Page 69 of Wylder Ranch
“You’ve already been fed,” I grumble, watching her trot straight in like she owns the place.
But being the enabler I am, I pour out her food along with Blackberry’s and leave them to it. Everly guzzles down her bottle as usual, and throwing a cloth over my shoulder, I burp her while figuring out what to do with the pancake batter.
Toast is usually my limit, though I have breakfast five days a week at Burlington before I head over to the office. But what the hell, I’m feeling brave. I’m agirl dad,and I’ll have breakfast going by the time Haven wakes up.
“Can’t be that hard, can it, Evey? I’m sure Daddy’s capable of making pancakes.”
The pan’s still out from last night, but I add more oil and turn on the stove. I’m guessing it should boil or something before the mix is poured in, so I make a coffeewhile I wait and watch. It doesn’t boil, but it does start hissing a little.
I’m in two minds whether to text Hendricks to ask if I’m doing it right, because he’s the only one of us who can legitimately cook, but he’d only take the piss.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have had the burner on full, and I should have used a ladle to pour the batter instead of the jug, as it came out too fast. The moment it hits the pan, the oil spits and bubbles; the flames under the burner fire up, and the batter smokes black.
Fuck.
It takes me a second to get everything under control, waft a tea towel through the smoke, and calm the situation. And peering at the pancake, it’s a little crisp around the edges, but it’s still definitely edible.
I turn around to grin at an oblivious Everly spinning the colored bricks attached to her bouncer.
“Phew, close call, sweetheart.” I wink confidently.
However, there’s a thin line between being confident and being cocky, and I crossed it when I forgot about the smoke alarm.
By the time I manage to stop its high-pitched wailing, Everly’s crying, Dolly is howling, and Blackberry’s scarpered.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I grunt at nothing in particular while I try to soothe my daughter by lifting her out of the bouncer. “Sorry, sausage, Daddy’s an idiot.”
“Quite the wake-up call.”
Spinning around, I come face to face with Haven, and all my annoyance melts away.
My cheeks immediately warm, reminiscent of a bashful teenager seeing the girl he’s crushed on forever inschool assembly the morning after their first kiss.
Wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, wet hair twisted into a knot, showing off rounded cheekbones and the graceful curve of her neck, I can’t take my eyes off her. I can never take my eyes off her, but this morning. . . she’s stunning.
I like Haven, and I want her to like me. It’s a weird thing to say, but I’m so aware of not fucking this up and already praying the past fifteen minutes doesn’t count.
“Sorry,” I say again, this time to her, as she eases our daughter out of my arms and kisses her. “The alarms are particularly sensitive because the roofs are thatched. Probably another reason I shouldn’t ever attempt to cook. Let’s try again. Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Her light laugh doesn’t help to ease the tension because she’s still standing close enough to me that I can see every freckle on her nose and breathe in the perfume of her shampoo. Her eyes seem even greener from this angle, her neck elongates toward me, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s angling for me to kiss her.Maybe.
It might be wishful thinking, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take and find out.
My lips have barely touched hers when sirens blare too loudly to ignore. A thunderous banging on the front door follows it. Peering out the window, I see three fire trucks and a dozen firefighters unloading hoses.
Fuck my life.
“What happened today, Al?”
Miles’s smirk says he knows exactly what happened today.
The whole of Valentine Nook knows what happened. If Max hadn’t been in school, he would have come by to check out the fire engines.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Haven rubs my arm. It’s a conciliatory gesture because she’s laughing along with Miles. And I want to be annoyed, but I love seeing her laugh, so in the end I grumble something about trying new things.
