Killian smirks like he can read my mind as he reaches for his shirt on one of the shelves.
"Hey mom!" Chloe yells, barging through the swinging doors. "Ugh. Totally gross. Why is your shirt off? I don't need to see that."
I laugh at her bluntness, but choke and wind up coughing loudly. Killian scrambles into his shirt, and when I look up, I think I see a faint blush on his cheeks. Oh my God. Is the caveman embarrassed?
"I didn't know anyone was here," he says.
Chloe walks over to the refrigerator and throws open the door with a bang. "You're probably getting sweat everywhere, you know," she yells. "Did you know sweat contains bacteria?"
"He's bringing in a delivery, Chloe," I say.
"It was warm outside," Killian explains.
Chloe reappears with a bowl of cut-up fruit. "No, it's not," she argues. "We had to wear jackets at recess today, and East took his off, and then Mrs. S told him to put it back on so he didn't catch a cold."
"That's not really how colds work," Killian says. "Is East a kid?"
"Yeah," Chloe says, popping a grape into her mouth. "That's his name. East."
Killian snorts. "Who names their kid something dumb like that?"
I clear my throat and glare at Killian. "Do you have anywhere else to be?"
Chloe's eyes get wide. "See, mom?" she asks, looking at me and then back to Killian. "I said it was a stupid name and I got two of my toys taken away because mom said I shouldn't say mean things. This guy just said 'dumb'."
Killian shrugs. "Some things are self-evident."
"Mr. Saint shouldn't have used the word 'dumb'," I say sternly. "Because we don't call people dumb. How would you like it if someone called you those things?"
"I didn't call East dumb!" Chloe protests. "I said his name was stupid, and I didn't say it to him, I said it to you. If I said it to him, that would be mean."
"We don't say other people's names are dumb!" I reiterate firmly.
Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. "He said it."
"He's an adult, and sometimes adults say stupid things," I blurt out. I immediately regret my choice of words.
"You just said stupid! Now you have to lose a toy."
"I don't have any toys to lose." I think I hear Killian cough and then clear his throat. Of course. I'm sure he assumes I'm a hard-up single mom with a drawer full of battery-operated toys. Okay, so that’s not far removed from reality. "Why don't you take your fruit out to the table and do your homework?"
Chloe ignores me. Instead, she looks at Killian through narrowed eyes and pops a piece of pineapple into her mouth. "Are you working for my mom?"
"He's helping out for a little bit, yes, Chloe. What did I say about your homework?"
"This is a bakery," Chloe says, frowning as she looks at him. "Only girls work in bakeries."
"That's not true," I say. I swear I’ve taught her better than that.
Killian interrupts. "You've never seen a male chef?" he asks, his voice gruff. "Men can work in bakeries just fine."
"How would you like it if someone told you that you couldn't play with something because it was a boy's toy?" I ask.
"That's what East says at school whenever I try to do math," Chloe complains. "He says girls can't do math."
"Well, there you go, East does sound like a stupid kid," Killian says.
"Killian!" I hiss. I'm going to kill him.
"I know." Chloe nods sagely as she looks at Killian. "But I'm not going to tell him that because that would be mean. I'll just think it in my head when I look at him."
"Homework," I growl.
“I’m going!” she says. “But don’t forget swim lessons!”
“I’ll only be a few minutes. You have time to do at least five math problems.”
“Two,” she says casually, as she walks out the door.
“This is not a negotiation!” I call. When she’s gone, I turn to look at Killian. “That’s not true,” I admit, exhaling heavily. “Everything’s a negotiation.”
Killian shrugs. “At least she’s got opinions.”
“That’s for sure. You stayed here to wait for the delivery?”
“I heard you say they were late. I wasn't about to leave Opal here to move this stuff.”
“We usually just let the delivery guy in and he leaves it all in a pile here.”
Killian shrugs again. “Didn’t have anything else to do anyway."
“You might want to get some friends,” I suggest.
“Are you volunteering?”
“Not to be the kind of friend you’re talking about,” I call, walking to my office. “Office” is a polite term for the room in the back corner of the kitchen that’s approximately the size of a closet. It has just enough room for my desk and a chair and a filing cabinet.
After I grab the paperwork and file a stack of receipts, I walk back into the kitchen to find that Killian has already put everything from the delivery away where it belongs.
“What kind of friend do you think I’m talking about?” he asks. I stop short as I walk right in front of him. There's all this space in the kitchen, and somehow I keep winding up mere inches away from him. How does this keep happening?