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Our housekeeper smiles appreciatively and slides past me toward the pantry. “Of course. I can use all the help I can get in here.”
I roll my eyes. We’ve offered to hire more staff at least a dozen times since moving in, but Zoe insists on handling the place on her own with her husband, Ryan, just like she had with Alexandra and Ryker.
She barely tolerated Sonia when we brought in the nanny, but she appears to like Aspen a great deal. I share her sentiment. Aspen is very likable, indeed.
“We can help, too, can’t we, Pike?” I offer.
Pike’s cerulean irises grow large, but he doesn’t refuse as we get to work under Zoe’s orders, the countertop lining with all the fixings for that night’s dinner.
Zoe turns on some music, and a pop song floods the kitchen, adding to Lily’s pleasure.
“This is Taylor Swift!” she screeches.
“Who’s that?” I tease, winking at Aspen across the black-and-white marble.
Lily gasps in horror. “You don’t know who Taylor Swift is?!” She looks helplessly at Aspen. “Aspen, he doesn’t know!”
“We’ll have to educate him, won’t we?” Aspen replies.
“Is she the one who played in Black Sabbath?” I ask thoughtfully.
Pike snorts. “You wouldn’t know good music if it bit you on the butt, Caden,” the artist pipes in, and Lily giggles hysterically.
Our banter grows sillier as the meal cooks, Zoe jumping in to guide us on shredding and cutting until the spicy scents overtake the kitchen, and my mouth waters. I didn’t even realize I was hungry.
“Can someone set the table?” Zoe asks. “Food is ready in two.”
“I’ll do it,” Aspen and I say in unison.
“We can both do it,” Aspen suggests. “I still get all the drawers confused in the dining room.”
“I keep telling Flint to label them,” I chuckle, leading her toward the adjoining room as the others remain in the kitchen. “But he’s too anal about appearances.”
She pauses at the buffet, opening the delicate glass doors to remove the wine glasses from inside as I bend down to find the plates and linens.
“Is he coming home soon?” she asks, a wistful note to her question.
My eyebrows raise innocently. “Is he gone again?”
She eyes me, carefully balancing the glasses in her hands before closing the doors softly. “He’s in New York again, isn’t he?”
“Is he? I don’t know. I can’t keep up with his comings and goings. His real estate stuff keeps him fairly tied up.”
“And your ‘doctor stuff’ doesn’t?” she asks teasingly.
“Not anymore,” I reply shortly, turning away. A small silence falls between us as I lay out the tablecloth, and I clear my throat. “That was quite a little psychological game you pulled on Lily back there with the tacos. Where did you learn that?”
“Empathy?” Aspen counters with a smile.
I shrug. “All I know is that if any of us had tried to sway Lilbug from pizza, World War III would erupt—and we’d be eating pizza.”
“Children need to be taught empathy,” Aspen explains. “They’re inherently selfish, not because they’re cruel, but because their worlds are tiny, and their parents—or guardians—make them the center. They need to learn that other people have feelings and preferences, too, and sometimes, we need to sacrifice to make others happy.”
Our eyes lock across the table, and I wonder if she’s only talking about children or about life.
“Dinnertime!” Zoe sings, interrupting our shared look, and hastily, I glance away, finishing my task of setting the table as the spiced ground meat takes its place in the lazy Susan in the middle.
She’s a remarkable woman, I think, and not for the first time. I like Aspen. Maybe a little too much.
