Page 16 of Rule 5: Never Crush on the Captain
“Help yourself,” I say.
He blinks, then pours Stella and himself glasses of water, too.
“How do you feel about pancakes, Stella?” Vinnie asks.
“I hate pancakes!”
“What?”
I bite back a smile.
“How can you hate pancakes?” Vinnie’s eyebrows are mushed together.
“They don’t taste good.”
He glances at me, and I shrug.
“Maybe your father is terrible at making them,” Vinnie suggests.
I look for something to throw at him. I finally fling a paper towel. It floats through the air, landing nowhere near him, and he snorts.
“Good thing you got into hockey.”
Stella brightens. “Daddy is an excellent hockey player.”
“I know, cupcake,” Vinnie says.
He hands Stella a bowl. “Want to help me break some eggs?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask.
Stella’s lower lip trembles.
“I’ll show you.” Vinnie takes an egg and walks her through how to crack it against the bowl.
He cracks an egg, and Stella stares at the mixture of gold and pale yellow.
“Now you try.” He hands her a new egg from the carton.
Stella nods. She taps the egg against the bowl, her face furrowed in the same concentration she gave to learning to tie her shoes.
Nothing happens, and she glances at him.
I’m used to having these moments with Stella, and it’s strange to see her interact so well with Vinnie.
He’s the dour hockey player, the one with the stern expression, the one who defends me on the ice.
He’s not normally silly and smiling.
At least, not in a long time.
But he’s good with her. I wonder again what made him stop coming over, and why he’s here now.
I tap my fingers against the armchair, nervous energy rushing through me.
I return my attention to the impromptu cooking lesson.
“Good job,” he says to Stella. “Now, use more force.”
