Page 30 of Hot Momosa

“They need washing, too.” I held my hand out to him.

He shrugged and walked into the shower. “Why-a-hell not.”

Wincing, I stepped into the shower.

Dahlia’s going to kill me.

Ten minutes later, Gunnar and I entered the kitchen squeaky clean and wearing dry clothes. I parked him on the kitchen floor with a sack of his favorite toys.

Gunnar clapped his hands and did a little dance before dumping everything on the tile.

Grinning like an idiot, I gathered the ingredients to make breakfast, including the ancient waffle maker. I couldn’t remember where it had come from, or the last time I’d used it.

“Mamma!” Gunnar grinned like the Cheshire cat.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Dahlia kissed the top of his head on the way to the coffee, but stopped short when she spotted the waffle maker. “I was wondering where that went. I turned my kitchen inside out looking for it.”

“I didn’t realize you’d left it here.” Memories of making waffles with her filled my mind. We’d started out strong, but gotten distracted making out and burned them beyond all recognition.

How could I have forgotten?

“Are you okay?” She cocked her head.

I waved her off. “Yeah, just zoned-out there for a minute. How’s the ankle?”

“Sore, but the swelling is down. Is it okay if I borrow an ace bandage?”

“Take whatever you need.” I nodded toward the boy. “Gunnar and I had a shower. Looks like I’m going to need to do laundry and buy some more sheets.”

“Uh oh.” She made a sour face. “Did it soak through to the mattress?”

“Doubt it. I put an industrial strength liner on it when Marco was in college. He crashed here a lot back then. Didn’t want the bed to get an STD.”

“STD.” Gunnar repeated the acronym several times.

Dahlia frowned.

Shit. “Not STD. STP. They’re a rock band from before you were born.”

“S-T-P?” His brows rose.

“That’s right.” Rather than opening my mouth and risk more bad words falling out, I focused on making the damned waffles.

“Do you have plans today? Are you sure you’re up for babysitting this afternoon?” Dahlia sat at the kitchen table and sipped her coffee.

“It’s not babysitting…” I glanced to the little guy and lowered my voice. “…when it’s my own son.”

Her expression softened. “You know what I mean. Are you sure you have time?”

I needed to swing by my hotel, grab some groceries, and make a stop at the Marchionni Corporation. However, I didn’t want my son anywhere near Harrison Meriwether. “Nothing that can’t wait until later…or tomorrow, if you’re uncomfortable staying here alone for a couple of hours.”

“Sorry I overacted last night. We’ll be fine here while you’re gone.”

“I should pick up some kid-friendly food. Make a list of anything else you need while I finish breakfast.”

“Sure, but I’m hoping we’ll be out of your hair in a day or two.” She walked to the junk drawer and pulled out a pen and paper.

For the first time in my life, I couldn’t make heads or tails of her behavior. Why would she make a list if she was leaving? “You’re welcome to stay.”

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