Violet: Not to be the nagging agent, but please tell me you’ve been getting some baking done. You’ve got five weeks until your recipes are due to the magazine.
Miller: Starting today.
Violet: Starting?!
Slicing the butter over my saucepan, I keep the heat low on my single burner stovetop. It’s convenient, having a mini kitchen in my van, but the flames are a bit uneven, heating the pan at different speeds, so though I could brown butter in my sleep, I have to go low and slow when I’m experimenting in my little house on wheels.
We’ve been back in Chicago for a few days, just in time to experience the city’s first heatwave of summer. Only last week it was humid and raining, but now it’s scorching and miserable, and the van is hot as balls with the stovetop and oven roaring. But I don’t have much of a choice than to get to work on figuring out these recipes, especially on the rare times Kai has a day off from baseball the way he does today.
Max is easy, and it’s not that I can’t work while he’s awake and I’m watching him, it’s just that I don’t want to. I like hanging out with him, and I’d rather focus on our time together than stress over my endless string of failures in the kitchen.
Stirring the butter in the saucepan, I watch it melt when a knock at the door shakes my entire car.
What the hell?
Kai has never once come out here. He’ll shoot me a text when he’s about to head out the door and needs me to come inside to watch his son, and I can’t think of any reason he’d be here other than—
“Is Max okay?” My words are rushed, my voice laced with panic as I slide open the door to my van.
“He’s good,” Kai says softly, holding up the baby monitor in his hand. “Taking his first nap of the day.”
My exhale is brimming with relief—a new feeling for me. I’ve never been attached enough to worry about another’s well-being, but knowing Max’s story, knowing his mom didn’t want to be in his life, has stirred a surge of protectiveness in me.
Kai stands outside, his bare feet on the concrete path that leads from his place to mine. Loose white tee, shorts that show off how cut his legs are. Backwards hat with those damn glasses. And that smile, smirking and sweet—a new look for the pitcher.
“What’s with the aggressive knock?” I ask.
“It wasn’t aggressive. It was normal. You just live in a fucking car. I barely touched the door and it rocked.”
I lift my brow, a sly smile creeping across my lips. “The van has been known to rock. You should come in and give it a try sometime.”
He shoots me an unimpressed glare. “Please stop talking.”
Kai’s attention falls over my chest and stomach, reminding me that I’m wearing only a bralette with a pair of pants that are thin and loose, not touching any of my skin in this godforsaken heat.
I don’t cover up. Instead, I casually lean my arm on the headrest of the passenger seat, only putting me on display even more, allowing him to look because he wishes he wouldn’t.
“What can I help you with?”
Kai holds up a couple of Coronas. “Brought you your favorite morning beverage.”
“It’s 10 a.m.”
“Too late for you?”
Chuckling, I take one from him. “Not quite.”
“Can I come in?”
My van is meant for one. That one being someone smaller than a 6’4” baseball player. I’ve got a bed, a mini kitchen, and a milk crate I use as a seat or for storage depending on the day.
“I’m not sure where your big-ass body is going to go, but okay.”
“The bed looks good.” Kai ducks his head, walking into my space. He has to fully fold in half to make it the two steps to my mattress where he lays out, his long limbs hanging off the edge.
“You’re right,” I say, pulling my beer to my lips. “My bed looks real good.”
He chuckles, leaning on one elbow, ankles crossed as he props the monitor where we can both see Max sleeping just inside the house.
Kai looks light today. Maybe it’s the day off from the field. Maybe it’s the alcohol he’s allowing himself to enjoy. Maybe it’s the uninterrupted time he gets with his son, but I can’t seem to pull my eyes off him.
“Your butter is burning.”
Well, those words will do it.
“Shit.” I pull the saucepan from the flame as the van fills with that distinctly overdone smell. “Stop distracting me, looking all good on my bed while I’m trying to work. I haven’t burned butter since I was a kid.”
He folds one arm under his head, his smirk all smug before he pulls his beer to his lips.
Kai is a good-looking man. There’s no way he’s unaware of that fact, but sometimes it seems like he forgets. In the weeks we’ve known each other, my comments have gone from making him flustered and fuming to adding a bit of swag to his step. I have no issue hyping the guy up all summer if that’s what he needs.
Turning off the inconsistent flame, I take a seat on the milk crate across from the bed.
“What are you making?” he asks.
“I was working on something new. A hazelnut and browned butter tart. Vanilla buttermilk ice cream. Caramelized pear. They’ll be in season in the fall, in time for the article to come out, but”—I gesture to the burned butter—“I didn’t get far.”
“That seems like quite the undertaking for this tiny kitchen.”
“I’ve made more extensive desserts than that in here.”
“Maybe you’re struggling because of the lack of space to create.”
My attention darts back to him. It should be criminal to be that good-looking and so intuitive at the same time.
“Is this why you brought me a beer at 10 a.m. on your day off, Kai? To get me to figure out why I suck at my job so badly?”
“No.” Another swig from his bottle. “You once told me the reason you’re here this summer is because you owe your dad. You also told me you’d explain what that means over beers one morning so I’m here to collect on that promise.”
“Actually, I told you if we got drunk together one morning, I’d tell you. One Corona isn’t going to cut it.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He nods towards the monitor. “I’ve got responsibilities. Single dad and all so one beer is going to have to do it.”
The smile on my lips slowly slides across my face before I cover it with the bottle in my hand. Kai Rhodes relaxing in my van with a drink in his hand would’ve been out of the realm of possibilities only weeks ago, so I’ll take the compromise. He looks good like this.
“You gonna spill, Miller, or what?”
“My dad gave up his entire career for me. His entire life. I owe him to make sure I do something with mine.”
“That’s what this is all about?” He nods towards the stovetop.
I don’t respond, unsure if he’s referring to my career choices or the fact I’ve stayed away for so long, working in kitchens all around the country, but he’d be correct on both counts.
Kai climbs off the bed, taking Max’s monitor with him as he hunches over and hops out of the van. He holds his hand out to me. “Come with me.”
I eye him with skepticism. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to have a heatstroke in that fucking van and I need to show you something.”
“You’re awfully dramatic, Baseball Daddy.”
I place my hand in his, the calluses on his palm rough against mine. I held his hand in bed last week, but I don’t remember the size difference being this comical. It’s no wonder he can alter the path of a baseball as if it were nothing. It must be tiny in his grasp.
As quietly as possible, we enter the house. Max’s toys and playmat take up the entire living room and I love that Kai doesn’t give a fuck about crawling over them every day. This home is his son’s home too and he’s not trying to hide it.
There are endless dishes in the sink that I remind myself to tackle tomorrow. Piles of laundry he needs to fold. Knowing him, he’s going to try to get it all done on his one day off this week, but I’ll pick up the slack when he’s back on the field tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll be annoyed that I helped. He’s prideful like that, wanting to do it all on his own.
Kai ushers me in front of him, the two of us standing by the kitchen island, and that’s when I see it. A brand-new professional-grade mixer sits in the corner of the counter, including dry ingredient storage filled with everything I could need.
“You can’t keep baking in your van,” he says. “It’s too hot and you can barely move in there. Use my kitchen, even when I’m home and you’re not watching Max.”
I slowly step into the space, my hand roaming over the ivory mixer. “You bought this for me?”
“Well, you’re not getting paid to watch my kid; I figured it was the least I could do.”
My head jerks his way, a startled laugh escaping me. “I’m absolutely getting paid this summer. The Warriors are paying me.”
“Oh.” He studies my new work area. “I’ll just return all this then.”
“Don’t you dare.” I hold up an accusatory finger but all it does is bring his stunning smile to life. “It’s beautiful, Kai. Thank you.”
“Thank you. For taking care of Max.” He pauses, his voice softer. “He really likes you.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual.” I look back at the mixer. “You didn’t have to do this, though.”
“You promised to help me find my balance in life. I thought I’d try to help you find your joy.”
My heart cracks at that, opening in a way I don’t want it to. He’s too good, too kind. Too goddamn hot with that backwards hat and that tattooed leg exposed. Guy thighs . . . who would’ve known they were my new kryptonite?
“So, what’s next?” He casually leans back on the counter, ankles crossed. “After your interview with Food & Wine.”
What is next? I haven’t thought that far.
My entire life, I’ve thrived on achievements. All-American softball pitcher in high school. Check. Top of my class in culinary school. Check. Named the best in my field by winning the highest honor in my industry. Check.
So, what comes after there are no more checkmarks left to chase?
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Will your debt be repaid?”
“What debt?”
“The non-existent debt you owe Monty for adopting you. That’s what you meant in Miami, right? You feel like you owe him for what he gave up for you.”
For fuck’s sake. Is it an older guy thing? A single parent thing? Or am I that obvious?
“I’m not that dense, Miller. You love him yet you’re never around. Is that why you’ve stayed away? Because you feel guilty?”
“Can you not be so mature and intuitive for like two seconds?”
He shifts, stepping closer. “Miller—”
I hold my hands up to stop him. “I just . . . after everything he’s done for me, he deserves to live the life he missed out on.”
Kai’s brows pinch. “The life he missed out on? He misses you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. He never used to talk about you. Did you know that? He and I are close, and I thought you were a kid because Monty never talks about you. I think he missed you so much, it hurt him to bring you up. And now? In the weeks since you’ve been around, he hasn’t shut up. He’s beaming like a fucking dork. There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”
I don’t respond because I don’t have to have this conversation with him. I don’t want to have this conversation with anyone, including myself.
He sighs, somewhat defeated. “Use my kitchen while you’re here. Figure out your recipes. Learn how not to burn the butter like an absolute amateur.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, letting the tension drift away.
“But Miller, we’re gonna have a real problem if this article and award you’re so stressed about is due to some misplaced guilt. Like you owe your dad for what he’s done, and you think you can repay him with accolades.”
“I just want him to be proud of me. After everything, he deserves an impressive daughter.”
“He has one.”
I roll my eyes. “You hated me up until like five days ago.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Sorry, six days ago.”
“You freaked me out.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Got that.”
“No. I mean with how much Max liked you right away. That freaked me out. I’m worried about him getting attached.”
Wait. What?
I figured it was the way I spoke my mind or my lack of childcare experience that scared Kai in the beginning. Not once did I think he was worried about me connecting with his son.
“The first thing that happened in Max’s life was the woman who was supposed to love him left. I don’t want him to get used to the people he loves leaving him.”
“But I am leaving.”
“So you’ve said.” His exhale is resigned. “We’ll deal with it when we get there. For now, I want him to enjoy traveling with the team as much as he can, and I think you’re the key to that. He’s happy. He’s safe with you. We’ll figure out the rest come September.”
We’ll deal with it. We’ll figure it out. Not only Max.
His hand is on the counter right next to me as he leans back on his palms, and instinctively, I cover it with my own. Kai uses his thumb to trap my fingers, softly stroking the skin there.
“Why are you being extra nice to me?”
He doesn’t look at me, only stares at our hands. “I have no fucking clue, Mills.”
Mills.
Fuck me, every time he uses that name it seeps a little more into my veins, cracks a bit more of my heart.
Kai looms over me, his ice-blue eyes zeroing in on mine before they drop to my mouth. I want to knock that baseball hat off him, run my hands through his hair just to remember what it feels like.
“Why are you staring at my lips?”
“I’m not,” he says, looking right at them.
“You gonna try to kiss me again, Baseball Daddy? I thought that was off the table.”
He blinks, putting distance between us. “It is.”
“Oh my God, Kai. You were going to break your own rule and kiss me!”
“No, Miller, I wasn’t.”
“I thought it was Mills now?”
He shakes his head. “You ruin everything. You know that?”
I can’t hide my smile, needing to tease him for this. “How much do you hate yourself for wanting to lay one on me again?”
Hands on his hips, Kai’s head falls back in frustration, looking towards the ceiling. “Trust me, if I ever kissed you again, it will be as my last and final resort to shut you up.”
“Okay, I’ll keep talking then.”
He shoots me daggers.
“I love how much you hate that you’re attracted to me.”
Kai rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you and me both.”
The baby monitor begins to light up, Max’s cry wafting through the speaker.
Kai makes a move to his son’s room but before he can leave, I put a hand on his chest to stop him. “I got him.”
“But it’s your day off.”
I pop my shoulders. “I don’t need a day off. I’ll leave you to sit and stew in here over the fact that you were about to kiss your coach’s daughter again.” I go to grab Max, but before I’m out of the room, I add one more thing, so he knows this isn’t one-sided. “And cover up your guy thighs. We’re being professional here. I technically work for you, and I didn’t even know I had a thing for men’s legs until you came along with all that tatted skin and lean muscle.”
“Me?” His head jerks back. “What about you? I get hard just looking at your legs.”
We pause, the kitchen silent for a beat too long.
I burst a laugh, both of us unable to stop from smiling like lunatics at each other from across the room. “We’re so professional.”
