But he cuts me off by placing his hand up. “I asked you a question. Do you have testicles, Helena?”
My lips thin. Ass. “No. I do not have testicles, Max.”
He nods. “Firstly, thank fuck for that.” Ceecee accidentally lets out a giggle at her dad’s silliness and we both still, side-eyeing each other in shock. He quickly adds, “Secondly, because of your lack of male parts, what you say doesn’t count, babe.” He shrugs. “That’s just the way it is.”
I discreetly reach over and squeeze his thigh in a secret hi-five. His hand covers mine and squeezes back in what I’m sure would be a cheer. We finally pull up to the grocery store and step out of the car. Ceecee does everything she needs to lower herself out of the down the ramp. As I move to help her out, Max holds me back and mutters under his breath, “Yeah, no. That’s a great way to piss her off. Let her do it.”
We wait a minute longer and I watch Ceecee closely. Steel determination is worn apparent on her face.
Hmmm. Interesting.
An idea strikes me, and I suddenly can’t wait to get back to the house. I have to talk to my client in private.
Max moves to stand next to Ceecee, but wraps an arm around me. “So what’s for dinner, guys? We can order in or I can cook.”
Ceecee mumbles defiantly, “I don’t want you to cook.”
And for no reason whatsoever, I butt in where I’m not needed, making a spectacle of myself, when I usually prefer to blend into the background. Go me! “I can cook.”
Max starts to protest, when Ceecee asks curiously, “What can you cook?”
My shoulder jumps. “Just about anything, really. I was always in the kitchen with my mom, even when I didn’t want to be. She just pulled us girls in there and hoped something would stick. Lucky for her, all of us like cooking. Mostly because we love eating.” Ceecee wheels herself forward, brows creased in concentration. She looks to be thinking hard when I ask, “What do you want to eat, honey?”
“I don’t really care.” Darn. And I thought I was onto something there. Then she asks quietly, “But can I help you cook?”
Bingo!
I narrow my eyes at her. “Can you chop?” She nods, wide-eyed. “Can you grate?” She nods once more. I finally ask, “Can you add seasoning?” Her heads jerks up and down. I move from Max’s hold to stand in between them and place a hand on Ceecee’s shoulder. “Then I guess you’re making Nachos tonight. From scratch.”
She looks up at me in shock. “Me?”
I nod as if it’s no big deal. “Sure. Of course, I’ll be supervising, but you’re making dinner tonight. On your own.” I wait a moment before I ask, “Is that okay with you?”
We enter the store when she utters, “I just don’t want to ruin it.”
At the very same time, Max and I both respond with complete confidence, “You won’t.”
She nods then, and I feel relief flow through my body with a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. She looks around the store. “What do I need?”
I look over at Max and raise my brows. “If your dad doesn’t mind, you can go get two packets of Taco seasoning while I get the vegetables and meat organized.”
Max says, “I don’t mind,” but she’s already off, getting things on her own like a grown-up.
As soon as she’s out of sight, my shoulders droop in relief. “Holy shitballs, that was like pulling teeth.”
I squeak when I’m swooped off of my feet, both literally and figuratively. Max lifts me as if I weigh nothing at all. I grip his shoulders tight as he spins me around, laughing. “You’re amazing. That was amazing. You…” he places me back on my feet, still holding me around the waist, “are amazing.”
“Okay,” I mutter, kind of confused.
He looks me in the eye, grinning from ear to ear, dimple cutting into his cheek. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
What? No!
I shake my head. “No, don’t do that!”
He makes a duh face. “I have to kiss you. Those are the rules.”
“Max! Don’t!”