It took a bit of insistence that I didn’t need help carrying everything inside before she finally caved, pulled me in for one last hug, and drove off in a battered silver sedan with a shimmy, a squeal, and $5,900 in well-deserved tips.
Dominic, on the other hand, who wasnotraising a child by himself while studying part-time without the means to afford a babysitter, did not offer any assistance when he saw me hauling everything inside.
I’d double her tip next time. Triple it, even. It wasn’t like he’d notice.
I unpacked the cleaning supplies, wiped off enough counter space to make lunch, and got to work.
Without washing, descaling, or deboning the fish, I slapped it onto the shiny new oven sheet Amber had picked up, drowned it in a freshly made, unsalted marinade, threw the whole thing in the oven, and set it to broil.
The requirement was that I make him lunch.
Nobody said it had to begood.
Or even edible.
Rosie’s cooking was obviously top-notch. But she wasn’t a spoiled heiress with no life skills to speak of whatsoever. And the longer I played into the role, the more leverage I gained over her son.
If he weren’t eating my food, I wouldn’t have to put any real effort into cooking. Imagine how much time and energy that would save me.
Even the cleaning I was doing felt like too much. I’d need to offset my competency with something ridiculous, like polishing his shower with olive oil. Or trying to move a four-hundred-pound fridge with the flimsy rope Amber had deemed appropriate for a roast suckling pig cosplay.
I’d barely managed to unravel enough of the stuff to theoretically fit around Goliath (the fridge) before Dominic cracked. “What are you doing?”
I batted my lashes at him innocently. “What do you mean?”
His teeth, lips, and surrounding skin were now stained a gag-inducing corpse gray from the food dye. It was hilarious.
“What’s with the rope?”
“Your fridge isn’t plugged in.”
“And toppling it onto yourself will remedy that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Your salmon is burning. You might want to take care of that first.”
“It’s not burning,” I insisted, ignoring the subtle hint of smoke tickling at my throat. “I set the oven to boil. Last I checked, you can’t burn something by boiling it, Dominic.”
His lips parted. His cheek twitched. Then he glanced down and rubbed a palm over his mouth with a broken “hmm” that sounded a hell of a lot like it was meant to cover up a laugh.
I sucked on my cheeks and returned my attention to the rope. After tying one end around a small sack of lentils, I chucked itover Goliath, satisfied when it hit the ground on the other side with athud.
Ignoring Dominic’s judgmental snort, I dropped to my hands and knees, used a broom to push the bag all the way to the left, then drew it back out from underneath. It worked like a charm. A handful of flimsy knots later, Goliath was sufficiently ensnared.
Then I started to circle the rope around my hips.
The salmon was charred by this point, and we were seconds away from the smoke alarm triggering. It smelled rank—borderline hazardous to eat.
“Be a dear and turn off the oven, would you?” I asked Dom sweetly. “I’m a little tied up right now.”
He did so without a word, making a point of throwing all the windows open. “I should’ve made you sign a waiver absolving me of being held responsible for the consequences of your… do people still refer to it ascreativityto soften the blow?”
“I don’t know. Do they still tell you it’s perfectly normal to drink breast milk at your age?”
He pressed a hip to the counter and crossed his arms, biceps bulging. “I know you started that rumor.”
“Only after you went around telling everyone I was born with a tail.” He’d done it a day before Show and Tell, then dubbed it Show andTailbecause it was the lowest-hanging fruit, and he’d never been all that clever.
