Jocelyn eyed her mother suspiciously. “All of us? Where?”
“I’m heading home,” Mel announced. “Your father doesn’t know it yet, but he’s taking me out tonight, just the two of us, while Uncle Cam and his new BF are treating you lovely ladies to dinner and a movie—”
Abby and Jocelyn exchanged a surprised look and squealed in delight.
Both men winced at the sound, but Mel laughed. “Have fun, boys. Rather you than me.”
Over the sound of the excited little girls, Preston asked Cam, “Whose idea was this again, anyway? Oh, wait—yours.”
“I’ll make it up next time,” Cam promised, leaning back to look up at him.
Preston cupped Cam’s face in both hands and bent down to claim a quick kiss. “You better.”
* * * *
Dinner out was a nice treat, and one Preston wasn’t used to, but he didn’t want Abby to think he was forsaking her company for Cam’s. Plus, as a chef, he couldn’t help secretly judging everything he ate, thinking how he would have made it better, or deconstructing the recipe in his mind, breaking down the flavors on his palate, comparing them to what the menu had listed. When he ate at a fast food place, he didn’t do this as much, because he expected to be disappointed—he knew he’d ordered nothing but grease and high fructose corn syrup, and was rarely surprised, except when it came to french fries. Those were usually good, despite the grease and the fat and the salt.
But at the more expensive restaurants, what most people thought of as “date night” places, Preston found it hard to silence the inner critic. He felt like he was auditioning for a new show on the Food Network, or something, and over the years, he’d grown so bad, he no longer ate out if he could help it. Over time he’d told himself it was because Abby was a picky eater, or dining out was too expensive, or he made better food at home, but of the three excuses, it turned out the last one was the right one. Only after he started dating again did he let himself understand the real reason why he didn’t eat out on a regular basis.
Abby and Jocelyn enjoyed eating out at Johnny Rockets after the long afternoon photo shoot, and later they sat together in the front row of the Disney movie, munching on popcorn and sharing a soda, best friends as Cam had predicted. Cam and Preston sat way back in the very last row of the theater, not so much to give the girls space but rather to not be seen as they made out like two teenagers necking at a drive-in. It was frustratingly chaste—it was Disney, after all—and only fueled the flames of Preston’s desire for the new man in his life. He couldn’t wait to get Cam alone again all to himself.
Monday they started up their evening phone conversations again, Preston calling Cam once Abby was in bed and the two of them talking well into the night. Preston found himself dragging when the alarm woke him up the next morning, mere hours after he’d hung up the phone, Cam’s voice still ringing in his ear. Somehow he managed to make it through the day, slinging burgers and dropping fries in the hot grease at the River City without burning himself. Thinking of Cam kept him going, though, as did thoughts of the potential job Mel had mentioned. In the few minutes of private time he had driving between the restaurant and Abby’s school, he thought of how he’d dust off his CV, what he could say to beef up his current position or make his past experience look better on paper than it was. He knew he could do anything that came his way, food-wise, but he’d been away from New York for so long, worked too many hours in a local dive, that he didn’t know if anyone in a real restaurant would take him seriously. Was it even worth trying?
He knew the answer to that. Yes, of course it was. Trying out for a job he didn’t get was better than never trying in the first place. Maybe a position at Libbie Mill wasn’t the next step for him, but he wouldn’t know until he sent in his CV. Was he supposed to remind Mel to ask her husband to look it over? Or would she contact him? Preston didn’t remember if they’d talked about that or not. He’d have to ask Cam if she said anything further about setting up a dinner date.
By the end of the week, Preston was more than ready to see Cam again. On Thursday when Cam suggested another night on the town, though, Preston countered with an idea of his own. “How about an evening at Chez Pruitt instead?”
“Ooh, sounds French,” Cam purred, his voice warm through Preston’s phone. “Where’s that, exactly? The Fan? The museum district?”
“My place,” Preston told him. “I live in the West End. I’ll cook and Abby will be all too happy to provide the evening’s entertainment, I’m sure. She’s talked about you nonstop since the photo shoot, did you know that?”
Cam laughed, a delightful sound in Preston’s ear. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”
“Lacy better have plans after graduation,” Preston warned, “because Abby already hopes to intern with you when she hits high school. As she’s grown older, she’s gotten so sassy, I thought she would grow up to be a movie star or some sort of celebutante, one of those girls who are famous for being famous, you know? And here it turns out now she wants to be in the paparazzi.”
“Hey, there’s good money to be had in camera skills,” Cam teased.
Preston was stretched out on his bed, the phone pressed to his ear, and wished Cam was with him in the room instead of across town. “Hey, did you realize the word camera has your name in it?” he asked, the late hour and long day conspiring to make him silly. “Cam, camera. Bet your parents never realized that when they named you.”
“Yeah, no one’s ever made that joke before,” Cam said with a laugh. “So are we doing this? Dinner at your place tomorrow?”
Preston shrugged, even though Cam couldn’t see him. “If that counts as a date. Friday is taco night for Abby, which means Old El Paso and nothing else, and heaven help me if I switch it up. But it’ll be nice to cook something real for a change.”
“I don’t want you to go out of your way for me,” Cam protested. “I can eat the same thing she does—”
“No, no, I want to cook something different,” Preston assured him. “I want to show off my mad skills in the kitchen, and maybe you can talk me up to your sister, who can tell her husband, what’s his face—”
“Greg. Oh!” Cam cried out. “I almost forgot! Mel wants us to come to dinner next Saturday. Not in two days, but the following week. If that works for you…?”
Preston grinned. “So we’re scheduling two dates in one phone call?”
“Unless you think we’re rushing things?” Cam asked.
Preston laughed. “Not at all. I think we’re moving at the right pace.”
* * * *
Because he knew Abby would be upset if he invited Cam over without telling her first, Preston broke the news about their impending dinner guest on the drive to school Friday morning. He could see her in the rearview mirror, reading another of those fairy chapter books she loved so much, and he didn’t want to interrupt her or anything, so he waited until she glanced up to smile at him before he said, “Hey, listen, sweet pea.”
Abby closed the book, leaving her finger between the pages as a bookmark. “What’s up, Daddy?”
“You know Cam, right?” he asked.
She nodded, her hair—held back in twin ponytails today—bobbing around her face. “The photographer from school, sure. He made me into a fairy. When can we see him again?”
We. Preston smiled at that. “Funny you should ask. I invited him over for dinner tonight.” He shot a quick look at the mirror to gauge her reaction. “If that’s okay with you.”
Abby’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Is Joss coming, too?”
“No, honey, just Cam.” Preston should’ve anticipated the question. “Jocelyn is his niece, so she doesn’t live with him. She lives with Mel, remember? Mel is Cam’s twin sister.”
“Twins?” Abby shrieked. “They don’t look anything alike!”
Preston grinned. “It means they were born at the same time. When that happens, they’re called fraternal twins. Only identical twins look alike.”
&n
bsp; Turning back to her book, Abby told him, “These boys in Mr. Knarr’s class are twins, and you can’t tell them apart except by the color shirt they wear. Randy always wears red, and Bobby always wears blue. And one time, during recess? They switched shirts, and during lunch all the teachers kept calling them by the wrong names! It was so funny!”
“I bet.” Preston saw the turn for the school up ahead, and tried to steer the conversation back on course. “So do you think it’d be okay if Cam ate over tonight?”
Either Abby didn’t hear him or, more likely, wasn’t finished telling him everything she wanted to yet, because she ignored the question. Instead, she said, “Mr. Knarr’s name is spelled weird, with a K and an N, and you pronounce both of them. It’s KA-NAR. Isn’t that a funny name?”
“Abby, honey.” Preston tapped the car’s brake to get her attention. When she looked at him in the mirror, he asked again, “Do you mind if Cam comes over tonight for dinner? Jocelyn won’t be there. It’ll be the three of us.”
With a frown, Abby thought it over. After a long moment, she asked, “Will he take more pictures of me?”
Preston shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Not tonight.”
“Then why’s he even coming?” she wanted to know.
Resisting the urge to laugh, Preston suggested, “Because it’s taco night?”
And like that, all thoughts of twins and Mr. Knarr, Jocelyn and cameras and future photo shoots disappeared. Even the book in her lap slipped to the floor as Abby tried to jump in the backseat of the car, only to stay in place when the seatbelt held her down. “Tacos!” she crowed. “Tacos, tacos, tacos!”
Preston laughed as he signaled to turn into the driveway in the front of Pennock Elementary. “So I take it that’s a yes?”
* * * *
Cam might not have brought his camera with him to dinner, but he did come bearing gifts. When the doorbell rang at quarter to six, Preston opened the door to find Cam on the porch, a paper bag in one hand and a large manila envelope in the other. “What’s all this?” Preston asked as he stepped back to allow Cam to come inside.
“I brought you something.” Cam didn’t make it two steps into the foyer before Preston’s arms eased around his waist and caught him in a lingering kiss.
When they finally parted, Preston sighed. “I’ve been waiting for that all week long.”
Cam grinned. “I don’t think you quite got the whole thing the first time. There’s a little bit more…” He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Preston’s again, their second kiss as heady as the first.
Preston would’ve tried for a third, but before he could, Abby elbowed her way between them. “What’d you bring me?”
He laughed and stepped back, inviting Cam all the way into the house this time and closing the door behind them. “Honey, that’s rude.”
“He said he brought us something,” Abby pointed out.
Preston saw Cam’s smile and rolled his eyes. Soon he’d have to have a talk with her about this us and we stuff in regards to his and Cam’s budding relationship.
Fortunately, Cam wasn’t empty-handed, and he had more than mere kisses to satisfy a nosy eight-year-old. From the paper bag he removed a bottle of red wine. “For monsieur,” he said, handing the bottle to Preston. “Though given tonight’s menu, I guess I should say señor, instead.”
Preston read the label. “La Cueva Garnacha. So suddenly you speak Spanish and know wine? When did this happen?”
“When the lady at Total Wine helped me pick out the perfect bottle,” Cam joked. “I told her about the one we liked at Bistro and mentioned—”
“Don’t say it,” Preston warned.
Cam frowned. “Don’t say what, tacos?”
“Tacos!” Abby shouted, and began bounding around the living room. “Tacos, tacos, tacos!”
Cam laughed. “Well, most people go the beer and tequila route with Mexican foods, but the sales lady assured me this would hit the spot.” Abby bounced between them, her ponytails flying out behind her like twin blond ribbons, all smiles. As she passed, Cam bopped her on top of the head. “It isn’t too dry, either. If you really like it, I have another bottle in the car.”
“You’ll have us all bouncing off the walls in no time,” Preston teased. When Abby moved out of the way, he closed the distance between them and stole another kiss, slipping his arm around Cam’s waist so his daughter wouldn’t be able to push them apart too easily the next time she came around. “Thanks. Now I feel bad. All I’m doing is making dinner.”
“It’ll be amazing, I know,” Cam assured him.
Preston agreed, “It will be, once I get started. What’s that?”
He nodded at the envelope in Cam’s hand. When Cam held it up, Abby stopped her bouncing and drifted over, interested. “Is it for me?”
“Abby!” Preston snapped.
But Cam smiled at her. “Actually it kind of is.”
Inside the envelope was the scrapbook of the photos he’d taken of Abby and Jocelyn as fairies. The moment she saw the book, Abby grabbed it out of his hands and hugged it to her chest with a shrill laugh. “My book! My fairy book!” she cried. Then she held it out at arm’s length and twirled around in a circle, staring at it.
“Careful,” Preston warned, but he might as well have been talking to the wall.
Abby spun around on one foot and hugged the book again, hopping now, skipping with delight. “I’m a fairy!” she sang, trying to clutch the book tight and flip through the pages at the same time. “Look at my wings!”
“Hon—Abby, stop!” Preston caught her the next time she spun around and managed to get her to sit down on a nearby ottoman. “Okay, I know you’re excited—look at me.”
She laid the book flat in her lap and covered it with both hands so she could look up at him. When she met his gaze, she nodded eagerly.
“Calm down, okay?” Preston asked. “You can hold onto the book for now but it isn’t yours.”
Her large eyes filled with tears. “But Cam said—”
“It’s for Mommy,” Preston told her. It was a low blow and he knew it, but it worked. Whenever Abby got overly excited or too hyped up, mentioning Tess always managed to calm her down. “So you can look at it, and hold onto it, and even sleep with it if you want—”
Abby nodded vigorously, and Preston wondered if the book would even still be in one piece by the time Tess returned from the field.
“But when Mommy comes home, you have to let her look at it,” he said. “Do we have a deal?”
Abby nodded again. When Preston stepped back, she started to leaf through the pages, but this time gently, her motions much less manic. He turned to Cam, who still held the envelope. “What else is in there?” Preston asked.
“The solo photos I took,” Cam said, then with a smirk, he added softly, “and another copy of the book.”
Preston laughed. “Are you sure you don’t have kids?”
“I have a niece like her, remember?” Cam handed over the envelope, which Preston tucked safely out of reach on a shelf in the computer closet. “I doubt you need any help in the kitchen, but do you maybe want the company? Or should I stay out here with Abby?”
“That book will keep her busy for the rest of the night,” Preston said, taking Cam’s hand and leading him into the kitchen. “I want you with me. Grab that wine you brought and let’s see how much of a dent we can make in it before dinner.”
Chapter 12
Abby insisted on keeping the book with her during dinner, but Preston made her leave it out of reach at the extra place setting so she wouldn’t be tempted to read it while they ate. Still, she wanted the book standing up, facing her, so she could look at the cover as she chomped on her hard shell tacos. He would’ve thought she’d eventually lose interest in the one cover photo, a cute image of her and Jocelyn holding hands over a toadstool, their fairy wings glistening iridescently like dragonfly wings, but she stayed riveted to it.
Preston had to admit he didn’t min
d. It kept her distracted so he could focus on Cam. Though, to be honest, the tacos probably would have done the same thing.
For the first time in forever, Preston had been free to use his culinary skills in his own kitchen, and it felt wonderful to let his imagination run wild over a hot stove. When Tess was home, he usually cooked something different for the two of them and let Abby have her usual standbys—one simply didn’t meddle with Abby’s food, not if there was any hope of getting her to eat it. But with Tess deployed, Preston had found it easier to eat whatever it was Abby had, which meant blueberry pancakes every morning, Spaghetti-O’s on Monday night, PB&J on Tuesdays, and a score of other kid-friendly meals he would rather not think about.
Tacos were a bit of a concession on Abby’s part, because they were spicier than what she normally went for. She preferred mild seasoning, no salsa, no sour cream, no jalapeños, nothing like that. As long as she had plenty of lettuce, tomatoes, and shredded cheese, though, she was happy. And a tiny drizzle of taco sauce along the top of each taco, enough to taste but not enough to run off or drip onto her plate.
And God, heaven forbid one of the shells cracked before she finished eating it.
But with the fairy photo book holding her attention, she barely spared her food a second glance, just gobbled down each taco as she studied the book, fascinated with her own smile staring back.
From across the table, Preston folded his soft taco shell neatly around the pork carnitas he made himself and Cam and said, “You’ve created a monster.”
Taking a bite of his own taco, Cam closed his eyes and moaned. “And you’ve created ambrosia. This is phenomenal. Has anyone told you that you can cook?”
“Someone might have mentioned it now and then,” Preston joked.
Unlike Abby’s tacos, which were ground beef in hard shells, theirs were pulled pork carnitas in soft shells, slow cooked in a mélange of Mexican spices that added the right combination of flavor and heat. Preston had topped their tacos with sautéed red peppers and onions, avocado slices to help tone down the spice, fresh cilantro, homemade salsa, and crumbled queso fresco. As a side dish, he’d made Spanish rice from scratch and black bean salad, with tomatoes, red peppers, avocado, lime, and corn.
Recipe for Romance Page 11
