19. Caden
Caden
Iset the salmon on the counter and gaze down at my chest. My linen button-down shirt felt casual earlier, but now I’m wondering if it’s too formal. I unbutton the top three buttons, like somehow showing my chest will make it better.
Was this a bad idea? I don’t want Fia to get the wrong impression.
I invited her over because she needs to eat dinner, it’s the neighborly thing to do.
“It’s the neighborly thing to do?” I repeat aloud, shaking my head.
I open the cabinets and stare at the stoneware dish set. A set of eight heavy dishes stare back at me. I’ve only ever used the top dish.
That’s fucking depressing.
With plates and silverware in my arms, I look at the kitchen table. I always eat at the island or on the sofa, but I do own a dining table. Should probably use it.
I peer out the window towards the guesthouse again, then back to the microwave clock, seconding-guessing where to set things.
Will she bring a high chair for Daisy?
The table seats six.
Should I place Fia’s plate across from me?
Definitely not next to me, right?
Fuck, maybe I should just let her chose where she sits—
There’s a knock on the back sliding doors, and with two plates in my hands, I panic and set them on the table.
It’s fine.
I open the door, stepping out of the way. “Welcome, come in.”
Fia enters wearing a short yellow sundress, hair still braided, and I can’t help but notice the sweet jasmine scent wafting off her. She looks like sunshine and smells like a garden.
Yeah, this was a bad idea.
“Thanks again for inviting us.” She smiles politely at me. Daisy rests on her hip, clutching that little giraffe I rescued the other day.
“Does she go anywhere without that?” I nod at the stuffed animal and Fia chuckles, running a hand through Daisy’s curls.
“Oh no, this is her favorite lovey. She never cared about blankets, but we can’t go anywhere without Ralphie the giraffe.” Her cheeks turn pink, and I shove away thoughts about how beautiful she looks in the ambient lighting of my house.
Clearing my throat, I extend my arm towards the kitchen. “Well, hope you’re hungry. Everything is about ready.”
I trail her slowly into the kitchen.
The timer beeps and I squat down to look in the oven with my back turned to her. I swear I can hear her heart thudding from here.
Or maybe it’s my own.
I flash her a quick look, and she’s watching me but quickly peels her eyes away.
“Your home is beautiful,” she says wistfully, crossing towards the wall of built-ins in the adjoining living room. “I would love to have this many bookshelves in my house.” She tilts her head. “However, mine would be full of actual books, of course.”
I shoot her a half smile. Mine were decorated by the interior designer I hired, with a few expensive coffee-table books I’ve never actually cracked open.
Steam billows around me as I remove the crispy rosemary potatoes from the oven and set them to cool on the stovetop. I sigh with relief—they turned out perfectly.
Then I join her in the living room, keeping a respectable distance.
“You have the space for bookcases like this. You’ve got a big house.”
Fia snorts. “Yeah . . . I do.”
“Why do you say it like that?” I ask, and Fia looks at me over her shoulder.
“Nothing.” She twists her lips to the side. “It’s just, that’s one of my siblings’ favorite arguments to get me to sell the house. It’s too big for you and Daisy.” She rolls her eyes, but her gaze softens when it lands on me.
I shrug. “You’re looking at a guy who lives alone in five thousand square feet, so I can’t back them up there.”
Fia spins in the room, her eyes bright and wide.
Daisy holds on to the strap of her mom’s dress, the giraffe’s left leg in her mouth.
“No, seriously, this place is huge.” She stares at the wall of sliding doors.
“You could open those all up and have a pool party. I’m sure you’ve had great parties here. ”
Now it’s my time to snort. “You two are actually my first real guests.” I rest my arm on the back of the leather armchair beside me.
Fia scrunches her brows. “There is no way that’s true.”
I shrug, hand on the back of my neck. “I don’t really enjoy company.”
She studies me for a moment, shifting Daisy to her other side. “Maybe you just haven’t found company you enjoy yet.”
I bite my cheek.
Fia’s face flushes. “Well, your first dinner guest is a fussy toddler and her tired mom, so I’m sorry for that.”
I pull my brows taut—I hate that she thinks she’s bad company.
The timer goes off, and I wave. “One moment.” I step into the kitchen, pulling out the salmon.
Fia stands firmly planted on the living room rug, like she’s unsure what to do.
“You can set her down.” I nod at the expansive living room. “Promise there’s nothing in there she can destroy.”
Fia lets out a nervous chuckle. “Okay, now it’s super clear you’ve never been around kids.”
She sets Daisy down, and as I get the food set out, ready to serve, I keep stealing glances in their direction. She’s the one making me nervous, the way she’s watching her toddler like a hawk.
Daisy beelines for the coffee table, pulling the woven coasters out of their holder. They were twenty bucks, she can take them home for all I care, but Fia rushes over, kneeling on the rug in her short dress. It pulls up her long, creamy thighs.
“No, no, honey. That’s not a toy.” Her voice wavers, as she gently pries a coaster from Daisy’s mouth. Daisy reaches for the remote next.
I probably should’ve put things out of reach . . . but today is a first for many things. I’m just relieved I didn’t burn the fucking food.
“Please don’t worry about it, Fia,” I call out, but she stands up, flustered.
“Let me run and grab some of her toys.”
I hold up a hand. All I want to do is stop her spiral in its tracks.
Fia looks up at me, halfway to the back door with Daisy in tow, who lets out a tiny whimper, her bottom lip jutting out. Fia doesn’t look too far behind to be honest.
“I’ve got something . . .” I pull open a drawer, grab two shiny pots, and snatch a handful of wooden kitchen utensils. “My mom used to tease me, saying I preferred things from the kitchen over all the expensive toys I had as a kid.” I hold the pots and utensils up in the air. “Worth a shot.”
Fia’s isn’t sold, but she puts Daisy on the floor next to the kitchen table I’ve set, and I squat down to the toddler’s level, handing her my loot.
“Those look like expensive pots,” Fia mumbles, and I shrug. They are.
“You need to sit and eat dinner,” I rebut, and Fia eyes me pensively. “I can’t have my manager tired and hangry.”
She cracks a grin, her shoulders visibly lower as Daisy picks up the array of objects, enamored.
“Thank you,” she says, tucking a strand of long hair behind her ear.
“I can’t have my first dinner guest leaving in tears, wouldn’t be a good look,” I joke, and Fia cracks another shy but beautiful smile.
I plate the food, putting a large portion on her plate. I was kidding about her being hangry, but it seems entirely plausible. And something I’d like to avoid.
Then I set my plate down and go to fill our waters.
Fia lowers herself into a seat at the round table
She chose the chair right next to mine.