by Snow, Nicole
It’s a flipping fairy tale.
Who needs a glass slipper? Not this girl.
He’s very good at making me forget the price for all this.
I step away from the door. “I’m excited to try this stuff. The smell alone makes me want to camp out in this kitchen for the next week.”
He cracks a grin that would melt Minnesota in January. “The kids and I don’t mind earning our keep.” He turns and walks beside me into the living room. “But I’ll need to go shopping for next time.”
“Ya think?” A laugh bubbles out. “Old Mother Hubbard has nothing on me. With all the hours Manny makes me put in, I’m lucky if I have enough energy to crawl to the fridge and pull out something instant.”
We arrive at the round table, where the kids are patiently sitting, wearing somewhat weary smiles. They’ve been watching carefully since their dad said 'next time,' almost like they can sense the tension.
Guilt pinches my stomach at the thought they’re worried I’ll kick them out.
“Sorry for keeping you guys.” I sit down. “But hey, now you’ve met my mother.”
Another twinge of guilt rolls through me for using her as a lame excuse.
“Your mom’s so cool, Gwen!” Lauren gushes. “I can’t believe I met a real life author. A bestselling romance author with movies, even.” She glances at her father. “I just wish I could tell Heather.”
Miller pulls up the chair next to me, then piles rice and shrimp from the pan onto Shane’s plate. “You’ll see Heather again, baby girl. Don’t you worry.”
She’d mentioned Heather earlier.
I have a weird feeling she’s more than just a babysitter. Especially due to the way Miller’s hand tightens on the serving spoon. His knuckles go white.
“And Max and Josie?” Shane asks, then lowers his voice weirdly. “And...and Keith, Dad?”
“Yep. Give it a little time.” Miller reaches over and picks up Lauren’s plate. “You’ll see them all again before you know it.”
The white-knuckling doesn’t stop. Hmm...
“Heather was our babysitter,” Lauren tells me, taking a bite of her food. “Her husband, Keith, is Dad’s best friend, and their kids were our friends. We’ve known them since we were born because Dad and Keith were in the Army together, and I guess they—”
“Lauren,” Miller says sternly. “Grab some salad and pass it on. Please,” he adds, almost an afterthought.
Her face turns cherry red. I get a sense that she’s said more than she should have. But why?
The silence that follows as Miller lifts my plate, spoons shrimp and rice on it, and then sets it back down in front of me only confirms my fears.
This isn’t family fun time. Or a simple meet-and-greet over really good food.
It’s not just a matter of secrets, this whole situation. More like terrible secrets, dangerous ones, cards held close to his chest because they could do God only knows.
I pick up my glass, already full of lemonade, and take a nervous sip. “Lauren, sweetie, this lemonade turned out perfect. Tangy and sweet. Great job.”
“Thanks, Gwen,” she says. “I filled the glasses while you were saying bye to your mom.”
“Thanks for that, too.” I set my glass down and take the bowl of salad Miller hands me. “Everything looks delicious.”
“It’s even better if you eat it,” Shane jokes. He’s talking, grinning, and chewing at the same time.
I smile back at him. It’s a small relief he’s still just a little boy, even in the middle of this insanity.
“How about you pass the bread to the rest of us, son?” Miller suggests.
After the bread makes the rounds, I take a bite of scampi and just...die.
Heaven has nothing on this stuff. Flavor cascades along my tongue, salt and butter and garlic and shrimp so succulent I can’t believe they were ever on ice.
Holy Hannah.
I want to just close my eyes and savor it forever. But I think I enjoy not looking like a total weirdo in front of them.
Instead, I stare at Miller, and after I swallow, I ask, “How in the world did you manage to make something this divine in my kitchen? It’s seriously restaurant grade.”
There’s that grin again. The ladykiller flash of teeth and subtle dimples in scruff that make my insides somersault.
“Secret recipe,” he growls with a wink. “Nah, I learned it in Hawaii while I was stationed at Fort Shafter. This stuff is pretty popular there. You’d be surprised how many people will spend hours in line and pay out the nose for a good garlic shrimp plate.”
“That’s nothing! Dad can cook all sorts of things,” Shane says. “He’s like a celebrity chef without the accent. Hardcore.”
“Manners, son. Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Miller tells him, casting a glare.
I raise an eyebrow. “I see he’s got a little of the temperament, too.”
Everybody laughs. These kids really are cuties.
It’s not hard to see Miller in both of them, mainly their eyes. For kids, they’re very well behaved. He’s done a great job as a single dad from what I can see.
Understanding Shane’s plight, I ask him, “Always hard to chew and talk at the same time with food this good, huh?” When he nods, I add, “You’re so lucky, having a dad who knows how to cook like this. I bet I’d have grown up spoiled.”
“Does your dad know how to cook?” Lauren asks, a careful look on her face.
“Well...I have no idea if he knew how or not,” I answer. “I don’t remember him, exactly. He died a long time ago.” There’s no reason to go into the sordid details, mainly because I’m not privy to most of them.
Mother kept that part of her life buried. She’d tell me whatever I wanted to know when I’d ask, but it was almost like hitting her up about some obscure ancestor rather than my own father. So I rarely did.
“That must’ve made your mom sad,” she says sincerely.
“Maybe.” Honestly, I don’t know for sure.
They never had any plans to reconcile.
I’d guess Mother was sadder than anything that my father hadn’t lived long enough for her to show off how much money her hobby eventually brought in. She made several snide comments over the years about trying to support Dad’s music at the expense of her own art.
Her big success came long after he died and his indie album was long forgotten. Her net worth really skyrocketed the past ten years, from great money to movie star type dough. I still can’t believe it sometimes.
Growing up, we’d eked by on whatever part-time jobs she could find that would still let her spend most of her time hunched over her computer, researching facts and tearing up words.
She never doubted her work. She always knew she’d hit it big someday if she just put in the time. She’d been right, and when she struck gold, it snowballed into a fortune.
I’m not jealous, even if I’m still waiting for my ship to come in. I’m ecstatic and proud of her. Especially when I saw firsthand how she worked her tail off for what she has now.
I also know what she sacrificed, what we both sacrificed in the early days, which makes me look at Miller across the table. They’re sacrificing even more than we ever did just for basic human comfort. Safety.
It’s so different from what we experienced, but in a sense, I can relate.
The rest of the meal passes in relative silence.
I can’t help but blame myself for that and feel rotten about it.
So after everybody’s finished, I say, “Thanks for the best meal I’ve ever eaten here. How about I clean up and throw together some malts for dessert? I’ve got strawberries and chocolate syrup, I think.”
Lauren and Shane both smile, nodding eagerly.
“Strawberry sounds yummy,” she says.
“I’m down for chocolate anytime!” Shane slaps a hand on the table, which gets him a hilarious side-eye from his dad.
“They’re both my personal kryptonite.” No joke. I’d be ten p
ounds lighter if I didn’t keep the freezer stocked with fresh berries and ice cream. It’s always time for a grocery run when I’m getting low. “How about you, Miller?”
“Strawberry works. No need to put yourself out on our account.”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s nothing, but before I can, Shane bolts up, rounding the table, his plate in his hands.
“We’ll help you clean up so you can work on the malts, Gwen!”
This kid is too adorable. He’s just not quite big enough to take all the heavy ceramic plates to the sink in one go.
Since I don’t want his crazy enthusiasm risking broken dishes, I stand and gather a few. “You’ve got yourself a deal, mister.”
Miller stands, too, but I take his plate before he can head for the sink. “Not you. You already did your fair share, chef.”
He glances at the kids, who are both carrying things into the kitchen at lightning speed. Nodding, he says, “Thanks. I’m gonna take a shower while you’re doing dishes and playing malt shop.”
“Perfect.” I gather up his silverware, casting a glance at his muscular back as he stands and stretches.
Dear Lord.
You don’t even need to see his face sometimes to know exactly how butter under a heat ray feels.
“Towels are in the closet in the upstairs bathroom,” I call out. Gesturing toward the bath off the living room, I add, “The one down here’s only a half bath.”
“Thanks, Gwen. Won’t be long.”
I purposefully don’t watch him leave. I really, really don’t need the images my mind tries conjuring up.
Miller in the shower. My shower. Naked. Wet. Slick.
Ginormous muscles flexing and popping and turning over like some huge, feral thing straining in its pen.
Big hands, big shoulders, big everything.
All just no good, very bad news for every red-blooded woman in sight.
Potentially lethal for a girl like me. I’ve spent more date nights with dirty books and battery powered stand-ins for insufferable jerks on Tinder.
“Sink, not the dishwasher, Shane!” Lauren hollers. “We’ve got to rinse the buttery stuff off first.”
“Why? It’s a dishwasher,” her brother says. “It’s a waste of water and makes no sense if you have to hand wash before you throw ’em in it.”
“The dishwasher sanitizes them. It can’t always cut all the grease. Doesn’t it, Gwen?” Lauren turns to me.
Not wanting to start an argument, I say, “Good question. I think dishwashers have a kind of mini hot water heater so they use hotter water than washing them by hand. That’s usually enough to work out the grease and the germs unless we’ve really made a big old mess. But it certainly wouldn’t hurt to let the pans soak for a few minutes.”
They look at me for a moment and then nod, seemingly appeased.
Just like when they were looking for golf balls, they team up and soak the pans, then get the dishwasher loaded in practically no time before zooming to my side to help with the malts.
“I hope I didn’t bug you asking about your dad. We don’t remember our mom, either,” Lauren says somewhat out of the blue.
I stop with my hand on the ice cream scoop, looking at her carefully. “Oh, no, honey. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. It was a long time ago. I didn’t know him, so it’s not like there’s bad memories to bring back.” Or any memories at all, really.
“Same for us. Mom died when we were born,” Lauren says, pulling out chocolate powder.
I’d wondered where their mother was, if she knew they were on the run. That answers it.
Dropping several metal scoops full of ice cream into the blender, I mull over how to respond.
My experience being around children lately is almost nil. And unlike me, they’re still at an impressionable age where not having another parent could hurt.
“I’m sorry, guys,” I say. Lame, I know. “I’m glad you’ve got a cool dad. It can’t replace anyone, but I consider myself pretty lucky every day I know there’s somebody on this planet who loves me. Even if Mother is incredibly good at riling me up. It’s always just been us, and we care about each other. That’s always been enough.”
I focus on the malts, trying not to ramble. My face heats, wondering if I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Us too! Dad swears he’s never getting married again.” Shane’s cheeks turn cherry red. “I mean...not for real married. He always says it’s us against the world and we don’t need a fourth wheel.”
Interesting. I’m dying to know if Papa Bear has ever been on a date sometime this century, but of course I’m not brave enough to ask.
“Looking good, guys. One chocolate coming up and strawberries on the way. You two certainly are good helpers.” I pass Shane the frozen berries to drop into the bigger batch of strawberry malt. “And your dad’s cooking? Oh my God. I wish I could hire him full time.”
Yep, I’m still being lame.
I know it, but I’m completely out of my element in this entire situation.
I’m also not exaggerating anything about those shrimp.
“We like playing around in the kitchen.” Lauren picks up the milk container. “How much should I pour in?”
I stand over her shoulder and guide her, telling her when to stop pouring, and then wait for Shane to do the powdered malt. He puts the lid on the blender last before I tell Lauren to hit the ON button.
A minute later, we’ve got ourselves some Instagram-worthy malts in tall glasses with bubblegum pink straws, and the kitchen is even back in order when Miller reappears.
His dark hair is still wet, a little wilder than before. He’s wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt that are just as form-fitting as the black jeans and polo shirt. “Those look good.”
Crud. If I hoped he’d magically be a tad less sexy after showering to save me from more shameful gawking...nope. Not my lucky day.
Forget the malts. He’s what looks good here. A tall, strapping sip of raw masculinity I really need to stop ogling. “How about we drink them on the patio?” I say. “Lovely evening out there.”
“Let’s do it!” Lauren picks up two glasses, carrying them outside ahead of us.
Shane grabs the other two malts and follows his sister.
“Gotta love it when they take the initiative,” Miller says, waving for me to walk ahead of him toward the door.
As soon as we sit down on the patio furniture, the kids point to the pond and start talking about how they found a ton of golf balls near it. There were even a few geese earlier, stragglers from Ontario who hadn’t moved farther south for the summer.
They monopolize the conversation, chattering on and on about their dreams of making fifty bucks off lost golf balls before they have to leave.
I’m okay with it because at least it’s a safe subject.
My mind goes off on its own, focused on Miller again, while the rest of me tries hard not to. Like I ever had a chance. The same questions keep coming, fast and furious.
What type of trouble is he in, and how did he get there? Why?
Will it ever be over?
He seems like such an average guy with a good mind and knock-you-down looks, raising his kids, apparently successfully. Ever since the day they were born.
Raising kids alone is hard and expensive. I know that much from growing up with Mother.
But where did he get the insane amount of money in that bag upstairs? Or is he just bluffing? Messing with me and Manny? I wouldn’t even blame him for teaching my boss, Greedy McGreederson, a well-deserved lesson.
I haven’t seen this money, though. He could be lying. And if he is, what else would he lie about?
“Is that okay, Gwen?”
I look over from Miller to the children, who stare at me excitedly. Uncertain, I shrug, looking at Miller. “Sorry, is what okay?”
He nods toward the kids. “They want to go hunting for golf balls again.”
I shrug again and smile. “Oh, yeah! Fine with me.”
“Will there be more golfers coming past? How busy does this place get?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, scanning the open course.
I shake my head. “Usually not real crazy until summer. This is also the eighteenth hole. Most evening golfers only play nine holes, and they’re all on the other side of the course. It’s a pretty huge place.”
“Okay,” Miller tells the kids. “Just stay where I can see you. And be back well before it’s dark.”
Shane and Lauren take off running for the course. Miller takes the final swallow from his malt and then sets the glass on the table. “That hit the spot. Could’ve used a shot of something. You’re not half bad at making drinks, Gingersnap.”
I almost choke on my own drink.
Gingersnap? He’s got to be kidding.
When you grow up with hair like mine, the nicknames never end. But he just might’ve found a new one. And I can’t decide if I’m feeling that awkward, in-denial, over-the-top crush again, or if I just want to slug him.
“Look at ’em out there, running their little legs off. They’ve got a lot of energy to burn after being cooped up in the car for a day.”
I set my half-full glass on the table. “They’re nice kids, Miller. They’ve been lovely all day.”
“My own pride and joy,” he says, keeping his eyes on them as they race around the pond. “Just wish I didn’t have to drag them through all this shit.”
My lips twist. Seizing the opening I ask, “What is all of this exactly?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the kids, his bright-blue eyes burning through the evening dusk like they want to compete with the stars barely beginning to materialize.
He doesn’t answer, which makes me tense.
I know he heard me, and I’m about to scrounge up the courage to suggest it’s only fair he lets me know more. But then he turns and looks my way, that sharp blue flame in his eyes aimed at me.
“You really want to know? Swear you can keep it secret.”
Holy...my heart starts pounding so hard I can’t speak. Balling my hands into little fists, I nod as vigorously as I can. “Of course. Mum’s the word. I just...I want to know, Miller. What did I sign up for?”
Slowly, he sighs, turning away from me again, back toward the creeping night. “The company I worked for was buying and selling some very illegal...merchandise. Let’s just fucking call it that. I found out what they were doing and decided to put a stop to it. My friend, Keith, he was on board to help but...we both had to flee. Shit got complicated. Had to save our own skins, and our families, before we could do anything.” He looks at the children again, who are searching the ground near the pond, laughing as Shane plucks another ball they’d missed earlier from the leaves. “I can’t go to the police or some Federal agency over this. Not when this company has its hands everywhere.”
