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“Sorry. Work calls.”
Mom walks with me to the front door. Her silence is worse than the questions on her lips. She reaches up and kisses my cheek. “The world is right again.” Dainty fingers brush over my shoulder, removing invisible lint. “I’ll be in touch.”
I smile at my mother’s positivity. “Tell Dad I am happy and will celebrate some other time. I just have—”
“Too much on your mind to relax right now.” She places a hand on my cheek. “Be kind to yourself, Franklin. Give this young lady a chance.”
I can’t look at my mother because her eyes are filled with hope.
For once, I’m not assessing the future with a short or long-term strategy being the answer to all my troubles.
One day at a time.
* * *
After arrivingat the Malibu house, I tell Royce to head home and I’ll see him on Monday. I punch in the code to open the door and take Penny’s hand. She stalls and peers over her shoulder.
I slide stray strands of hair from her mouth. Her pouty lips entice me to kiss her and carry her to the bedroom. Ignoring those thoughts, I lead her into the kitchen. “Take a seat while I fix us a drink.”
“Do you want to hear my plans?”
“Absolutely.”
She shoots me her beautiful smile, and I feel it in my chest and all the way to my cock. “Your kitchen has enough room for a double counter.” She pauses and waits for my reaction.
“Go on.”
“And we could add walls here for a butler’s kitchen. I love the idea of the first counter having appliances and a sink, and it being wide enough for people to sit at and chat to whoever is preparing the meal.”
What?“I never sit to simply chat to our staff.”
“Maybe you should.” She gives me her you-should-try-it-sometime look. “Not all families have chefs and cooks. Many like to do it themselves, and sitting around the counter unites the family. I think it will give your kitchen a whole different feel for you.”
“So why the second island? Personally, I like a butler’s kitchen to hide the mess.”
“You could have that too, especially if you hire a chef for the night.”
I cock a brow. “The night? My mother has never cooked in her kitchen.”
“As far as you know. I’m sure there are nights she cooks to help with the stress. It’s quite therapeutic. You should try it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I place a glass of wine in front of her and pour myself a whiskey. “Sally prepares my meals. If I turn on the oven, does that count?”
“No.” She stands with her wine in her hand as she paces forward and makes a circular action with her free hand. “The second counter has storage and more stools around it in case you have a party.”
“Why wouldn’t we be civilized and sit at the dining table? Or outside on the balcony.”
She shoots me a mischievous grin. “Sometimes people don’t want to be civilized. You can stand and move around the charcuterie board.” She stares as though envisioning the food. “Then the dining table is here where the glass doors will extend, allowing people on the bottom level to view the ocean no matter where they’re standing.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I want to use the old kitchen wood somewhere. I hate waste… we could use it on the wall.”
“I can’t picture it. If something is old, then just get rid of it.”
“But it’s wasteful.”
“We can talk about it later. Tell me more of your ideas.”
