Page 3 of Detention with Daddies

“Pistachio crusted salmon and white truffle risotto.” His copper brow lifts, and a teasing smile twists his mouth. He’s more orange than I am. My ginger gene manifested redder with pale skin and freckles, like Mom, while he came out ruddier, like Dad.

My stomach growls, and I pick up the scents he mentioned, flooding my mouth with saliva. “You have enough for me, right?”

His smile transforms into a proud, knowing grin. “Of course. You’re my best taste tester. Your palate is the closest to my boss’s that I have access to.”

“Ooo, high praise.” I waggle my brows at him and come around the counter to check out his progress. A nice crust is forming on the salmon, nutty and buttery scents mingling in a dreamy way.

He bumps me out of the way, gently, and adds more stock to the risotto, stirring until it absorbs. “So, how did your thing go this morning?”

“Good. I’ve been approved, and I get to start looking for test subjects now. There are a few hoops to jump through for that whole thing, but I’m excited to get started. I’ve got my fliersand posts drafted, and I need to go through them again before I submit them to the Institutional Review Board. Then I can start collecting names, et cetera…” I grab a green juice from the fridge. It’s got a bit of sugar, but at least they come from natural sources.

“Sounds like you’re just at the beginning and have a whole lot to do before you can really get going.” He slides me a knowing look. I’ve always undertaken huge projects. It’s my happy place.

I like to keep busy and feel like I’m doing something productive. “Yeah, but you know me. No challenge too big.”

“Oh, I know.” Theo’s arm comes around me for a side hug. “My little sister has drive.”

I pinch him in the side. “Must just be copying my big brother.”

Because, honestly, Theo has always been driven too. Passionate about food. We’ve known since he was a teen that he’d be a chef, and he’s on his way. Sous chef at one of the few fancy restaurants we have in town—the Brass Fox.

I, of course, get to benefit from all of his recipe testing on his days off. It means I get to eat like a posh socialite once a week. It’s a hell of a perk for supporting him.

“Need me to do anything?” I settle on the other side of the island to watch him cook.

“Nah. I’m almost done. Another ten minutes or so.” He multitasks in the kitchen in a way that I could never replicate. “So how did your professor like the cannoli?”

I roll my eyes. “I honestly don’t think he’s even going to try one, but I left the box with him anyway. He’s one of those health nuts, and I doubt he’ll let himself indulge.”

Theo gives me a knowing look. “Ah, one of them. You’re sure he’s the right one to be over your project?”

“Yes. Because if I can convince him, I have a better chance at convincing everyone else.”

Pride shines in his gaze. “Good point.”

“You should never doubt me.” I lift my chin like I’m royalty before I break down into giggles. “How’s Lucy? I haven’t seen her around the last few weeks.”

“Yeah, she’s good. I’ve been going over there after my shifts this last week since she works so early. It’s easier.” His ruddy cheeks darken a little. We share a lot, but he still gets embarrassed when we talk about Lucy. It has to be because she’s the first woman he’s been serious about.

Serious enough to introduce to us, even if he keeps her to himself most of the time. “You sure you’re just not embarrassed by your family?”

His bark of laughter is warm. “Nah. At least not you.”

I grin at him. “Mom, however…”

“Man. I thought Lucy was bad about pushing me to think about marriage, but if I let her near Mom for too long, they’re going to have my whole life planned out before I can take a breath.”

His exasperation is familiar. Mom pushed and pulled at us our whole lives. It comes from having an alcoholic as our grandmother. I get it, but it’s so unnecessary. Dad always has to distract her with his gentle reproach and a whole lot of love.

As much as I want to bolt the moment he tugs her into his lap on the recliner and gives her a solid kiss to calm her down, I’m glad they have a good relationship. I know far too many people who don’t have parents—family—like I do.

The garage door sounds, signaling Mom’s arrival back home.

“She has uncanny timing, doesn’t she?” Theo turns off the burners and pulls three plates from the cabinet.

“Or do you have impeccable timing?” Mom’s always home for lunch when Theo has the day off. I can’t blame her. I don’t miss an opportunity to eat what he makes either. And I never wantto bug him to make something when he works twelve-hour days, six days a week, doing just that.

Mom bustles in, a knowing smile plastered across her pale face. Red hair is swept up in a messy bun and flyaways halo her face. She reminds me of a stocky elf—strong and happy. It makes her beauty more real.

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