“So, Miami . . .”
“I was working in a kitchen there, but I kept fucking everything up. I decided to take the summer off to get ready for my next project. It’s my biggest one yet.”
“And what is this cover you’re so worried about?”
“The cover of Food & Wine magazine. And I’m assuming the headline will read something to the effect of”—I gesture in front of me, as if I were spelling it out—“Miller Montgomery. Can’t bake for shit.”
He nods in understanding. “It’s catchy. I think it’ll sell well.”
A bit of my internal frustration leaves me with the laugh that bubbles from my lips. Like a shot to the chest, the realization hits me that I could potentially like Kai. Especially if he keeps acting all charming and supportive instead of being overbearing about his kid.
“Well, if it counts for anything, I’m thoroughly impressed.”
“Oh good.” I drop my shoulders. “I’ll expect an excerpt from you in my interview. ‘Baseball pitcher from Chicago wonders who the hell would want goat cheese as a dessert, but is impressed nonetheless.’ ”
“Texas, actually.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m from Texas. Austin, to be specific.”
It’s something so small. Such a minuscule fact in the grand scheme of it all, but hearing Kai willingly share information beyond his son’s favorite snack or sleep routine holds a weight I didn’t expect.
“Country boy, huh?”
The mental picture of him in Wranglers, much in the way he wears his baseball pants, is doing all sorts of things to my imagination.
“Miller.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re sexualizing me in your mind right now, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
The corner of his lips tick.
“Your parents, are they still in Texas?”
He begins to gather the dishes I made a mess of, completely ignoring my question. “Why don’t you head out. I’ll clean this up. I don’t want Monty to chew my ass out tomorrow at practice because you woke him when you got home too late. Thanks for your help tonight. I hope Max was okay for you.”
“He was an angel. I truly have no idea where he inherited that from.”
Kai’s back vibrates, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction of hearing his laugh.
“And so you know, I’m not staying at my dad’s.”
Standing by the sink, Kai’s eyes dart to mine over his shoulder.
“I’m staying in my van in his parking garage.”
“Downtown?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
A disbelieving laugh escapes me. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not staying in a garage in downtown Chicago, Miller. You can stay in my guest room.”
“No thanks.”
“Miller.” His tone bites. “Do not fight me on this.”
I roll my eyes. “You might be a dad, but you’re not mine.”
“Do you need me to call yours so he can tell you how out of your goddamn mind you are?”
“Really, Kai? You’re going to call my dad and tell on me? I’m a little too old for that, don’t you think?”
“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe, then yes. You’re being ridiculous. Stay in my guest room or sleep on his couch. Why would you live in your fucking car?”
Because it keeps me detached. It’s my own space, one with wheels that can take me far away from anything or anyone. My career isn’t conducive to relationships. I love my dad, but I refuse to get attached to having him so close. He needs me to stay away so he can live the life he was always meant to live before I came along.
Kai pulls his hands out from the sink, drying them on a towel. “You going to tell me what this is all about?”
“No.”
“Cool.” He nods his head. “Good talk.”
The tension from our argument begins to dissipate when a smile creeps across my lips.
“Don’t make me laugh right now. I’m annoyed with you.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “I have plenty of space in my side yard. If you’re so hell-bent on living out of your car, will you park there at least? I have water and electrical hookups, and then I’d know—”
“Okay.”
His brows shoot up, surprised I’d give in so fast, I guess. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He exhales a long breath, turning back to the sink. “And just so you know, the only reason I care about this is because it’d be really hard to get a new nanny this late in the season. It has absolutely nothing to do with you as a person. I just want to make that clear.”