Page 32 of The White Picket Fence

They set to work, Kayla a quick learner. The girl was so good at slicing vegetables for the stir-fry that Charlotte knew she’d had some experience cooking.

“I cut up vegetables for my dad when he cooks,” Kayla said when Charlotte mentioned her skill. “I never really paid attention to the cooking part, though. I was always ready to be done, to go do things with my friends.” She paused, her expression miserable. “I should have spent more time with my dad. What if he dies? I should have stayed with him when he made dinner and not run out to hang out with my friends.”

Charlotte dried her hands and smoothed a hand over Kayla’s hair. “Honey, I don’t know your dad very well, but he is so proud of you. Everyone who walked in his store knew that. He told me that he wished that he didn’t have to depend on you kids so much for help stocking shelves, that he wanted you to have normal childhoods. I’m sure he didn’t mind that you went to hang with your friends as long as you did your chores.”

“I did. I always did.”

She lifted Kayla’s chin with her finger. “Then don’t be sad about wanting to spend time with your friends. Now, are you ready to season the chicken?”

Kayla forced a grin, but the shadows in her eyes remained. “Do I have to stick my hand up inside it?”

Charlotte chuckled. “No.”

“Then I’m ready.”

“Good. The chicken is the easy meal. We just drizzle some olive oil on it, then rub this seasoning mix into it, and then put it in the oven with some veggies. I’m sending home a bag of the seasoning mix with you, and I’ll email you the recipe, along with written instructions for everything we’ll do tonight.”

“And the beef and broccoli? Is that easy, too?” Kayla asked.

“It is. I normally use a wok for that, but I’m going to start you with a skillet. Maybe next time we can play with the wok.”

Kayla’s smile bloomed, sweet and genuine. “Next time?”

“Do you want more lessons?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

They worked together well, Kayla soaking up the attention. Tino stayed quiet behind them, only leaving his seat at the island to grab vegetables to snack on. Most of the time he was bent over his sketch pad, his pencil flying, and Charlotte remembered the boy he’d been, always drawing something.

Usually me.

“I kept them for a long time,” she murmured while Kayla was occupied with adding oil to a skillet for the stir-fry. “The sketches you made of me.”

Tino looked up, his eyes meeting hers, dark and intense. “You did?”

“Until my ex found one. He was angry. Said it was like I was cheating on him. In a way, he was right. He was...well, he wasn’t you.”

Tino sucked in a harsh breath. “You wanted him to be me?”

Her smile was sad. “By then I’d realized what I’d given up.”

“Then why didn’t you come home?” he whispered.

To mewent unspoken.

“I was embarrassed,” she whispered back. “And afraid. I figured I’d burned the bridge with you and you’d never forgive me.”

“I did. Eventually,” he added wryly. “Took a while.” His gaze flicked behind her, and she turned to find Kayla quietly waiting.

“I finished adding the oil,” Kayla said. “But I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Charlotte knew she was blushing. “You’re not interrupting. We were just...talking.”

Kayla’s lifted eyebrows spoke volumes about what she thought of Charlotte’s lame attempt at denial.

“Fine,” Charlotte said. “We were reminiscing. We dated in high school.”

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