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She looks at me innocently. “Because they’re delicious?”
I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“In my defense, you did leave me with a giant box of Cheez-Its when you were away on your business trip. Did you think Lola wouldn’t find them and not ask me to share?” She raises her eyebrow.
“Touché.”
She gives me a smirk, returning her attention to her plate.
I’m not used to having anyone over for dinner aside from my parents and siblings. I’ve never invited a woman over before. Kendra always left the second I got home from work, and anyone I’ve gone out with, I’ve met at a restaurant. Marlow is the exception. She’s slowly breaking down my walls.
I was pleasantly surprised how things went at Brush & Palette. Marlow was nearby when Lola wanted her help with something, but let me take the lead, which I appreciated. My weekends with Lola are important and I’m grateful Marlow understands that.
After Lola’s class, we stopped by Main Street Market. Willis had just put out a fresh batch of his famous meatballs. I got a dozen and figured I had to make spaghetti to go with them. Lola and I unanimously decided to invite Marlow over for dinner.
“Daddy, can I watch an episode of Bluey?” Lola asks after she’s cleared her plate.
“You can watch one,” I tell her. “It’s a school night, so you need to go to bed on time.”
“Yay,” she shouts, racing into the living room.
Unfortunately, she’s already a whiz with technology, which means she can access her favorite shows on her own. I had to set up parental controls last year after I found her watching My Little Pony on multiple occasions in the middle of the night. Now, she can only access the TV during certain hours.
“Should I put these in the dishwasher?” Marlow nods to the dirty dishes on the table.
“If you wouldn’t mind putting them in the sink, that would be great. I haven’t gotten around to unloading the dishwasher.” I carry the bowl of leftover spaghetti over to the counter.
“I can do that,” Marlow says as she stands up. “It’s the least I can do after you cooked such an incredible meal.”
“Thank you.”
As she collects the dirty dishes and carries them over to the sink, I get a container from the cupboard and fill it with the rest of the spaghetti. I’m sure Lola won’t mind having it for leftovers this week, considering it’s now one of her favorite foods.
“Ouch,” Marlow yelps.
I spin around to see her standing by the dishwasher, clutching her left hand. I’m alarmed when I notice there’s blood dripping from a cut on her finger. I grab a dish towel from the counter and rush to her side, wrapping the towel around her finger.
“What happened?”
“I cut myself on your vegetable slicer.” She glares down at the offending object on the floor.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Come sit down.” I usher her over to the table and pull out a chair for her to sit.
I grab the first aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol that I keep under the sink. When I get back to the table, Marlow is holding the towel tightly against her finger, looking at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re just the most prepared person I’ve ever met.”
“Unfortunately, having all the supplies doesn’t equate to proper medical training. My expertise extends only to treating unicorn plushies and little girls who have a thing for wearing bandages like an accessory.”
Marlow grins. “Healing a unicorn is impressive, so I’ll take my chances.”
I open the first aid kit and take out a couple of cotton balls, a bandage, and the antibiotic ointment before kneeling in front of her.
“Can I see your hand?” I ask as I apply alcohol to a cotton ball.
She nods, removing the towel, and holds out her finger for me.
