“I think the flavor profile is a bit too summery for the fall release of the article, but I saw the strawberries and the lemon and thought, what the heck. I’ll have some fun and experiment.”
I’ve experimented all right. Making five new desserts for the boys to try. The dark chocolate cylinder filled with a smoked hazelnut praline cream that I thought of when we were at the bakery in Boston was an instant success, and I even impressed myself when I created a mozzarella cheesecake topped with a blackberry compote.
I didn’t burn a single thing, didn’t struggle with any part of it. I was happy and excited to feed the people I’ve come to care about more than I knew I was capable of. So much relief courses through me knowing I can still succeed in what I’m best at.
“Dad, what do you think?”
The one person I want to impress takes another bite of the lemon curd. “Phenomenal. As always.”
I can feel my smile beaming under the lights in the kitchen, seeing him so proud of me. This is why I do what I do, to make sure he knows I’m doing something with my life that’s made it worth him giving up his own.
I feel better today, like I’m on the right track to getting back to where I was before all the pressure hit, and I know a huge reason for that is Kai.
The fact that he would organize this for me—no one has ever done something so thoughtful. He played sous chef all night, getting me ingredients when needed and cleaning up after I was done using a bowl or spatula. He wore the proudest grin on his face the entire time and I’ve never loved being in the kitchen more than I did with him here next to me. The only thing that would’ve made it better was for Max to be sitting on the counter too, but it’s long past his bedtime.
I was clean tonight, organized too. Nothing like I am when I bake with Max. I was more of the well-known pastry chef who helps kitchens earn Michelin stars, though I still had my tattoos showing, my septum ring in, and felt more like myself in the kitchen than I ever have before.
But the scary revelation is, I truly don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to work without Kai’s encouraging words quietly spoken in my ear or his hand resting on my lower back to check if I need anything.
Tonight was perfect. He was perfect because he always is.
And in two weeks, I won’t have him next to me any longer.
I meet him at the sink where he’s washing dishes, wanting to be wherever he is. I lean back on the counter, facing him.
“Great job, Mills,” he says, a proud smile quirking his lips.
“Thank you. And thank you for tonight. This was . . . just what I needed.”
“Feeling better?”
I nod, wanting to lean up on my toes and break my own rules, to press my mouth to his and thank him. He’s so handsome, so kind. Cares so much for his people.
I want to hide myself in his home forever just so I can call myself one of those people.
Whoa . . . no, I don’t.
“You’re pretty like this,” he says, continuing to wash the dishes I used. “Apron tied around your waist. Hair thrown on top of your head. Creative brain of yours at work. I love getting to see the polished pastry chef not so polished under her chef’s coat.”
“Well, lucky you, maybe tonight you’ll get to see what’s under the apron too.”
“Maybe?” His eyes lighten with excitement. “We’re past playing hard to get, don’t you think?”
I lean into him. “You and me, Malakai, will never be done playing hard to get.”
Bending down, he presses a chaste kiss to the top of my hair, chuckling as he does.
“Violet texted with a date for the photoshoot. Does the Friday before I leave work to have the shoot here?”
“You can do it whenever, Mills. Even if I have to go on a road trip, I’ll figure out childcare for Max.”
“You have a home game that night,” I tell him. “I checked your schedule before I offered that date. There’s something called ‘Family Day’ on the team calendar the following day. I’m not sure what that is.”
Family Day also lands on my birthday, but Kai doesn’t know that.
He swipes the sponge on the inside of a mixing bowl, not meeting my eye. “It’s an event that team management puts on for all the families to come together on the field. Every team I’ve played for has hosted one. There will be food and drinks, that kind of thing. It’s during the series against Atlanta.” He finally looks my way. “Do you think you’ll go to it?”
He doesn’t have to say it, but I know he’s never had anyone there for him at one of these events. I would guess Isaiah had always been too busy with his own season that they couldn’t be there for each other, and yes, this year he’ll have his son, but he’s also going to have me.
“I’m sure your dad would want you there,” Kai adds.
His tone is casual, easy, and detached, just the way I’ve asked him to be, but he shouldn’t be detached when it comes to asking for someone to finally support him.
Hand on his forearm, I trace my fingertips up the thin skin on the inside. “I’ll be there,” I say with conviction. “For you.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes soften before drifting back to the island to check on his teammates and coach, reminding me that they’re here, and maybe wondering why I’m suddenly okay with a bit of PDA.
I lean my head on his bicep, hand wrapped around his arm to hold him while he washes the dishes, forgoing my rules for the moment. “Thank you for tonight.”
He leans his cheek on my hair. “I’d do anything for you, Miller.”
Chapter 28
Miller
It’s organized chaos outside of the stadium in Anaheim. The equipment managers are supervising the loading of the buses as the team finishes showering post-game. Fans are screaming, signs and jerseys in hand, hoping to catch sight of their favorite player before we head to the airport.
Typically, I’d be on the bus already and Max would be asleep, but he’s been fighting a sickness over the past few days and his typical schedule has gone right out the window because of it. I’m equally as tired, dealing with a sick toddler on a road trip, and whatever it is Max has been fighting has finally caught up to me in the form of overwhelming exhaustion.
My head is pounding as I bounce him in my arms near the back entrance of the visitors’ locker room. I’m trying to soothe him, but from what I’ve learned over the last few days, the only person he wants when he doesn’t feel well is his dad. But Kai pitched tonight so I’m sure he’s doing post-game press interviews and some amount of physical therapy.
“You’re okay, Max. Shh.” I run a hand over his back before lightly pressing his head into my shoulder, hoping it’ll force him to rest.
It doesn’t. He wails his little lungs, his cry deafening next to my ear.
“Dadda,” he sobs, his ice-blue eyes rimmed in red as he frantically looks around the busy parking lot. “Dadda!”
“I know. I know. He’ll be out soon.”
He doesn’t stop, somehow finding the lung capacity to scream even louder.
My dad shoots me a quick, worried glance from across the lot, but he’s so busy going over scouting reports with the rest of the coaching staff that I simply shake him off, telling him I’m fine.
Everyone has a job to do, and this is mine.
But I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I know how to have fun with Max, how to figure out what he needs, whether that’s food, sleep, or a diaper change. But I have no idea how to help him when he’s this sick or upset.
I don’t have that motherly intuition, and I’m not sure if it’s because I lost my own at such a young age or what, but this might be the first time in my life that I’m bitter over the fact I didn’t have her around longer to learn those instincts from.
When I excel at something, I have the satisfaction of knowing I belong, that I’m worth the investment. Whether that be the chefs that invested in me by selecting me for exclusive internships, or knowing that my dad invested his life by adopting me when he wasn’t exactly in the position to take on that responsibility. At least I’ve made a name for myself.