I don’t get it, but I’ve heard my daughter complain enough about cooking that I managed to create a system where she helps, and we both prepare dinner.
Although we haven’t had to do that since the lodge reopened after renovations, and for a while, I had a private chef preparing our meals while I was going through the divorce. When it was finalized, I didn’t want to get rid of Damien, so I hired him to run the kitchen at the restaurant in the lodge.
We went from being a place to eat at the lodge to being the hottest place in town. Not that the town of Breckenridge is huge, but we stole a bit of business from the other joints in town.
There’s always a wait, even on weeknights off-season. Reservations are recommended.
“Are you any better with dessert?” I ask, glancing at Cali over my shoulder.
She sits propped on the stool, and I swear if she falls off, I’ll never forgive myself for buying those chairs.
“I’m good at eating it.”
I chuckle. “Come here, taste my sauce.” I stir the concoction, and she slides off the stool, eyebrow raised.
“That sounds dirty, Mr. Henderson.”
“Call me Logan.” I let her taste the red sauce with the wooden spoon.
She blows on it for a second before bringing it to her lips. Her eyes close, and she presses her lips together with a slight moan. “Gosh, that’s amazing.”
“You like my sauce?” I say with a smirk. I’m all about innuendo, and this woman is making me hard, watching her tongue swipe across her lips. Her cheeks are rosy and her pupils dark.
“Yes, I’d die for another taste.”
“How is it? Is the sauce too salty?”
“Not at all. It’s perfect. You know how to cook.”
Why does she seem surprised by that fact? I grab the bowls and dish the pasta first, letting her put however much sauce and meat she wants on her meal.
We bring the dishes to the small wooden table in the kitchen. The table expands, but Julianna and I eat downstairs most nights, so there’s been no reason to extend it.
Dinner is pleasant, with polite chit-chat but nothing too intimate or personal. She strays from asking questions about my divorce or daughter, and I do the same, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.
I invited her for a nice meal, not to convince her to sleep with me. Besides, that door is shut. After Jess cheated on me, trusting women again isn’t easy.
By the end of dinner, we’ve demolished the exquisite bottle of wine, and I clear the dishes, rinsing them before putting them into the dishwasher.
“You’re going to make dessert, right?” I joke.
“That depends. Do you have a box of brownie mix in the pantry?”
The elevator dings, and Julianna and Izzie come waltzing into the penthouse. “Hi, Dad. Cali!” Julianna squeals, excited to see who I’ve brought home. My daughter’s eyes widen. “OMG, are you on a date, Dad?”
I never get used to her saying her text speak aloud. “I promised I’d take care of dinner for Cali if she went to the in-house physician.”
“You made her visit Dr. Reynolds?” Julianna’s face scrunches. “He’s hotter than you, Dad.”
“Gee, thanks, kiddo.” I splash her with water, and she shrieks like she’s melting. My kid is all drama. I’m surprised she didn’t try out for drama club in high school.
“Your daughter is right. Dr. Reynolds is easy on the eyes,” Cali says. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Is he married?”
“No,” I say, and shake my head. “But you’re not his type.”
“What’s that mean?” Cali asks.
“That’s harsh,Old Man, even for you,” Julianna says.