At least, nothing is on fire. Squinting through the gray haze, I yank the pan out and drop it onto the stove top. The grease bubbles and spits around the sizzling, burnt, and crispy pieces of meat.
Or what used to be meat.
Now it’s inedible, and we’re back to having dry cereal for breakfast.
I flip the oven off for good measure and wave the towel again haphazardly at the shrieking alarm as I regain my sense of control.
“Daddy—”
“I’ve got it under control, Nellie-Jo.” I reach above my head to hit the button to stop the shrieking.
“Daddy, Ms. Thompson is here!”
A grunt chokes off in my throat. “No—” I gasp, spinning to face the front door. Both hands clutch the towel wrapped around my waist as if it might save me.
Nothing can save me. Not a towel, that’s for damn sure.
I have mere seconds to prepare to greet my newest employee on her first official day. Not that there’s much to prepare when I’m standing damn near naked in my kitchen, covered in glitter, and wearing nothing but a towel like some fancy fashion designer’s muse gone terribly wrong.
6
Sutton
“Good morning, Officer Sunny!”Ms. Thompson chirps brightly, appearing in my doorway.
I blink and wet my lips, tasting the salty remnants of dust.
Her black hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun. A navy-blue sweatshirt encases her body, appearing to be three sizes too large, and for the briefest moment, I’m swarmed with the need to know who that sweatshirt belongs to.
I blink again.
She’s wearing black stretchy leggings, white socks pulled halfway up her shins, and a pair of the cleanest white sneakers I’ve ever seen.
She looks entirely unprofessional.
That makes two of us.
I watch her take in the scene with one sweeping glance. All of it. The still-smoking pan and me. She pauses momentarily on the towel slung low around my hips. Her undivided attention sends heat crawling up my neck.
“Don’t laugh,” I mutter, pinning her with a furious look. I scratch my left pec.
I chase criminals for a living. Throw myself headfirst into danger. Yet the simple presence of this woman in my kitchen on a Monday morning is enough to knock my feet out from under me.
“I am so sorry,” she says quickly, her face turning pink as her lips turn up into a grin. “It’s just… are you…shimmering?”
I stare at her and slap overhead at the smoke alarm again, finally silencing the damn thing.
I cough gently to clear my throat. “This is not a typical morning for any of us.”
“I’m not here to judge.” She holds her palms out toward me. Her face is open and surprisingly unbothered.
“I have it handled.”
Her head cocks to the side. “Did you get into a fight with the craft store?”
“I spilled my glitter on the floor,” Nellie adds helpfully. “He tried to vacuum it up.”
She trails her gaze over my sparkling chest. “Interesting,” Ms. Thompson says carefully and smiles down at my daughter, dragging my attention there too.
