house. Then I had to eat, shower, sleep. Even with help, the to-do list was never-ending. Even with all the help.

It did take a village.

And I needed it.

But then there were the nights of Mabel splashing in the bath, reading stories with her father and us putting her to bed. There were nights of quiet meals and easy conversation, an oldyet hot attraction simmering between us. We hadn’t devolved to the ‘roommate stage’ like everyone scaremongered us into expecting.

There were days and nights when we spoke only about bowel movements, nap times and feedings. But we were still each other. Somehow.

The door opened, then Kane emerged, his cheeky grin lit up by the last rays of sunlight. For a moment we were in a crowded party, eyes meeting across the room, electricity buzzing between us.

My body responded just like it had that day. Viscerally, passionately.

“You look relaxed, Chef,” he observed, coming to grasp my hips then seemingly effortlessly pulling me out of the chair, sitting in it himself then repositioning me on his lap. My body practically purred at the contact.

I leaned into him, inhaling the scent of him mixed with the sea breeze and a faint whiff of Mabel’s spit-up. It comforted me. All of it.

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