Cooking Up Romance. Lynne Marshall
for a chicken wrap. She made a strange expression when Lacy handed the food to her, as if time had stopped for a moment when they looked at each other. After she took the wrap, the young woman started to step away, but quickly turned back. “Eva?” she said, sounding incredulous.
Lacy shook her head. “Uh, nope, I’m Lacy.”
“Oh.” The woman kept staring eerily at her. “Thanks.”
“I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. Thanks.” She looked up again. “You look exactly like Eva.”
Absurd, right? Yeah, all redheads look alike. Heard that one a few thousand times before. Though under the circumstances, the wedding and all, plus the fact the young woman wore a really cool blue hat, Lacy wanted to be polite.
“Don’t they say everyone has a doppelgänger?” A nervous laugh escaped Lacy’s mouth as she said it, doing her best not to let on the young woman’s observation had unsettled her.
“Wow. You laugh just like her, too.” A dumbfounded expression accompanied the hat-wearer as she held the bag with the chicken wrap tight to her chest and walked backward, staring at Lacy the entire time until the crowd curtained her. Then the brunette’s hand, holding a cell phone, rose over a couple of heads.
Lacy swore she’d just had her picture taken.
Sunday night, Zack sat at the kitchen table and caught up on some paperwork while his ten-year-old daughter, Emma, heated canned soup in a pot and made her one and only specialty—grilled cheese sandwiches.
“Dad, can I cut up some carrots and add it to the soup? It’ll make it more healthy.”
“Hmm?” Concentrating on organizing business receipts, he’d only tuned in for the last couple words. “Healthier,” he corrected. Their deal was, if she wanted to cook, which she wanted to do all the time lately, he had to be in the kitchen with her.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” She let go a large and loud sigh, her current favorite thing to do whenever he corrected her or didn’t pay enough attention, which he’d just done both.
“Sure.” He laid down his pencil and pushed the pile of papers aside, because he had some making up to do and business could wait. Since his divorce, he’d made a promise to himself, on behalf of Emma, to be all he could be for his daughter. “I’ll watch.”
Another sigh, but she also smiled, a look he treasured. He stood nearby as she used the peeler and carefully cut small round pieces from the thin carrot, then tossed them into the heating chicken-and-rice soup. She smiled up at him again as she did, making his insides warm right up to his chin. How could his ex-wife turn her back on their daughter?
He squeezed her shoulder. “Good job,” he said, which garnered another smile from her.
Emma had the cutest overbite in the world, and he dreaded the day some friend might tease her about it and she’d suddenly be all about getting braces or those new invisible things. The condition affected her two front teeth as if her tongue—or thumb as a baby—had pushed them that way. Mild at best, the teeth only stuck out a tiny bit. And yes, she had sucked her thumb back then. Self-soothing, the pediatrician had called it. Soon enough, when she and her friends started taking selfies and she could compare her smile with theirs, she’d probably catch on and become self-conscious about the small imperfection. Why did everyone need to have perfect teeth anyway? He loved her just the way she was.
“You gonna watch me grill the sandwiches?”
“Of course.”
“I know how to be safe. When’s the last time I got burned?” Occasionally she’d test out being a preteen, and without a woman’s input he was often taken off guard.
“I can’t remember.” It was easy being benevolent with Emma. Come to think of it, he was the last person to get burned while scrambling eggs, but he didn’t need to remind her.
“You can set the table.” At ten she’d already learned to delegate—his kind way of avoiding calling his daughter bossy. He figured it was because Emma didn’t have a mother figure, and his guilt over that helped him put up with a lot. Not that she was spoiled. He cleared his throat. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start the sandwiches.”
He did a double take. “Yes, ma’am.” She looked like a natural standing on a footstool, fixing their dinner. When had she become so grown-up?
She’d had to suffer through his mediocre cooking since her mother left a year and a half ago. Mona was only so-so in the kitchen, too, so the poor kid didn’t exactly have the best training. Lately, though, Emma had discovered the Junior Chefs series on TV and had been nagging him to let her take cooking lessons. At ten? How would he even go about finding a person to teach a child cooking? The kids on that show probably had parents who were culinary geniuses. Was cooking an inherited trait? If so, sweet Emma was doomed.
She may have inherited the brown hair and eyes from her mother, but their personalities were miles apart. For that he was deeply grateful. Where Emma was naturally bright and sunny, even if a little bossy, Mona had always been moody and hard to read. Maybe because she’d been more interested in flirting with doctors at the hospital in Ventura, where she’d worked, than keeping a home going and teaching her daughter how to grill herself a sandwich. Or better yet, making one for her. But he’d promised not to be resentful about the whole mess of their failed marriage, so he took a breath and tried to let it go.
Mona had cheated on him exactly once, that she’d admit to anyway. She said it was just her luck that she had gotten caught. Not by him. No. By the hospital, while making out in the ward supply closet with one of the orthopedic residents. Turned out they’d been doing more than that at various spots in the hospital for months. Which blew her one-off excuse right out of the water. For once, justice had been served, since both nurse and doctor lost their jobs.
When Zack filed for a divorce, Mona moved out. He’d assumed a custody battle would follow, but it never happened. He shook his head at the incredulous memory. How could she leave this beautiful child behind? Not even fight for her. He squeezed Emma’s shoulder again after she flipped the sandwiches and gazed up proudly at him. “See? I know how to be careful.”
“Well done.”
They’d gotten off to a rocky start after Mona had left, Emma hurt and missing her mom, him angry and nearly devastated by Mona’s lies. But they’d made it through their first Christmas, then Easter and both of their birthdays together, and they seemed to be getting the hang of this father-daughter thing. Just the two of them. His little girl deserved a happy normal life, and he was determined to give it to her.
Cooking lessons. Where did you send a kid for such things?
She made an exaggerated inhale. “Sure smells good. My mouth is watering.” Her chocolate-colored eyes lit up. “Remember that delicious wrap you brought home for me Friday?”
How could he forget. It was the best meal he’d had all week. “Yeah, you wouldn’t share it with me.”
“Because you already had your half!”
True, but he could’ve easily eaten the rest without Emma ever knowing about it.
“Anyways,” she said, “That would’ve gone great with this soup.”
“So will the grilled cheese. You have a knack for pairing food.”
Raising a ten-year-old daughter by himself often baffled him. He only wanted to do right by her, but he worried in the beginning he messed up more than he got things right. Their life together was leveling out now, the two of them had gotten closer, and he cared about this small human being more than he ever thought possible. The last thing he wanted to do was throw things out of kilter again.
He’d