Page 34 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

Most people see vegetables at the market. Madison saw the work. Maybe not all of it. Not yet. But enough to know there was something behind what she tasted. She looked at my tomatoes like she knew there was a story in them. Like she wanted to know what it was.

I shouldn't care. But I do. Because most people taste something good and enjoy it. A chef wants to know why. And Madison Hart looked at my food like a question she hadn't figured out how to ask yet.

I have a feeling she will. For some reason, I'm looking forward to it.

Chapter Five

Madison

By Monday morning, I have learned that getting an eight-year-old out the door for school requires roughly the same amount of coordination as running a Friday-night kitchen.

The difference is that my kitchen staff usually knows where their shoes are.

"Found it!" Noah calls from the hallway.

He appears a second later with one sneaker in his hand and his backpack hanging open from one shoulder.

"Under the couch?"

He grins. I take that as a yes. Mom catches my eye over the rim of her coffee cup. Neither of us asks how it got there.

"Lunch?"

Noah holds up the bag.

"Homework?"

"In my backpack."

"Library book?"

His face falls. I reach behind me and hand it to him. His eyes widen.

"How did you know?"

"I'm developing skills."

Mom smiles into her coffee.

Three weeks ago, I wouldn't have known what day he needed his library book. Now I know Monday is library day, Wednesday he needs sneakers for gym, and if his lunch doesn't contain something crunchy, apparently the entire meal is ruined. I don't remember learning any of this. I just did.

"Ready?"

Noah nods and heads for the door. Mom gives me a little wave.

"You've got this."

"Famous last words."

Her laugh follows us outside.

Ten minutes later, Noah hops out of the car in front of Oakridge Elementary.

"Bye, Aunt Maddy."

"Have a good day."

He starts to close the door, then ducks his head back inside.