“Wow. Is there enough for me?” Dylan grinned at the girls. He could totally forgo his morning protein shake for this feast.
“Yeah,” Apollo answered without really looking at him. His cheeks were stained pink, which might have been the heat of the cooking, but his shifty eyes said otherwise. Great. Things were going to be awkward after last night.
“Want me to make plates for the starving wildebeests?” Dylan tried to keep his voice light. See, no need to be uncomfortable, dorky man.
“That would be great.” Apollo gestured to a stack of plates on the island. “I usually cut the waffles for them and not too much syrup.”
“Baba! I want a river of sweet!” Chloe pouted even as she took her chair back to the table.
Dylan wanted a “river of sweet” too. Too bad the guy he wanted it with wanted nothing to do with him. He quickly made plates for the girls and delivered them to the table. He moved Sophia, chair and all, back to her spot, which made both girls laugh.
Grabbing a plate for himself, he stepped close to Apollo and dropped his voice. “You know this doesn’t have to be awkward—”
“It’s not.” Apollo’s cheeks were still pink, the liar.
“We just fell asleep. That’s all.”
“Yeah, that’s all,” Apollo mumbled. “Waffle?”
“Sure.” Dylan resisted the urge to roll his eyes because it was clear Apollo wasn’t moving on from their little nap. It wasn’t like they’d made out or even sleep-humped. Hell, Dylan hadn’t even been hard when he woke up...
Wait. Maybe the issue wasn’t that Apollo hated the sleep cuddle. Maybe he’d liked it. Dylan grinned. He loved that theory. “You know, it’s okay if you—”
Buzz. Buzz. Apollo’s phone jangled angrily on the counter. “H—darn it.
“Floros here.” Apollo’s face got tighter and tighter as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the phone. “Yeah. I can be there in forty-five. I’ll try to make it faster.”
“Baba, who was that?” Chloe said as soon as Apollo ended the call. Her little voice uncharacteristically quavered.
“Baba has to go into work. Sorry.” Apollo rubbed his head. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Could be tomorrow even—”
“I’m on it.” Dylan patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Thanks.” Apollo shot him a grateful look. “There’s—oh heck. All this food I bought, but I’m not sure what’s in the freezer for lunch and dinner. I was going to cook.”
“I can handle food. Trust me. We won’t starve.”
“Pizza!” Chloe seemed to have rebounded admirably from learning Apollo would be leaving. “That’s what Ya-Ya would do.”
“I’ll see if I’ve got cash to leave—”
“Go. Get dressed.” Dylan shoved at Apollo’s aircraft-carrier chest. “I’ve got this.”
“Okay, okay.” Apollo kissed each of the girls, then hesitated briefly in front of Dylan before escaping upstairs. Yeah, things weren’t the least bit awkward between them.
A few minutes later, Apollo was back, in uniform, handing out final goodbyes and reminders as Dylan waved him toward the car.
After he was gone, Dylan started cleanup from breakfast. He knew from last weekend that Apollo froze the leftover waffles for the girls’ breakfasts during the week, so he put them away. The fridge was full of produce and big packages of meat. Heck. All that fresh food, and Apollo was scheduled to work the next few days too.
“Hey, girls.” Dylan grabbed the binder and turned to the section labeled Weekly Meal Plan. “How would you like to surprise Baba?”
“What are we going to do?” Sophia brought her plate to the dishwasher.
“We’re going to cook,” he said with a lot more certainty than he felt.
“Can you do that?” Chloe eyed him suspiciously. “You gotta use big people knives, you know.”
“I can handle a knife.”
Several hours and three knuckle Band-Aids later, he wasn’t so sure. He had his tablet propped up on a flour canister, a video on browning meat playing, the girls staging a doll fashion show on the dining area floor, and a zillion storage bags and containers over the counter.
“Is something burning?” Sophia’s nose wrinkled.
“No—yes.” Dylan rescued a pan from the range, but the onions were already black. Apollo’s list of steps made all this sound so easy. “We might have to make some alterations to the meal plan.”
“Baba doesn’t like al-tra-nations.” Chloe danced her doll around the floor.
“Don’t I know it.”
*
Apollo’s back ached. He’d endured a helicopter ride out to a remote desert area where a training exercise was taking place, and he must have sat wrong or tweaked something getting out of the chopper. But when the admiral wanted to personally supervise an exercise, Apollo’s job was to make that happen, not whine about his back. And she’d been right to be concerned about how a young gung-ho LT was handling a no-win scenario for the first time. Felt like a million years ago that had been him, in command for the first time, adrenaline pumping, hell-bent on succeeding. He was glad he’d been able to have a word with the LT, even if he was paying the price now.
Gingerly, he got out of the car. It was often impossible to pinpoint what set his back off, but once again it was horked up. Thank goodness the girls were probably long since asleep—he didn’t want to deal with explaining why Baba couldn’t pick them up. What he wanted was a long soak in the hot tub while he debated whether this was bad enough to take meds. He had to be back at base early the next morning, which didn’t give him a lot of leeway if the meds made him groggy.
“Fu—heck.” Coming into the house, he tripped on a firetruck, making his back muscles protest as he fought to stay upright. Huh. The living room was a wreck—kid toys everywhere, cushions on the floor. In the past two weeks Apollo had gotten used to coming home to a clean house.
“Dylan?” he called out as he made a halfhearted effort to straighten the couch. Do not get angry, he lectured himself. God only knows what sort of day he had with the girls.
“In the kitchen.” Dylan’s voice sounded strained, and Apollo’s senses immediately went on high alert. “Maybe don’t come in here.”
That had Apollo crossing the room faster, back be damned. And holy hell, his kitchen had exploded. Literally. Every available surface had a dish on it, and the sink was overflowing with more dirty dishes. Something red had boiled all over the range, and the oven was covered with floury fingerprints. Dylan was mopping up a spill in front of the sink.
“What the hell?” So much for not being angry.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Dylan said wearily.
“Oh it is.” Apollo kept his voice dry as desert air he’d come from.
“You didn’t text that you were on the way.” Dylan finished with the mop and set it aside. “I’d planned to have everything all put back—”