I can only nod. “Okay.”
His lips, too masculine to be called pretty but pretty all the same, quirk. “But for the record?”
“Yeah?” I ask, sounding parched.
“You and Pen want to tie one off, and you need someone to keep an eye on your brother and make dinner for Little Miss Sassy, ask me first.”
My lips part. “I-I couldn’t do that.”
Lark frowns. “You think Nina’s up for it?’
I almost choke. “What? No—”
“And I don’t think Livy’s ever been a member of the Baby Sitters Club—”
It seems wrong not to argue. “That’s a little—”
He eyeballs me. “Have you evertalkedto her?”
He has a point.
“Pen seems to like her,” I defend.
His chin tuck and brow raise speak volumes. I can’t help it. I laugh.
Gratification looks good on Lark Bienvenue.
“I have five younger brothers and sisters, one nephew and one niece. Lots of childcare experience.”
My thoughts seem to have slowed, but it occurs to me that I don’t know any other man who’s ever bragged about his childcare experience.
“Bubble bath. Mani-Pedi. Online shopping,” he says, his voice both rough and soft like a loofah on soapy skin. “I’ll text when dinner’s ready.”
I must be really, really tired because I can’t argue anymore. Instead I just nod.
I look over at Maisy at the table just finishing her banana. She has mushed fruit on her fingers and face. Maybe a little in her hair.
“Let me just get her cleaned—”
Lark puts out a hand to stop me. “We got this.”
He tugs a paper towel off the roll, runs it under the tap, wrings it out, and lopes over to the table. He offers it to Maisy as if he’s asking her to dance. “Show me how it’s done, kid.”
She giggles and takes the wet napkin from him and runs it over her mouth and face before rubbing it between her hands. She may not be completely fruit-free, but it’s good enough.
Maisy slaps the napkin back in his waiting palm like she’s giving him a low five.
“Want to help me make dinner?” he asks.
Her glasses magnify her excitement. “Yeah!”
Lark drags a chair over to the counter by the stove. “I’ll handle the sharp stuff and the hot stuff, and you handle the rest, okay?”
“Okay,” Maisy agrees, scrambling up on the chair. Lark sets down a cutting board in front of them and transfers the vegetables in front of Maisy.
“You put a mushroom down every time I finish cutting one. Got it?” he instructs.
“Got it,” she says on a nod.
