“What are you making?” he asks.
“I was working on something new. A hazelnut and browned butter tart. Vanilla buttermilk ice cream. Caramelized pear. They’ll be in season in the fall, in time for the article to come out, but”—I gesture to the burned butter—“I didn’t get far.”
“That seems like quite the undertaking for this tiny kitchen.”
“I’ve made more extensive desserts than that in here.”
“Maybe you’re struggling because of the lack of space to create.”
My attention darts back to him. It should be criminal to be that good-looking and so intuitive at the same time.
“Is this why you brought me a beer at 10 a.m. on your day off, Kai? To get me to figure out why I suck at my job so badly?”
“No.” Another swig from his bottle. “You once told me the reason you’re here this summer is because you owe your dad. You also told me you’d explain what that means over beers one morning so I’m here to collect on that promise.”
“Actually, I told you if we got drunk together one morning, I’d tell you. One Corona isn’t going to cut it.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He nods towards the monitor. “I’ve got responsibilities. Single dad and all so one beer is going to have to do it.”
The smile on my lips slowly slides across my face before I cover it with the bottle in my hand. Kai Rhodes relaxing in my van with a drink in his hand would’ve been out of the realm of possibilities only weeks ago, so I’ll take the compromise. He looks good like this.
“You gonna spill, Miller, or what?”
“My dad gave up his entire career for me. His entire life. I owe him to make sure I do something with mine.”
“That’s what this is all about?” He nods towards the stovetop.
I don’t respond, unsure if he’s referring to my career choices or the fact I’ve stayed away for so long, working in kitchens all around the country, but he’d be correct on both counts.
Kai climbs off the bed, taking Max’s monitor with him as he hunches over and hops out of the van. He holds his hand out to me. “Come with me.”
I eye him with skepticism. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to have a heatstroke in that fucking van and I need to show you something.”
“You’re awfully dramatic, Baseball Daddy.”
I place my hand in his, the calluses on his palm rough against mine. I held his hand in bed last week, but I don’t remember the size difference being this comical. It’s no wonder he can alter the path of a baseball as if it were nothing. It must be tiny in his grasp.
As quietly as possible, we enter the house. Max’s toys and playmat take up the entire living room and I love that Kai doesn’t give a fuck about crawling over them every day. This home is his son’s home too and he’s not trying to hide it.
There are endless dishes in the sink that I remind myself to tackle tomorrow. Piles of laundry he needs to fold. Knowing him, he’s going to try to get it all done on his one day off this week, but I’ll pick up the slack when he’s back on the field tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll be annoyed that I helped. He’s prideful like that, wanting to do it all on his own.
Kai ushers me in front of him, the two of us standing by the kitchen island, and that’s when I see it. A brand-new professional-grade mixer sits in the corner of the counter, including dry ingredient storage filled with everything I could need.
“You can’t keep baking in your van,” he says. “It’s too hot and you can barely move in there. Use my kitchen, even when I’m home and you’re not watching Max.”
I slowly step into the space, my hand roaming over the ivory mixer. “You bought this for me?”
“Well, you’re not getting paid to watch my kid; I figured it was the least I could do.”
My head jerks his way, a startled laugh escaping me. “I’m absolutely getting paid this summer. The Warriors are paying me.”
“Oh.” He studies my new work area. “I’ll just return all this then.”
“Don’t you dare.” I hold up an accusatory finger but all it does is bring his stunning smile to life. “It’s beautiful, Kai. Thank you.”
“Thank you. For taking care of Max.” He pauses, his voice softer. “He really likes you.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual.” I look back at the mixer. “You didn’t have to do this, though.”
“You promised to help me find my balance in life. I thought I’d try to help you find your joy.”
My heart cracks at that, opening in a way I don’t want it to. He’s too good, too kind. Too goddamn hot with that backwards hat and that tattooed leg exposed. Guy thighs . . . who would’ve known they were my new kryptonite?
“So, what’s next?” He casually leans back on the counter, ankles crossed. “After your interview with Food & Wine.”
What is next? I haven’t thought that far.
My entire life, I’ve thrived on achievements. All-American softball pitcher in high school. Check. Top of my class in culinary school. Check. Named the best in my field by winning the highest honor in my industry. Check.
So, what comes after there are no more checkmarks left to chase?
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Will your debt be repaid?”
“What debt?”
“The non-existent debt you owe Monty for adopting you. That’s what you meant in Miami, right? You feel like you owe him for what he gave up for you.”
For fuck’s sake. Is it an older guy thing? A single parent thing? Or am I that obvious?
“I’m not that dense, Miller. You love him yet you’re never around. Is that why you’ve stayed away? Because you feel guilty?”
“Can you not be so mature and intuitive for like two seconds?”
He shifts, stepping closer. “Miller—”
I hold my hands up to stop him. “I just . . . after everything he’s done for me, he deserves to live the life he missed out on.”
Kai’s brows pinch. “The life he missed out on? He misses you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. He never used to talk about you. Did you know that? He and I are close, and I thought you were a kid because Monty never talks about you. I think he missed you so much, it hurt him to bring you up. And now? In the weeks since you’ve been around, he hasn’t shut up. He’s beaming like a fucking dork. There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”
I don’t respond because I don’t have to have this conversation with him. I don’t want to have this conversation with anyone, including myself.
He sighs, somewhat defeated. “Use my kitchen while you’re here. Figure out your recipes. Learn how not to burn the butter like an absolute amateur.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, letting the tension drift away.
“But Miller, we’re gonna have a real problem if this article and award you’re so stressed about is due to some misplaced guilt. Like you owe your dad for what he’s done, and you think you can repay him with accolades.”
“I just want him to be proud of me. After everything, he deserves an impressive daughter.”
“He has one.”
I roll my eyes. “You hated me up until like five days ago.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Sorry, six days ago.”
“You freaked me out.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Got that.”
“No. I mean with how much Max liked you right away. That freaked me out. I’m worried about him getting attached.”
Wait. What?
I figured it was the way I spoke my mind or my lack of childcare experience that scared Kai in the beginning. Not once did I think he was worried about me connecting with his son.
“The first thing that happened in Max’s life was the woman who was supposed to love him left. I don’t want him to get used to the people he loves leaving him.”
“But I am leaving.”
“So you’ve said.” His exhale is resigned. “We’ll deal with it when we get there. For now, I want him to enjoy traveling with the team as much as he can, and I think you’re the key to that. He’s happy. He’s safe with you. We’ll figure out the rest come September.”