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He looks up. “All good?”
I’m not sure what prevents me from saying anything. Maybe it’s the absolute shock of it all. “Aye. She’s gone.”
“Great. Mind if I grab something to eat?” He gets up from the floor a hell of a lot smoother than I did.
“No, go for it,” I say as he walks past me. “Hey, Barry. Wait. Before you do, can you make sure the doors and windows to the outside are locked?”
“No problem.” He salutes me and takes off down the hall.
“Oh, and when you’re done, get me a backup of the video from the front door. Just in case,” I call after him, pinching my nose with my fingers.
“Connor, you’d tell me if there were something to be alarmed about?” He turns and cocks his head. Studies me.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but Ronni will ask when I tell her about this. I want to follow our protocol.”
He nods deliberately. Then turns and walks away.
“Pa Pa.” Tristan lurches toward me and I sweep him up into my arms. Lean over and pluck Torin up as well.
The two boys tug at my beard when I bring them into the kitchen and set them in their highchairs. I doubt I’ll ever get used to the hairs of my chin being yanked out by the wee fists of my babies. Today, I ignore the jolts because I’m trying to make sense of what just happened. “Should we get some lunch before your ma gets back, my boys?”
Ronni’s obsessed with feeding them all organic homemade baby food. She tried to make it herself for a while, but now we have a service. I take out their favorites, yogurt, chopped fruit, and chicken and place the food in their dishes. Grab their tiny spoons and sit in the stool facing them. A dangerous location, I’m bound to get pelted with some of their lunch.
It’s hard to get worked up over a bit of food on my shirt when I’m worried about how to tell Ronni about this shite with Yolanda. Don’t get me wrong, after our previous missteps, I’m telling her. I just can’t bear to add additional heartache to her plate.
Bollocks.
I guess when the winds are gale force, we must power through. Once we’re in Seattle, I have a feeling things will be a little easier. Having our friends and family around us will soften these blows.
I just hope my warnings to that cunt of a nanny are heeded.
No one messes with my family.
I won’t stand for it.
I can't helpbut stare in fascination at Fiona as she bustles around the kitchen.
I thought my kitchen in the Malibu house was impressive. The kitchen at Ty and Zoey’s is spectacular too. It made me realize what #kitchengoals should be.
But this? It's the size of a small cafeteria. Modern but rustic if I had to describe it.
The cabinets are a warm, golden color with black handles. Each wall is set up like a cooking station. On the far side, two eight-burner stoves are separated by a butcher block counter that's easily four feet long. A hood that spans the entire wall. The back wall is taken up by a floor-to-ceiling wine refrigerator, theactualrefrigerator—which must be custom, because I've never seen anything like it in my life—and a freezer.
Next to the freezer is an oversized door, which opens to the pantry behind it. Lined with floor-to-ceiling shelving, it's the size of a coffee shop. If that wasn't overkill, four wall ovens are installed next to cabinets that are filled with every size and type of plate, dish, and serving vessel you could dream up.
Twin waterfall islands run down the middle, connecting the kitchen together. One island is covered in marble. The other is covered in stainless steel with plush mid-height barstools surrounding it. Bi-fold glass doors open to a conservatory-type room with a dining room table and glass doors out to a patio, which overlooks Seattle.
"My God, Fee." I can’t stop gawking at the amount of food that lines the islands. "I've never seen anything like this, and I've been to some swanky parties in my day."
Fee's at the oven pulling out trays and trays of tartlets. "I do most of my recipe testing here so I can be home with Mia. My sous chef, Justice, is here so much Zane jokes that he lives here."
“Can I help? I can't promise anything, my kitchen skills are nonexistent,” I offer, but hope like hell she doesn't take me up on it.
Fee gestures to a pile of dishes, glassware, silverware, and napkins. “Are you any good at table design? Maybe set the table for ten?”
“You got it.” I get to work on placing everything just so. Fee also has a cabinet full of candles, glass beads, flowers, and essentially anything you'd need to make a table look like it belonged in a Martha Stewart magazine. I choose subtle pieces and sprinkle little packets of blue glitter for some sparkle.
Fee joins me at the dining table and hands me a glass of white wine. “Well, there's a talent I think you've got down pat. Alex just texted, she's on the ferry. We have about an hour or so before they arrive.”
