Page 34 of The Renegade Billionaire
“What did you do?” Remain calm, Madi. Remain calm.
“I dumped the box in.” Pops kicks at the floor with the toe of his boot. Is this what Grams dealt with for all those years, or is old age making him more stubborn?
“An entire box of baking soda?”
“And lemon juice,” he mutters. “I like lemon.”
I count silently in my head until I’m sure I can control my tone. “Okay, what was it supposed to be?”
Braxton hands me his phone, and I read through the recipe for a lemon breakfast soufflé.
“We thought if we doubled it, we’d have leftovers for tomorrow. But then doubling it didn’t really work out, so we doubled it again.” Braxton is freaking out. His voice pitches higher each time he speaks, and he’s pacing the small space behind me.
Rubbing my temples, I nod. “Okay, new rule. No one is to make a soufflé in this kitchen ever again.”
“Of course. How can I clean this up? It just keeps…growing.” The man’s eyes are practically bugging out of his head as he surveys the scene before us.
“You know what would be really helpful?”
“What? I’ll do anything,” he says in a rush. “I feel terrible. I was trying to help because you’ve been working so late and this…this is the exact opposite of helping.”
“I appreciate that, I do. Pops is…creative. So, if you could take him over to the diner for breakfast, I’ll get this cleaned up and then hopefully I won’t be late getting to the Chugaloo.”
“Sure. Yeah, I can do that.” He’s rubbing his knuckles along his chest, and I almost feel bad for him.
“Thank you. Pops, behave yourself.”
Pops kisses my cheek and walks with a swagger I haven’t seen in a very long time.
Braxton leans close when Pops is out of earshot. “I truly am sorry about this.”
“I know. A little word of caution, though. Pops means well, but trouble follows him around when he’s left to his own devices. It always has. I have no idea how Grams kept him in check for so many years. But please, keep that in mind if he tricks you into any other…excursions, okay?”
Braxton nods aggressively while tugging on the back of his neck. “Yeah, shit. I feel like a complete asshole. I’ll buy you a new stove if we’ve ruined this one.”
“Thank you, Braxton. That’s not necessary.”I hope. I try to keep my tone light, but he must see the despair I attempt to mask because his shoulders slump and regret is written all over his face.
“I’ll, ah, just take Pops to breakfast then. And again, I’m so sorry about”—he waves his hand around the kitchen—“all of this.”
“It’s okay, I appreciate the effort.” And I do. I don’t remember the last time a man tried to do something nice for me. I need to get out more. I match up couples on-air, for crying out loud. My own dating life should not be so disastrous.
He swallows hard, then leaves me alone with the abominable blob crawling down the oven door.
“Whoa,are you all right, Miss Madi?” Trevon asks as I push through the Chugaloo doors over an hour late.
I’m not sure if Braxton and Pops put marshmallows in their concoction, but that’s the consistency I was working with while attempting to clean out the oven this morning. After an hour, I gave up.
“Just a tough morning. It’s all good.” I give him a too-bright smile.
“Tough?” Blissy scoffs. “Betty told me your boys came into the diner this morning looking glum as roadkill.”
Telling her they’re not, well, thatBraxtonis not “my boy” will get me nowhere, so I ignore it.
“They were trying to be helpful.”
“Was it really overflowing so much it opened the oven door while cooking?” one of our regulars in the coworking space asks.
“It was a mess, but it’s the thought that counts. So, what did I miss here this morning?”
