Page 70 of The Fire Captain's Unexpected Baby
I kneel down to greet Noah and his fluffy bunny. He looks up at me with a beaming smile, pure goodness and joy on his face. I kiss him on the forehead and stand up to gather the boxes.
“I brought a few things,” I announce, trying to make things feel normal again. I can put sex with Paige to the back of my mind for a little while.
“I told you I had it under control,” Paige protests, rushing to the kitchen.
“Just in case,” I say. “I picked up some tiramisu. My favorite.”
She whirls around to look at me. I give her an innocent expression and wait for her to finish her thought.
“How did you?—?”
“I told you, I just decided to bring my favorite to share. Plus, the guy down at the deli says it’s the best in the state.”
She laughs at the mention of the deli. “He would know better than anyone that it’s my favorite. And he’s right. It’s way better than anything you can order in a restaurant in the next three towns. Not unless you want to go into the big city.”
She puts it in the refrigerator and turns a concentrated look on the stovetop. A long griddle spans two burners, glistening with butter on its nonstick surface. Two neat lines of circles span the griddle, and a plate of pancakes sits on the side.
“Sweet and savory,” she announces proudly. “You taught me how to do this, so I figured it was fitting.”
I come up behind her and put my hands on her hips. She lets me watch as she flips each pancake in the row, letting it stay until it turns golden brown. When the pancakes are ready, she walks away.
“Don’t worry,” I drawl. “The firefighter in me will turn off the burners.”
She turns back, embarrassed. A small laugh escapes her as she leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “I made the pancakes. I can’t do it all. Thanks, Captain.”
With the small dining table set, the three of us gather around—Noah in his highchair, Paige and me seated side by side. He’s across from me, but not so far that I can’t reach over and help feed him.
Paige watches me help him get set up with his pancakes—he only wants the sweet ones—and says nothing. She picks up a fork and picks at the pancakes in front of her. I notice that she doesn’t bite into them.
“Are they poisoned?”
“I’m just a little scared to try them,” she admits. “It’s the first meal I’ve ever made that didn’t come from a box.”
Ah, she wants me to be the guinea pig.
I’m brave enough for both of us. An unpalatable pancake is nothing compared to the raging fires I put out on a regular basis. I cut a huge bite of the traditional buttermilk, dip it in maple syrup, and chew.
Surprisingly, it tastes just like how I taught her.
“Nothing to be scared of,” I tease, swallowing and going for another bite. “You must have had a good teacher.”
“That’s not the only thing he taught me,” she murmurs, lifting her fork to her mouth. She chews and moans, realizing that she made food that is actually edible. “I actuallydid it.”
“Savor the moment,” I tell her, feeding Noah.
Paige eats with reckless abandon, loading up her plate with more pancakes than I thought she could reasonably eat. To be considerate, she grabs one of my egg salad croissants. I watch her eat with gusto, gaining satisfaction merely from being near her.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with her that I would have given anything even to have the scraps of her presence. I would do anything for her and Noah tonight.
“Tell me, if we weren’t having this date night, what would you eat?” I ask when she slows down enough for casual conversation.
“Hmmm.” She taps a finger on her chin and looks guiltily at the freezer. “My mom brought over a chicken and dumpling casserole a week ago. I should probably eat it before it’s freezer-burnt.”
“What I mean is, what other meals are in your repertoire?”
I’m not even the least bit surprised that she wouldn’t cook if she were here alone with Noah. Chicken nuggets and ketchup for him, maybe a granola bar for her.
“Believe it or not, I make homemade applesauce. Scrambled eggs. Coffee.”
