Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

A few minutes later, after I’d fetched myself an extremely cold glass of water, I was joined in the kitchen by Xavier and Sofia while I stood in front of the fridge trying to figure out what the hell to make. Sofia had changed into a purple princess costume with aquamarine sequins, while Xavier had long since shucked his suit jacket and tie, looking considerably more casual with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos twisting around one forearm. The effect, however, was balanced by a bright pink boa tied around his neck.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Sofia complained as she climbed onto one of the barstools on the other side of the counter.

I looked up from the fridge and grinned when I caught sight of the two of them. “Well, don’t you two look dashing.”

Xavier reddened, but to his credit, made no move to remove the boa.

“How about spaghetti, Betty?” I asked, turning back to the fridge. “I can whip it up while you introduce Xavi to the wonders of Moana .”

“My name’s not Betty,” Sofia screwed her face up adorably like she always did when I made that terrible joke. “And we had that yesterday. We have that all the time. Can’t we have something else?”

I grimaced and looked back into the fridge. I wasn’t very good at improvising—had never had to be a good cook when we had several much better ones in my family. Nonna was a force, of course. Marie was getting there, and Matthew and Lea both knew their way around a stove. The best I could usually do was boxed pasta or some sandwiches—otherwise I was happy enough heating up my brother’s leftovers.

Except when I had a professional freaking chef to dinner.

Crap.

“Grilled cheese?” I suggested feebly.

“Let me.”

I turned to find Xavier at my elbow, one hand taking the top of the door so he could open it wider, essentially caging me against the opening. His broad chest just barely brushed my shoulder blades. Despite being caged against the cold, I was suddenly very hot.

“Sorry. We don’t have much. I, um, wasn’t expecting you to come over today.” Again, that salty-sweet scent of his made it very hard to think.

“I know,” he said gruffly, apparently oblivious to my sudden stupor. He reached around me to grab several items off the door, then started pawing through the crispers. “Excuse me.”

Obediently, I stepped back, as much to find my bearings again as to allow him to forage. At least I’d cleaned it out before Matthew had left. Still, this was getting absurd. I had invited him here to meet his daughter, not put me in a tizzy. I needed to get a hold of myself.

“This was my favorite meal when I was about your age,” Xavier said as he turned around and set out a bunch of different ingredients on the counter beside the stove. “We’re going to do it a bit funny, but I think it will taste all right.”

He started to turn on the stove, but before he did, he tipped his head at me, clearly indicating that I needed to be on the other side of the counter with Sofia. “Off you go.”

“Oh!” Happily, I scurried around and took the other stool.

Together, Sofia and I watched as Xavier removed his boa and gave it to Sofia. She and I both watched eagerly as he found one of the aprons Matthew stashed in the pantry and quickly tied it around his trim waist. This was clearly his comfort zone. Every movement he made was efficient and graceful.

“Anchovies?” I said as I looked over the assembled ingredients while Xavier located a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets. “I promise she won’t like those, and neither do I. Fish, remember?”

Xavier tossed the small jar onto the counter next to a bag of coleslaw mix I’d grabbed on sale, a bunch of green onions, plus mayonnaise, ketchup, and soy sauce I didn’t even know we had.

“You’ll like what I do with them,” he informed me.

“What’s anchovies?” Sofia wondered.

“Zio sometimes puts them in sauces,” I told her. “They’re a really salty fish.”

Sofia wrinkled her nose and looked like she was about to shout “Yuck!” and sprint out of the room. But then she turned to find Xavier watching her carefully. Her mouth dropped open, then closed again.

“I shall try it,” she announced formally and, if I wasn’t mistaken, using some odd accent that was intended to sound British. Then she folded her tiny hands neatly on the countertop and laid her chin on top of them like a prim poodle.

My eyebrows almost hit the roof. Boys of all ages were usually deemed “bozos” before she adjourned herself to find her dolls and lecture them all about the shortcomings of men. But right now, she was trying her hardest to impress our guest.

Well, I supposed it was fair. I was pretty sure he was trying to impress her too.

We watched intently as Xavier combined a few anchovies with pieces of onion, salt, and water in a saucepan, then set them on a hot burner before turning back.

“Flour?” he asked. “Sugar? Vinegar?”

“Pantry. What are you making?”

He didn’t reply, just found the things he needed. Then suddenly he was a rush of neat, precise work with the knife as he chopped, minced, and diced everything in sight, most of which went into a large mixing bowl, followed by the salty fish broth (that he had just brewed on the stove using the anchovies) and a fair amount of egg.

“Mama,” Sofia whispered. “He just put the lettuce and the flour in the same thing .”

“It’s cabbage, babe. But, yeah.” I shrugged. I was as mystified as she was by what was going on.

“ Okonomiyaki ,” Xavier said as he spooned out some of the concoction onto a hot cast iron pan on another burner. “It’s a sort of pancake with dashi—that’s like the fish broth—flour, egg, veg, whatnot. My mum used to make it for me when I was a boy. Excellent way to use up food.”

The batter hissed in the oil, and suddenly the scents of sizzling flour and fresh vegetables filled the air.

I raised my nose appreciatively. “It smells good.”

Sofia nodded, though she was still watching his process somewhat suspiciously.

“ Okonomi means ‘as you like it’ and yaki means ‘grilled.’” Xavier started viciously whisking some sort of ketchup-based sauce into submission. “You get to put what you like on top and hang the rest.”

With a triumphant flourish, he grabbed the cast iron pan and flipped the pancake with a quick jerk of his wrist that made every tendon in his tattooed forearm stand out in high relief.

Then he turned around and winked at Sofia over his shoulder. My heart gave an extra hard thump. Her cheeks reddened as she mouthed “hang the rest” to herself. I was pretty sure my face was equally flushed, though if pressed, I would have sworn up and down it was because of the rising heat in the kitchen, not the look of Xavier with his shirtsleeves rolled up, apron on, moving about my kitchen with the ease of a ballroom dancer.

A few minutes later, he flipped the first pancake onto a small plate and topped it with a drizzle of thinned mayonnaise, the sauce he had made, and freshly chopped green onions, then set it in front of Sofia with a fork and a knife.

She looked at it for a long time, then turned back to me.

“Try it, Sof,” I urged her as I picked up the utensils and cut her a few pieces. “Tell me what you think.”

Tentatively, she speared a piece of the pancake, avoiding the green onions, but keeping a bit of the sauce on it. I didn’t have to look to know Xavier was watching intently.

She touched the tip of her tongue to the slice. Then, gingerly, as if she was sticking a wriggling creature into her mouth, she nibbled a tiny corner off the square. A glance at Xavier revealed a vein pulsing dramatically over his temple, but other than that, he betrayed no sign of impatience. Good luck with that , I wanted to tell him. Try four years of this crap and then tell me how you fare.

It took nearly ten minutes, but eventually, the bite did make it into Sofia’s mouth completely. Then her eyes popped open in delight.

“Oh, Mama!” she cooed. “It’s good ! You have to try it!”

I smiled. “Definitely.”

I turned to check on my serving but immediately stopped. For the first time since I’d seen him last December, there in my homely kitchen, watching his daughter eat a bit of his homecooked food, Xavier Parker was smiling. It wasn’t just any smile, either. It was a full-on grin from ear to ear that revealed a deep dimple off to the left side of his mouth, cast his jawline in full relief, and made his blue eyes twinkle like they were each separate stars. It was blinding, shining across the stove, the counter, Sofia, and probably myself.

My mouth dropped. His pleasure was instantaneous and utterly infectious. His gaze traveled to me, and I couldn’t help but grin back. For a long moment we just stood, two grinning idiots, while Sofia squealed like a piglet over her food.

“Xavi, get Mama’s,” she ordered him through a mouthful of okonomiyaki . “She needs some too.”

Xavier looked around at the skillet and jumped like a rabbit.

“Ah! Fuck!” he cried, though now he was laughing as he flipped the second pancake, revealing a slightly scorched bottom, though nothing I would call inedible.

All of us were laughing now, watching this big, generally staid man hop around the kitchen while he cooked, giggling like a hyena, all of us having the best time ever.

“Here, Ces,” he said, finally handing a plate to me before starting on his own pancake. “Bon appétit.”

I accepted it gratefully. Sofia was right. It was good. A hell of a lot better than canned sauce and boxed pasta.

“I had all of this in the fridge?” I asked through a bite.

Xavier smirked. It wasn’t quite the grin he had given Sofia, but that dimple was still present. “I had to make some last-minute substitutions, but it should taste all right.”

“You’re going to have to teach me to make it,” I said. “She doesn’t like anything but noodles and toast, this one.”

“Can’t. It’s a family secret.” He winked at Sofia, making her burst into another round of giggles.

The doorbell rang, and I slid off my stool, too caught up in the mood to worry that he had just hinted at the whole damn secret.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Don’t laugh so much you choke, you two.”

I left them while Xavier was listening to Sofia do some impression of her cousins, then mimicking her himself, causing another avalanche of giggles.

I opened the door thinking I’d find Pete asking for some quiet, but instead discovered Derek Kingston, my brother’s investigative partner and a man I’d gone out with for about a month, standing on my porch in his street clothes.

Dressed in a Mets T-shirt and wearing an open smile, Derek looked about the same as any other thirty-something guy in the neighborhood and liked most of the same things too. Baseball games, pizza, cheesecakes, good barbecue. It might have worked out between us if I had shared his interests. Or at least hadn’t dreamed of something, I don’t know, more outside of Brooklyn.

That didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends, though.

“Hey, stranger,” I greeted him with a brief hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood. Zola asked me to check in on you guys while he was gone.” Derek had the decency to look a bit sheepish at the request.

“Did he now?” I rolled my eyes. Once a big brother, always a big brother.

“Sorry. Yeah.” Derek glanced around me. “Sof around, or is she in bed? I brought her a black and white from Weiss.”

He held up a paper bag presumably containing one of the classic bakery cookies.

“Ooh, she’ll love that, thank you,” I said. “She’s, ah, a little busy right now, though. Getting ready for bed and all. Can I give it to her tomorrow and let her know you stopped by?”

“Sure, that’s fine. I was just going to—oh, hey, man.”

My stomach dropped. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

“All right?” Xavier’s deep voice rumbled behind me, but without any of the humor I’d just experienced moments earlier.

I turned just in time to watch the geniality of the evening erased as soon as he set eyes on our visitor.

He glared at me. Then Derek. Then me again. “Who’s this?”

On the porch, Derek straightened. “Ah, Derek Kingston. Frankie, I didn’t know you had company. You, um, could have just said.”

“This is only a friend from school,” I lied a little too quickly. “He stopped by for dinner.”

“I made dinner,” Xavier corrected me through his teeth. His blue gaze darted between me and Derek with the speed of a cheetah. “How do you know Francesca?”

“Francesca?” Derek snorted at the name. “Ah, Frankie and I used to?—”

“He’s my brother’s old partner,” I cut in, eager to avoid the conflict I saw coming.

Xavier was quiet for a long minute. “Well, don’t let me stop the reunion,” he said, then stomped back down the hallway without another word.

“Nice guy,” Derek remarked. “Bet he’s a real peach at work, you said?” He couldn’t quite hide his resentment. Or skepticism.

I felt horrible, especially since I had been the one to break things off between us. This wasn’t fair to him, especially considering how it looked.

“It’s not—we’re not—” I sighed. “It’s complicated.” I didn’t know how to explain it without telling him everything.

“Sure. Yeah.” Derek thrust the cookie toward me but didn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll, ah, see you.”

I sighed. “Wait. Derek?”

He turned, looking slightly hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favor? Um, don’t mention this to Mattie?”

Derek glanced over my shoulder in the direction Xavier had gone, then back at me questioningly.

“It’s new,” I admitted. “Not—not me and him. It’s not like that, really. The truth is…”

I paused for a moment to close the door behind me and sighed. I’d known Derek for years. Yes, he was one of Matthew’s best friends. But he’d also dated me. He looked out for me and Sofia too. On some level, he had to care.

“Derek, that’s Sofia’s dad. None of my family knows yet that he’s, um, back in New York. I’m trying to see how things go. Give them a chance to get to know each other before I bring my whole family in. Before I actually tell Sofia who he is. You know?”

His dark eyes widened as I spoke. Derek knew enough about my family and my situation with Sofia to know why I would want to keep things quiet for a bit.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I get it. But even Zola doesn’t know? Come on, Frankie, you gotta tell your brother.”

“I will,” I promised a little too quickly. “I will. I just need some time, all right?”

Slowly, Derek nodded. “All right. But is he—you sure he’s all right around her?”

I glanced over my shoulder, like I could see the two of them right through the door. The truth is, I didn’t know. I hoped he was. But that flash I’d just seen in his eyes had been alarming. Not toward her. Toward me.

“We’ll be fine,” I said.

“All right,” Derek replied doubtfully. “But you need something, I don’t care if homeboy in there is a saint or not. You got a cop on your side, Frankie. Remember that, okay?”

I nodded. Derek and I hadn’t worked out, but I appreciated his loyalty to Matthew and this family.

“Thanks, Derek.” I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you.”

I reentered the house to find Sofia sitting on the sofa happily watching Daniel Tiger instead of Moana while Xavier was back in the kitchen, this time doing dishes with a thundercloud for a face.

“You little minx,” I scolded her politely before dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re supposed to ask first before you watch.”

“I asked Xavi,” she replied. “He said okay.”

“Xavier’s not your mom,” I informed her, despite the fact that, by all rights, he should have the same authority. “We’re getting a little too close to bedtime. One episode, all right?”

She was already turned back around while I went into the kitchen.

“Sorry about the interruption,” I said. “Let me do that. Cooks don’t clean in this house.”

Xavier said nothing, just surrendered the sponge and pan with a splash of soapy water, then stomped out of the kitchen to join Sofia on the couch. She was too entranced by her cartoon to notice the way a scowl had replace Xavier’s grin.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he got a look at the wet stains on his shirt. “Fucking mess.”

I huffed. It wasn’t like Sofia didn’t hear her fair share of profanity. Matthew had many excellent qualities, but censorship wasn’t one of them. Still, Xavier was going to have to work on his mouth if he was going to take on more parental duties with this one.

Sofia took things into her own hands.

“You say the F-word a lot, Xavi,” she told him matter-of-factly.

Xavier blinked down at her. “Yes, I do.”

Sofia nodded, still watching the TV. “So does my zio. But when he says bad words, he has to put money in the swear jar.” She pointed at the canning jar stuffed with one- and five-dollar bills, sitting on the end table next to Xavier. “When it’s full, we go to Coney Island and ride the Ferris wheel. We go a lot.”

Xavier examined the jar for a moment, then pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and extracted two bills.

“Consider it an advance,” he told her dryly.

I chuckled as I scrubbed the skillet.

But Sofia shook her head. “Um, you have to put in real money.”

Xavier frowned at the bills. “This is a hundred quid. It’s as real as it gets.”

“Let me see that.” Sofia yanked one of the fifty-pound notes out of his hand and examined it between her chubby fingers. After a moment, she handed it back to him. “Yup, it’s fake. I can’t do nothing with this.”

“What are you talking about? You can do more with that than a hundred dollars.”

“No, you can’t,” Sofia insisted. “It has a lady on it.”

“That’s because it’s the bloody queen of England!” Xavier sputtered.

Sofia frowned. “Um, that’s not a real place.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t!” Sofia threw me an expression that basically asked, “Who is this bozo?” without actually saying it. “This is a real place. New York City. Where I live. England is made up.”

Xavier looked like he was about ready to tear his hair out. “And why in the hell would you think that?”

“Because queens and princesses only exist in fairy tales. And fairy tales aren’t real life . Right, Mama?”

Two pairs of bright blue eyes turned over the back of the couch and lasered onto me. Lord, they were intense.

It didn’t help that she was quoting me. I did my best to counter the cultural programming she received as a little girl growing up in a world intent on teaching women to be saved rather than saving themselves. It would do her good later on, I hoped. But it certainly wasn’t helping me right now.

“Is she always this stubborn about her own idiocy?” Xavier demanded irritably.

That did it. I turned off the faucet, marched around the counter, then grabbed Xavier by the shirt collar and proceeded to haul him out of the room.

“Ooh, he’s gonna get it,” I heard Sofia telling one of her stuffed animals as we left.

“Sof, just keep watching Daniel Tiger , all right?” I called but didn’t bother to wait for a response as I towed Xavier down the hall, out to the front porch, and slammed the door shut.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” I said, ignoring his glare, yanking him down so I could look him in the eye. “She’s four. You’re thirty-two. She barely knows the difference between green and red, much less England and America. She might act like she knows everything, but only because that is all completely normal for a tiny person who is just figuring out how to be a person.”

“So, what then?” Xavier retorted through his teeth. “That means I just have to let her say the wrong fucking thing and make a fool out of herself?”

“No, it means that you, a fully grown man, don’t get to make her feel like shit about it,” I snapped right back. “Especially when you’re actually just taking out your frustration with me on her!”

Xavier had opened his mouth like he wanted to shout back, but now couldn’t seem to say anything. That was all fine by me. I had plenty more to say.

“I know this whole parenting thing is new to you, so let me spell a few things out,” I told him in a low, insidious tone that Matthew jokingly called my “Ms. Zola” voice. “As her parents, it’s our responsibility to teach her right from wrong. But only about five percent of that is what we say—the other ninety-five is what we do. If you insult her, talk down to her, or show her she is deserving of anything but respect, then that is all she will do to other people, and it’s all she will expect for herself. And Xavier? I will. Not. Have it. You treat her like that again, it will be the last time you see her. Do you understand?”

We stared at each other for a long time, playing some strange game of owl right there on my front porch. It didn’t matter that we were getting odd looks from a few of the neighbors out walking their dogs. I was going to force him to look at me until every word I said got through his thick head.

Finally, he nodded slowly, and eventually, I released his collar, allowing him to stand fully and shake out his craned neck.

And then he did the last thing I expected.

He kissed me.

It wasn’t a kiss full of passion. Well, maybe a little, bundled up with frustration and annoyance and anger and anything else he was feeling. His fingers gripped the sides of my face, fitting over my cheeks and jaw while his thumbs latched over my chin, giving me no more ability to leave than I had given him when gripping his shirt. His lips forced mine open, supple, and insistent, but only long enough for our tongues to touch.

It was brief, more of a stamp than anything else. But I still felt its intensity tingle from the top of my head all the way down to my toes.

And then, just as quickly, it was over.

“Sorry,” he said after he released me. “I didn’t mean—I just thought—it’s only?—”

He shook his head abruptly, like a dog shaking out it coat. Then he blinked, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to say. Or think.

“You’re a good mum,” he finished at last. “I had no idea.”

“Oh, um. Thanks.”

I frowned, still touching my lips. I had stumbled backward into the door and had essentially forgotten everything I had just said. The flavors of ginger, soy sauce, and something immeasurably savory were ripe on my lips.

What was I saying?

Oh, right. Sofia.

Xavier swallowed, still looking befuddled by my earlier reaction. Or maybe by his.

“And you’re right,” he said. “I’m a complete wanker.” He glanced back toward the closed door. “I don’t even know that I can go back in there.”

“Oh, you’re going back in,” I told him. “We also teach her to apologize. That means we have to do it too when we mess up.”

“You mess up too?”

I nodded. “Of course. We’re only human.”

He raised a brow. “Does that mean you’re going to apologize for dragging me out here like a dog?”

“No,” I said. “You deserved that completely.”

He sighed. “I suppose I did.” Then he yanked at his collar like he was about to tug himself somewhere. “All right. I’ll apologize. And I think it’s time to go back to my hotel. Take a shower and watch that stupid tiger too. Maybe learn something.”

I nodded, still feeling shaky. Great. Now I was imagining Xavier naked. In the shower. Completely wet.

I fought the need to fan myself despite the fact that it was probably twenty-two degrees outside. “Okay, yeah. That’s probably best.”

“I have to go back to London tomorrow night, though. Can I see her in the morning? Take her to breakfast?”

I snorted. “Breakfast is pretty early when you’re a four-year-old.”

“Why?” Xavier pressed. “What time does she wake up?”

“Believe me. You don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

I shrugged. “Five, five thirty most days. Sometimes earlier if she has a bad dream. We go to bed in about an hour.”

Xavier thought for a moment. Then a sly smile hovered just behind his stubbornness. “Breakfast it is. I’ll take her to the fish market. I need to meet the vendors anyway.”

I scoffed. “Xavi, the last thing she’s going to want to do is be dragged around your business crap at five in the morning.”

“She’ll like it, I promise. You will too. Please, Ces. Let me make it up to you both. Second chances, right?”

I eyed him for a long moment. He seemed completely in earnest.

“All right,” I said. “Five. But you better bring breakfast.”

He tipped his head, looking for a moment like the perfect gentleman. Even so, his eyes gleamed with mischief. “How do they say it in those posh shows you like? ‘It would be my pleasure’?”

I flushed brightly but nodded anyway. He was making fun, and so couldn’t possibly know how much hearing exactly that phrase turned me on. My ovaries had had enough torture tonight. I didn’t need to hear Xavier acting like a gentleman of all things to top it off.

Xavier gave a curt nod, then turned just as he was about to open the door. “And Ces?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me again when I’m being an ass with her. Anything else, I want to know.”

Again, I nodded. “Sure. Yeah.”

He nodded. “I’ll learn. I promise.”