Page 8 of Broken Daddy

Eva huffs but jumps down off the counter. At ten, she’s tall for her age, and not afraid of scraping a knee or banging an elbow. She rips off toward her room and it’s just Gen and I, the young chef picking up right where she left off with classic rock.

“Do you mind?” I ask it quietly, in a low voice that gets her attention immediately. She snaps her mouth shut. Is this what she was like in the restaurant’s kitchen? Singing, bubbly,veryawake at 7 a.m.?

“There’s coffee over there, if you want some.”

That sounds delicious, and my annoyance drains away. I’d worship her for a cup of coffee, but I clamp my own mouth shut, not wanting to let her know what I’d be willing to do for a drop of caffeine.

Instead, I maneuver around behind her to the French press. Another item that definitely wasn’t here yesterday.

Gen’s still humming as I pour a cup, and we both turn at the same time. She has a spoon in her hand and as we collide, it flings hot purple goop at my chest.

“Oh my—shit,” she cusses in a squeak, the curse surprising me and momentarily taking my mind off the pain of whatever just splashed on me. It’s trailing down my collarbone in a thick drip, soaking the edge of my shirt collar purple.

I look down at her and growl. We’re only inches apart, Gen’s eyes wide and mouth parted. It’s the gala all over again, only this time she’s not on her knees.

“I’m so sorry,” she gushes, putting a hand on my chest and then immediately pulling away as if she’d been burned. She stutters, hands in the air, spoon steaming. “I—it’s—it’s a berry compote, I didn’t realize you were right behind me—”

The shirt comes off. Slowly. One button at a time, our eyes still locked.

I can see her fighting the urge to drag her gaze over my body as I peel the stained fabric off, ball it up, and clench it in one hand. Her tongue comes out to wet her lips.

“I’ve got work to do today.” It comes out as another growl, ragged and frustrated. Partly because I can’t seem to keep clothes on around her, and partly because all I want is some peace and quiet. “Try to keep it down. And I hope you’re not planning on feeding my daughter sugar every morning.”

I eye the whipped cream, warm syrup, and pile of berries and compote behind her on the counter. Gen’s eyes narrow and she crosses her arms, forgetting entirely about the spoon.

As it touches her skin, she yelps. There’s a streak of purple along the inside of her forearm, and I reach out to grasp her wrist—again reminiscent of that night at The Black Fig.

Without a second thought, I lift her arm to my mouth and lick off the compote. It’s good. Really good, though I don’t need any more sweets in my life.

Gen’s eyes darken and her body sways toward mine before she seems to catch herself. I move away quickly.

“I’ll be in my office.”

Ignoring Gen’s stare, I tower past her and down the dark hallway, trying to catch my breath. Telling myself over and over,This isn’t running away; I just need some peace and quiet.

Chapter5

Genevieve

It takes almost the whole day to get my concentration back after seeing Nate Sharpe shirtless. Inches away. His tongue licking a perfect, slow line to my wrist…

God. Not again.

Shaking the thought off, I curl up on the little pool house sofa and try to focus on a shopping list. Opening the fridge this morning was shocking and I’m happy I brought a few essentials. When Eva ate that first waffle, her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. When was the last time this kid had a proper breakfast?

“A shame,” I mutter to myself, not sure if I mean that Eva isn’t getting a nutritious diet or that Nathan eventually found another shirt.

So far, the list is long and might even take two trips…or at least a few insulated bags. I wiped down the inside of the fridge earlier and already have a great idea for dinner.

Steak medallions on a bed of kale, with ricotta salata, peaches, pickled onions, smashed lemony potatoes…

My mouth waters at the thought. Aside from the waffle I’d scarfed down this morning, I’ve only had half a PB&J. Never a great idea to go shopping on an empty stomach.

The clock over the mantle reads 3:17 p.m. and I startle, standing with a surprised yelp. I better get shopping. With a last glance at the cute little pool house I’m still settling into, I pick up the keys to the car Nathan is letting me drive and head out.

* * *

Two and a half hours later,my concentration breaks again.

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