Best Friend’s Daddy

by Snow, Victoria

  Michael’s gaze searched my face as he pulled back. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing in his eyes. In some ways I felt like I knew him well, after so many years studying him, learning his moods, his expressions. But in other ways I felt as though I was still so new to this, still discovering things.

  At last, Michael gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “I can’t seem to stop myself when it comes to you,” he admitted. His thumb stroked my cheek, tracing the curve of it, and I couldn’t resist turning my face into his touch and catching the pad of his thumb with my teeth, biting down slightly.

  Michael gave a low growl and pulled his hand away, dropping it to my hips and tugging me into him. “I made a decision when I got divorced, though.”

  My heart thudded painfully in my chest. “Yes?”

  “I decided I wasn’t going to be with anyone else.” Michael paused, then gave a heavy sigh. “There were times when I hoped that Virginia would come back. I can’t lie about that. Not anymore, I don’t. Honestly, seeing her today did nothing for me. As I’m sure you’ve figured out.”

  He gave me a wink and I could’ve sworn my heart melted a bit.

  “But I never wanted to find anyone else after her. I never wanted to get mixed up in a relationship with someone again. So if you want a good time, if you want to just keep seeing each other like this, that works for me. But if you want something serious… it’s all right if you do. It’s more than understandable. But it won’t be with me.”

  My heart plummeted.

  I had thought… well, after being in a serious relationship for so long, Michael would want to be back in that again, wouldn’t he? After knowing the joys of it, the contentment, and all the rest?

  But it seemed that wasn’t worth it to him. He wanted something casual. He didn’t want to risk his heart getting hurt again.

  I could understand that, even if I wasn’t exactly jumping with fucking joy about it. I had known that it would be an uphill battle to show him how good I could be for him, and that he would have a lot of concerns. Maybe not this particular concern, but still. I could work with this.

  “I’m Brooke’s best friend,” I pointed out. “Brooke is your daughter. She’ll kill us both if she finds out this is happening. A relationship isn’t exactly in the cards for either of us, not with each other, but I’m enjoying the fun we’re having.”

  Michael paused for a moment, like he was weighing my words, trying to see if I was just placating him or if I really meant it.

  Then he nodded, smiling at me. “I’m having fun too. Well. In case you couldn’t tell.”

  “Oh, no, yeah, I wasn’t sure, what with all the passionate orgasms and stuff.”

  Michael grinned at me. “You know, I always appreciated your sense of humor. And your filthy mouth.”

  “Mmm, well now you know just how filthy my mouth can get.” I leaned in, brushing our lips together.

  Michael kissed me, quick and dirty. “I damn well do,” he growled.

  Then he swatted me on the ass and let me pull away. “Drive safe.”

  “I will.” I winked at him and got into my car.

  As I drove away, I had to force myself to not strangle the wheel with my hands. It was totally okay. We’d play things his way, sure. He needed time, still. I was his first relationship since Virginia, according to Brooke, anyway, who had gossiped to me all about her father’s lack of a love life.

  Totally fine. Totally understandable. I had waited for three years, I could be a little more patient. I’d be good, and as time went on he’d fall for me and see that something serious with me was exactly what he needed, exactly what he wanted.

  I’d help mend his broken heart, and give him mine, and we’d be together properly.

  15

  Michael

  I was up at the ass-crack of dawn that Friday morning, chugging coffee like my damn life depended on it.

  Honestly, I felt like my life did depend on it. I wasn’t a morning person but Stevie had texted me to wake the fuck up on time and she was damn lucky she was the only person who could get me up and out this early.

  From most people getting a text that said something like wake the fuck up would be construed as an insult or a sign of anger. From Stevie, who said ‘fuck’ in pretty much every text she sent, it was just how she talked.

  It was hilarious and endearing.

  I finished my coffee, washed the mug, and then hopped into the car to pick Stevie up from her apartment.

  “Morning!” she said brightly, all smiles as she opened the driver’s door.

  I jerked my thumb at the front passenger seat. “I think you’re on the wrong side of the car,” I pointed out, my tone dry.

  “Nuh uh. I’m driving, and you…” Stevie handed me a foil-wrapped package, “…are eating.”

  Huh.

  I moved over, letting her take the driver’s seat as I unwrapped the package. Normally I liked driving, liked being in charge…and hey, when did I not…but I was too damn sleepy still and I was excited to see what Stevie had made. I remembered the other day when I thought about the sort of things she made for breakfast, and now I had my answer.

  She’d made a breakfast bagel, toasted, with bacon and egg and some kind of delicious sauce and ketchup. I ate that damn thing in like three bites. “Goddamn, don’t make me add a breakfast menu to the restaurant.”

  Stevie laughed, pulling us out into the street. “I won’t make you, but I’m glad to know you liked the bagel. I used to make those for myself all the time in culinary school. I fry the bacon with cayenne and a hint of maple syrup, gives it this sweet-spicy kick that’s unbeatable.”

  “I’ll say.”

  It was only a short drive to our destination: a local farmer’s market.

  Stevie had told me that she’d walk me through her process of picking out fresh food for the restaurant so that I could understand where it all came from and how to do it myself. Basically explaining her entire process to me.

  I thought that was a smart idea, as her boss and basically, at this point, her business partner, it was only smart that I know what was going on in my own kitchen. I wished that I’d done that more with Theo instead of trusting him so blindly. I’d had a big hand in helping him at first, as I’d guided him and taught him, but then as he’d grown independent I’d just taken a step back. I hadn’t asked questions or looked into anything, and then when Theo had left, that philosophy had screwed me over big time.

  “It’s important that you know where your food is coming from,” Stevie said as we parked and got out. “You’re the owner so you’re responsible for it. Even if maybe you’re not the one who goes out and picks the food every time.”

  The farmer’s market was a long winding snake of bright yellow stalls, filled with produce, jewelry, handmade soaps, and other small family business products. “I started coming here when I was in culinary school,” Stevie explained. “I’d get all the ingredients that I needed for food for myself that week so it was always fresh and I knew my meals were planned. Helped me save money on eating out, too.”

  She led me through the stalls, stopping by some but ignoring others. I wasn’t able to tell what her method was for ignoring one seller and stopping by another instead, so I just tried to follow her lead and trusted that she’d explain to me.

  “You want to go to the same market over and over,” Stevie told me. “You can build a rapport with the sellers that way. They’ll let you in on what’s the best, they might even save some prime stuff for you, and you know that they’re being honest with you about quality and prices. Not to mention it just feels special to know that everyone knows you.” She shrugged, grinning at me.

  “So you plan out the meals in advance and then come here with a list of what you need?”

  “Most of the time. But other times I would come here and just see what was in season and think up ideas based on that. Of course…” she laughed. “With a restaurant you can’t really do that unless you want to surprise customers every week.”


  She stopped at a stall and reached over, drawing her finger down a zucchini. “Look at this bad boy.”

  I knew she was just joking about the vegetable, but I also couldn’t stop myself. “Mmm, I think I’ve got a bad boy of my own you could use.”

  Stevie laughed, her head falling back, her teeth flashing and her eyes crinkling up at the corners. God, she was gorgeous. Of course with her generous curves and her thick dark hair and all the rest—but like this, too, carefree and laughing at a joke I’d made. It made my chest warm in a way I hadn’t felt in… years.

  “I would not recommend using that for… that,” she said, laughing. “Maybe a carrot?”

  “If my dick looks like a carrot I think I’ve got a skin condition.”

  Stevie laughed again, waving apologetically at the vegetable seller when he shot her a weird look.

  “What about broccoli?” I teased.

  “Oh my God, hell no, what the fuck?” Stevie burst out into laughter again. “Stop it,” she hissed, “everyone’s going to think I’m insane!”

  “So I’m just informing them of the truth, then.”

  She flipped me off, grinning, and then grabbed my hand to drag me to another stall. “Something that I really like is how imperfect everything is. And you can really trust the people here to give you food that’s good even if it would be past its technical ‘sell by’ date in a big grocery store. Grocery stores throw out so much food that’s still okay, and they aren’t even donating it to people who need it. Dumpster diving behind grocery stores is literally how a lot of people eat because it’s still good food and they can’t afford anything else.

  “Here, even if it’s not always pretty, you know that it’s still good and you know that none of it’s being wasted. And the food is local so it tastes better.” Stevie pointed out another stall that was selling honey. “They work in coalition with a lot of the other stalls around here. There’s a lot of good, ethical farming practices done here.”

  She kept leading me through the stalls, explaining how she made her decisions and how everything worked. As we walked, we kept bumping each other’s hands, almost but not quite holding on. I kept making jokes about the vegetables we saw, and Stevie kept laughing. I could remember how Virginia would say my jokes were a little corny, a little ridiculous, but Stevie didn’t seem to care. And I felt myself more relaxed around her than I’d been in… I couldn’t even remember how long.

  We were completely laden down with bags by the time we were finished shopping, and Stevie said she couldn’t wait for me to see the items tonight as the customers ordered them. “You’re making these items knowing where you got the ingredients from and seeing them be turned into that dish that someone is now enjoying… it’s kind of magical.”

  She then laughed self-deprecatingly, blushing. “I’m sorry, that sounded so ridiculous when I said it out loud.”

  “No, I get it. You’re giving someone a meal that really feels like it was made from the heart. That’s why we love cooking so much in the first place. We feel like we’re actually giving people something that’s from our kitchen and our table. There’s a sense of intimacy in that.”

  “Exactly!” Stevie gave me this look like… like I was her hero or something, her eyes all lit up. “I knew you’d get it.”

  That made my heart swell. I had to admit, I hadn’t been feeling all that great about myself lately. Having your wife abandon you for your best friend could do that to a guy. But Stevie looked at me like I was someone to admire, someone to be proud of, and it… threw me for a spin, not gonna lie.

  We dropped the food off at the restaurant. “What do you want me to throw something together for lunch?”

  “Stevie.” I laughed. “You’ve been doing so much cooking, no way I’m letting you do any more. I’m going to take you out for lunch instead, how about it? My treat.”

  “Oh, well, since you’re paying…” Stevie teased, nudging me with her elbow as we left again.

  “You need to let other people do the cooking for you sometimes,” I told her seriously as we headed for a local diner. “Otherwise you do too much of it and you lose your joy for it, just like any other job.”

  The diner we grab was near Fisherman’s Wharf, good hometown type food. “Is there anything on here that isn’t swimming in gravy?” Stevie said.

  “Emperor’s New Groove,” I said, accurately identifying the quote. Brooke and Stevie watched that movie so damn much when they were teens, I think because it helped them laugh and de-stress after all their homework. They were always quoting it at each other.

  Stevie grinned at me, her eyes shining. “I wasn’t sure you’d get the reference.”

  “You and Brooke were always quoting it, how could I not?”

  “Yeah, but, we were the kids. You had your own things.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t always think of you as a fellow adult. I sure didn’t want to sleep with you when you were a teenager.”

  “Oh, good, I hear that’s not such a great thing.”

  I laughed. “But I always paid attention to you. You were a bright person, a hard worker, you still are. I always enjoyed your company and I was glad that you were a friend to Brooke. I just… appreciate you in a different way now.” I winked at her.

  “I’ll say.” Stevie chuckled. Then she tapped her laminated menu. “This stuff is… simple, I guess you could say, but you wouldn’t call it the same as my stuff at our place, would you?”

  “Oh, no way.”

  “Although,” Stevie added, pretending to think for a moment, “we could start covering everything in gravy. I think it would bring in a whole new level of clientele.”

  “It would bring in a whole new level all right,” I replied, chuckling.

  Stevie gave me a conspiratorial grin, and I realized how relaxed I felt. How easy it was to spend all of this time with her, how free and light our banter was. It didn’t feel exhausting to be with her, or like a chore. In fact the time had flown by.

  And every time she looked at me like that—the way that she was looking at me right now—I felt like I could do anything. Like I was at the top of my game.

  What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

  16

  Stevie

  I hadn’t planned this when we’d gotten to the diner, but you know what? What the hell. This was a good chance to give an object lesson in how not to run a restaurant.

  “I don’t want to fuck around or anything,” I said, “step on your toes or whatever, but I was hoping maybe we could use this chance to talk shop a little more?”

  “Sure thing.” Michael set down his menu. “What’s on your mind?”

  When I used to want to be so focused on my career, people kept telling me that I was too ambitious, too hard, that I needed to relax and soften and get a proper work-life balance. I hadn’t been able to avoid noticing that they never said that to my equally-ambitious and hardworking male classmates. Because I was a girl, what was a great “go get ‘em” drive in the men was turned into “whoa, honey, slow down,” for me.

  But Michael seemed delighted that I was so focused on the restaurant, that I was so dedicated to it. He kept telling me how much he appreciated my hard work ethic. I couldn’t remember the last time that someone had said that about me—and he had noticed it all the way back when I was in high school.

  It made me feel validated in a way that nobody else really had.

  “I see places that are run like this all the time,” I explained. “And while… while pretentious places like what Theo does fucking frustrate me, this does too. I don’t want our restaurant to be like this, either. I feel that there has to be a balance in the middle. There has to be an in-between ground.

  “Because if you look at this—these people do good business right? Because people don’t want frills, they want to come here and eat and there’s a feeling of comfort to food like this, and sometimes you just want some fucking comfort, you want to drown in gravy. But not when you want a real e
xperience, and that’s what a restaurant like ours gives. That fine dining experience. You feel… classy, when you go to our restaurant. You feel special. Waited on, you know? That’s why we call them waiters and servers.”

  I pointed out some menu items for him. “This shit? Doesn’t fucking come fresh, I guarantee it. Same with this one. A lot of these items are made with ingredients that come from a can or are frozen or preserved. And sometimes that’s the way that it has to be, because of where your restaurant is located. But we’re in goddamn San Francisco! We have a bay right here, and wineries, and rolling fields, and fucktons of farmers markets. There’s a cut in quality and while it comes with a cut in price and people are willing to pay for that in the day to day, they don’t fucking want it in their fine dining experience.”

  “I’m starting to be able to taste the difference,” Michael admitted. “I get something and make it or I eat it somewhere else, somewhere not made by you, at our restaurant, and there’s a definite… extra layer to your food.”

  “That’s what will set us a cut above. Not fancier dishes, but fresher dishes, old favorites given a little twist here and there and made with true quality.”

  Michael gave me this odd smile, and it took me a moment to place it. It was pride. He was proud of me.

  That warmed me like nothing else. I could feel my face heating up.

  Before we could say anything more, the waitress came to take our order. I stumbled through mine, glad I had already known what I was going to get. My face was probably redder than the tomatoes we’d picked out from the market earlier.

  When the waitress left, Michael sighed and sank back into the booth.

  “I’m realizing…” He paused for a moment. “Indulge me the ‘I’m so old’ moment, here.”

  “You’re not old.”