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Chapter Twenty-Three
It had been a real kick in the heart to watch Devy hold those babies and talk to Calla and Yasmin when the older girls finished their story and came over. His babygirl was so gentle and patient with them, and when Hyacinth had started to fuss, she’d soothed little miss crabby pants right back to sleep. Not to mention she’d chatted easily with and charmed his friends without even trying—she just had to be herself and they loved her. No surprise there—he knew how easy it was to fall for her.
If he hadn’t already known he was gone for Devy, this afternoon would’ve cemented it even if she had seemed a little dispirited when they left. Probably just worried about the job search she’d put off so they could help out the Del Bosques.
There hadn’t been time to talk about it before his first patient of the afternoon was due to arrive, but he’d spoil her tonight, see if he couldn’t get her to talk. She was still so reticent about what she saw as complaining, and he planned to talk to her about that too. Maybe not just talk either.
After his final patient, he headed straight upstairs before going to find his buttercup so he could shower. Not that she’d mind that clinic smell, but he was probably pretty ripe from his efforts. His job was really goddamn fun but it could produce a lot of laundry. Good thing Galina was a saint and would throw in a couple loads when she was here.
After he’d scrubbed up and put on some fresh clothes, he jogged downstairs to see what Devy was up to—on her laptop no doubt, but in the den? In his office? At the kitchen counter? She liked the kitchen. And that’s where he found her, but not typing and clicking away with her brow furrowed in concentration. No, there was a clutch of panic in his chest because she definitely had one of his super sharp chef’s knives in her hand and was slicing away at some mushrooms.
“Devy, no! What a naughty little girl.”
Her head snapped up and he cursed his daddy dom mouth for opening before his brain had a chance to kick in. What, did he think she’d survived forty-two years and raising two kids without using sharp knives? But his heart was still pounding with worry as he rounded the counter and wrapped his hand around hers, and pried the knife from her grasp. Not like it took much effort because she was still looking at him in a bewildered “what the fuck is wrong with you” kind of way.
“You could have hurt yourself, baby,” he said gently, trying to soften the sharp edge of his crazy. “You can’t use knives in the kitchen. You need Daddy’s help with those things. You don’t need to be cooking anyway. Cooking is Daddy’s job.”
“But I like to.”
Eric narrowed his eyes. “Do you really enjoy it? Or is it just the most enjoyable of all the chores you do?”
“No, I really like it.” She smiled, her eyes getting bright. “I used to make the best meals when I was home with the boys all the time. Pasta and bolognese sauce from scratch, duck cassoulet, chicken pot pie, tacos with handmade tortillas. I try my best now but…”
She shook her head.
“There just isn’t enough time in the day to run the boys to school and all their activities, try to keep the house from descending entirely into chaos, doing the laundry, helping with homework, and then there’s only time for spaghetti and meatballs. Or something in the crockpot if I remembered to set it.”
Devy looked into the middle distance, seeming as though she was recalling fond memories. “I liked making them good, healthy food. And it sounds silly, but I tried to put as much love into it as I could. Not that homemade steamed pork dumplings are a substitute for attention and affection but I don’t know, I just liked providing nourishment for their bodies the same way I tried to for their minds and their hearts, you know?”
She shrugged, looking sheepish. “That must sound really silly to you. You’re a doctor, you save peoples lives.”
His heart twisted like a kitchen rag someone was trying to wring dishwater out of and he couldn’t help but reach out and set his hands on her biceps.
“It doesn’t sound silly at all. It sounds wonderful. If you really want to, I’d be blessed to have you cook for me. But it’s not something I expect. It’s a lot of work, it’s time-consuming, and it can contribute to decision fatigue especially when you already have so much on your plate. If you change your mind, you let me know.”
“Um, okay,” she said, flushing. Like no one had ever thanked her for all the work she put into feeding her family, like no one had appreciated all her effort, and it hadn’t occurred to any of them to take a turn so she could have a break. That was not going to fly around here. Next time the boys were around for dinner he’d enlist their help.
Every grown-up should know how to cook something that didn’t go in the microwave and if Logan gave him a hard time, he’d impress upon the teenager how attractive being handy in the kitchen could be to future dates. God knows that’s how his mother had gotten him to not just dutifully assist in making meals but be actually keen on getting proficient as a cook.
“I’m sorry I overreacted, it was just a shock and I want to keep you safe,” he said, taking her hand, kissing her knuckles.
“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “Actually I like how protective you are. But I promise I’m good in the kitchen. I took a knife skills class and everything.”
Of course she had.
“So what are you making? Is there anything I can do to help or just get out of the way?”
“Chicken madeira, it’s one of my specialties. You can pour yourself a glass of wine and pull up a stool to keep me company but that’s it.”
For once, Eric did what he was told and made up a quick plate of cheese and crackers with some salami and olives and nuts and fruit. Wouldn’t hurt to have a snack while his babygirl busied herself in the kitchen. He could feed her bits while her hands were occupied and lord knew they both liked that.
He pulled up a stool and folded a piece of salami on top of a slice of manchego, set it all on a cracker and offered Devy a bite, which she accepted, making an appreciative little moan as she did. Eric popped the other half in his mouth and washed it down with a sip of the Grenache gris he’d opened.
“How’s the job hunt going? Find any good prospects?”
Devy sighed and wrinkled her nose. “It’s not going great. There aren’t a ton of jobs in my field, period, and the handful that wouldn’t require moving are all full time. So I’ll probably end up doing admin or retail again. Which is far better than nothing but not really what I want to do, you know?”
Eric nodded. “Sure do. I can’t imagine having to take a job that wasn’t practicing medicine so I hear you.”
