He has a fully stocked pantry with a huge variety of healthy food. I don’t understand what half of them are or what they would be used for in recipes. I do manage to find enough basic items I can use to whip together a meal for him.
My attempts at baking create cookies Mikah could probably use as hockey pucks and more than one small oven fire. I’m only slightly better at cooking, but there are a few things I can make that won’t risk his physical health. Fortunately, amidst the dried seaweed, veggie chips, and quinoa, he has all the ingredients to make a homemade sauce.
I pull out the cans I need and smile when I catch the shelf to my right. It’s stocked as if Angelo is going to begin eating baby food tomorrow, and I let loose a giggle. Hannah and Byron must have been balls to the walls buying Mikah everything from the store the other night. Angelo is nowhere near old enough for jarred baby food or the puff stars.
But Mikah is definitely prepared considering the half-dozen cans of formula and more bottles that are still in their packaging. There are even additional packages of just the bottle nipples in larger sizes as he grows.
I leave the walk-in pantry and check on Angelo. He’s still sleeping in the swing and the buzz click click of it is the only sound in the room which for some reason, is rather peaceful.
Who would have thought I’d be cooking a homemade meal for a man I barely know while watching his son? Not me, that’s for sure, and yet as I move around his kitchen, grabbing items and pots and pans and digging ground beef out of his freezer, I like it.
My mom worked long hours three days a week when I was really little, she sometimes wasn’t home until I was already in bed. My father worked just as long hours and was often on call to help with emergency plumbing issues. It made it difficult to spend a lot of family time together, simple things like eating dinner as a family. Talking about our days. Them asking me about school. Instead, questions were usually asked in the car while they worked and hurried to get me to all the places I needed to go like dance and soccer practices, middle school dances, high school football games. Despite the rush and the usually running late, I always knew I was deeply loved.
Something that’s been bothering me about what Hannah said the other night. We’re the only family he has here. Does that mean he has family elsewhere? Or that he doesn’t have any. My heart pinches every time those words come to my mind.
I didn’t have a lot. But I have a home. A good family. A landing place when things in life knock me sideways. I can’t imagine how I’d handle something like this without them.
I have the ground beef browning in a frying pan when Angelo lets loose a quiet cry. His mouth is doing that sucking motion again which is utterly adorable. I can’t help but stop what I’m doing in the kitchen to get a closer peek at him. His tiny feet are covered in socks and he’s wearing a short sleeve, long-legged outfit striped in black and blue. In white across his chest are the words “Let’s Go!”
I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. My internet search turned up enough to show me that with Mikah’s last name of Lutzgo, whenever he skates onto the ice or scores a goal, the entire crowd cheers the words covering Angelo’s chest.
And he’s dressed his son in it. Tiny tears form in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. Yes. Mikah is going to be a great dad. I can imagine his nerves as he dressed Angelo in the outfit, the pride in his eyes when he saw his son wearing his fan-given nickname, and I almost melt into a puddle on his rug.
Angelo cries again and I grab a nearby pacifier before gently brushing it over his lips. According to the note, he ate an hour ago so he shouldn’t be hungry. He takes the pacifier and settles back down easily, so I brush my hand over his forehead before stepping back.
This little guy. He’s going to have my heart in no time. I need to be careful.
Now that he’s happy, I head back to the kitchen. I finish the beef and drain it and I’m adding in cans of tomatoes and tomato paste when Mikah returns.
“It smells delicious out here,” he says. His voice startles me, and I fumble with the can opener, dropping it onto the counter.
The noise bounces off the walls and my head whips in Angelo’s direction. His arms are in the air, lowering slowly, so I know the noise startled him as well but he’s still sleeping.
It takes me a moment to turn and face Mikah and when I do, I realize my first mistake.
I always forget how attractive he is when I’m not in the same room with him. I really need to begin preparing myself for his arrival.
He’s thrown on another simple blue T-shirt, this one with a small logo of the Ice Kings on his chest and goodness graciousness, he might be trying to kill me. He’s thrown on loose gray sweatpants. Cuffed at the ankles. Slung low on his hips, loose at his thighs, they’re my kryptonite. It’s difficult to force my gaze away from what I know is not so secretly currently hiding beneath them.
Let’s just say the man has everything going for him.
“Sorry,” I mutter and turn back to the tomato sauce. I scoop out another can of tomatoes and stir. “You startled me.”
“You’re cooking? I didn’t expect that. And you didn’t have to clean.”
I give him a soft smile, at least one that I hope is soft and friendly and not showing everything I’m currently thinking. Like how much I wish he would have returned wearing nothing.
Now that’s a beautiful sight.
“It’s only spaghetti, and I just picked up a few things. I thought you could use a good meal. Figure you haven’t had much time to sit and eat this weekend.”
“Heaven,” he groans and heads toward the fridge where he pulls out a bottled water. “Would you like one?”
I take it and chug almost the entire bottle. My throat is still parched. Now he’s standing close, inhaling the scent of the spaghetti sauce. His blond hair is longer on top and he has a thin layer of scruff at his jaw. His eyes are blue like the brightest summer’s day. So bright I might have to wear sunglasses if I were to ever look at him directly for more than a moment.
And man. He’s so sexy. My heart jumps and leaps, does a few cartwheels and a back handspring.
“Thank you,” he says, turning his head toward me.
I shrug. “It’s no big deal.” Inside my blood is boiling as much as the sauce. I’m not entirely sure Mikah is good for my physical health. Heart palpitations. Sweaty palms. Erratic thoughts. I might be having a stroke.
“It is to me. This weekend has been… painful.”
I set the wooden spoon onto the counter and turn to him. “I imagine becoming a father like this isn’t easy, but he’s fed. You’re keeping an eye on him. He’s sleeping. He’ll adjust.”
“You keep saying that like you’re so sure of yourself.”
His uncertainty makes my heart ache. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Chapter Nine
Mikah
* * *
She looks at me with such wide-eyed innocence it’s difficult not to lean forward and kiss her. Which is not like me. I’ve spent so many years focused solely on hockey and not much else that the reaction I have to this girl I don’t really know rattles me.
But I like the sight of her in my kitchen. Her leggings she threw on show off the curve of her hips and plump ass and the tank top does even better things to the top half of her body.