In seconds, they were in the kitchen. “Maybe you didn’t slave over a hot stove, but I’m pretty sure Mia didn’t set the table.” Mia looked up, her dark eyes wide with excitement. “Or wait—didyou do that, Mia?”
“Uh-huh.” The little girl nodded earnestly as Sierra shut off the oven.
Patting Mia on the head, he asked, “What can I do to help?”
As Sierra grabbed hot pads to pull out the chicken, she asked, “Could you get Mia into her high chair there?”
“Yeah, okay.” Looking down at the child, he asked, “Can I pick you up?” Mia nodded her head earnestly as Mickey knelt down to lift her, holding her on her sides. Then he set her in the high chair and said, “Now what?”
“See those straps? You just snap in those plastic lock thingies and slide her up to the table.”
“No tray?”
“Yeah, there’s a tray, but I keep it in the storage closet. I pull her up to the table so she’s eating more like a toddler and less like a baby…if that makes any sense.”
“It does,” Mickey said, almost sing-songy, to Mia more than Sierra. She could hardly believe how much Mia seemed to like him compared to other men. Yes, Mia adored her Uncle Layne, something Sierra could hardly fathom, and she also loved her grandpa, but most other men seemed to make Mia uneasy—and Sierra didn’t discourage that reaction, considering how many predators seemed to be lurking out there. If Mia didn’t trust strange men, then she had a leg up. At least, Sierra seemed to think so.
But she loved how naturally Mia and Mickey seemed to connect.
“Now what?”
“Oh, um…if you want, you can get Mia some water for her sippy cup.”
“Up here?” he asked, pointing at the cabinets.
“Yep—second one.”
“We’re having chicken and mashed potatoes. So why such a nice table setting?”
“Long story.” Like the lacy red underwear beneath her blouse and jeans, neither of which she was prepared to explain. While Mickey helped fill up drinks and plates, Sierra washed Mia’s face and hands and poured wine for the grownups…all without knowing that Mickey had yet another card up his sleeve that would win not only Mia’s affections but Sierra’s as well.
She would barely stand a chance.
CHAPTER18
An hour later, Sierra’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard. Mickey hadn’t been a comedian growing up, but now he was regaling her with funny stories from the road. Although neither of them had had a dream childhood, both seemed to be making the most of their adult lives—and that he seemed so lighthearted now gave Sierra hope that, when she completely broke free from the oppression of her family, she could laugh and look at life with more levity as well.
“So when we were walking off stage, he asked me if my bass had stopped working or something—and I couldn’t help it. I just started laughing my ass off.”
“Maybe you looked pissed off.”
“I guess.” Mickey picked up his wine glass and drained it. “But I’m telling you it’s more likely just ‘cause the kid was totally sheltered. He’d never been to a rock concert when he applied to be a roadie, so when he saw me smashing the shit out of my bass at the end of the show, he thought I was losing it. I told him it was a cheap piece of shit I’d bought at some store in the mall, and I modified it so it would sound okay—but I only used it for the very last song—and I’d planned on smashing it.”
“Why did you do it?”
“To celebrate the end of my first worldwide tour. And it felt fucking amazing.”
Mia perked up. “Fucking amazing.”
Unable to help himself, Mickey started laughing while Sierra turned to her daughter. Maybe ignoring it wasn’t the best thing, considering she’d said the F word twice in one evening—and quite emphatically. “Um, sweetie…”
“I’m sorry, Mia. That’s a bad word. I won’t say it anymore.”
“Bad word.”
“Yep.” But he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, so he picked up his glass again. “Mind if I refill?”
“Be my guest.” Mickey stood up from the table and walked across to the refrigerator while Sierra asked, “So did you guys scare him enough that he went back home?”