“Oh, and there’s garlic bread,” Maxwell added. “I’m going all out. Don’t tell Coach.”
Her gaze wandered over his bulging calf muscles as he bent in front of the oven, peering through the viewing window. His broad shoulders paired nicely with the black apron slung around his neck. He was as sexy as he was endearing, playing the role of new daddy. And damn, she couldn’t deny how hot it all was.
“I should have brought a bottle of wine,” she said, setting her purse on an open counter along the wall. But she regretted it as soon as she said it. Because wine equated to date in her world. And those lines couldn’t be crossed with Maxwell.
“I have some if you want it,” he offered. “But I’m not drinking this close to playoffs, so it’ll be all yours.”
“No, if you can’t share it with me, then there’s no point,” she said, waving him off. Kevin touched her leg, and she bent down to scoop him up. She carried him on her hip as she wandered back toward the stove to assess the action.
“So on a scale of one to chef, where are you?” she asked.
“I’d say about a four.” He stirred the pasta sauce with a wooden spoon. “But that’s only because of Carmen. We didn’t grow up together full time, but she was always tinkering in the kitchen, especially in our late teen years. She always had something to share.”
“Well, this looks like full-blown chef to me,” she admitted, letting Kevin down when he started wriggling to be free. Cameron toddled up behind, wanting to be held next. As she hoisted him onto her hip, she said, “Especially since I’m somewhere around a one.”
“Ah, so I can fool you into thinking I know more than I do,” Maxwell said.
She snorted. “I doubt that—because even though I can’t cook, I sure have gourmet tastes.”
Maxwell nodded, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder as he looked back at her. “So what you’re saying is I should have asked my personal chef to make this meal tonight.”
They smiled at each other for a little too long, something heavy but not uncomfortable hanging between them.
“You have a personal chef?” she finally asked, breaking the spell of his dark eyes. There was something about the man that was too intoxicating, too attractive. She couldn’t tell if it was just the fact that he was in peak physical condition—a literal paragon of athletic excellence—or if there was something more beneath his dark Italian heritage that made her react on a visceral level.
“I’ve been known to outsource the cooking, yes,” he said with a laugh, returning to the pot of pasta. “Especially during the season when time is tight.”
Jill alternated between carrying kids, soothing sudden toy disputes, and helping plate the food as Maxwell finished dinner. Once the table was set and the kids were in high chairs, it was hard for her not to get the warm fuzzies. Especially with the way Maxwell watched her, as though waiting for her reaction, with more curiosity than a casual Tuesday night dinner really entailed.
“This looks so lovely, Maxwell,” she said, meaning it more than she realized. It wasn’t just the home-cooked meal. It was the trappings of family. The comfort. The warmth. She’d had so little of this, living in the Caribbean over the past couple of years. And even longer than that, if she counted the frigid lie she’d lived in for years with her ex-husband.
“Well, let’s eat.” He gestured toward the open seat at the end of the table, and they both took their places in front of the heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs. The triplets were already hard at work on their meals, wobbly toddler sporks aimed at their mouths as they ate their chopped noodles and sauce. After only a bite, Jill could tell this NFL chef knew what he was doing. She moaned softly.
“This is amazing.”
“It’s just spaghetti and meatballs.”
“You must have picked up extra tips from those chefs you hire because Carmen’s food did not taste like this.”
Maxwell’s boyish smile was magazine worthy as he twirled his fork in the spaghetti. “Maybe I did.”
Shelley grunted with frustration as her food continuously slipped off her fork. Maxwell hurried to help her, and once the kids were quietly eating again, Jill asked, “So how have things been going the last few days? Any issues?”
Maxwell heaved a sigh. “Mostly sleep. These three little monsters don’t like bedtime.”
“Not surprised about that.”
“I’ve taken to leaving the TV on for them,” Maxwell said with a grimace. “I know that’s the worst—but I was at my wit’s end.”
She tutted. Definitely not a habit they should be continuing, but she understood the frustration—and helplessness—of being thrust into a new world like this. Maxwell deserved some slack. “It’s all about the bedtime routine. Do you want me to help with that? I’d be more than happy to.”
Maxwell nodded. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
She rolled her lips inward, fighting a laugh. Bless his heart. “But you’re figuring it out. Just like all new parents. And now we’ve got two heads in the game. Why don’t I help get the bedtime thing settled? I could stay over, so that way you don’t have to worry about waking up and taking care of things if they don’t sleep through the night. You get your sleep. I’m the one who is off tomorrow.”
Her heart pounded as soon as the words left her mouth. She hadn’t intended to propose a sleepover this quickly—or ever—but it made sense. He needed someone else to set the routine, and once the kids had the habit in place, he could simply maintain it. It was an easy way for her to help.
So why did it feel like a justification?
“You would do that for me?”
“For all y’all,” she corrected, pointing her fork at Maxwell and the kids. “Sleep is important. Not just for us, but for them too. It might take a few nights, but I know how Carmen and Wayne used to put them down. I’ll get them back on track.”
Maxwell covered his heart with a hand, gazing at her with a look that said marry me now. To the kids, he said, “You better start calling her Auntie Angel from now on, you hear me, kids?”
Jill fought a grin. It was easy to get swept up in the feeling of family like this. Especially when Maxwell sent her looks like that. Her ex had done a good job of wooing her in the beginning too. Complete with warm moments and plenty of promise of what might lay ahead.
These warm moments with Maxwell were nothing more than a family arrangement to benefit the kids. Sleepover included.
She just needed to remember that.
6
Days churned by in relative domestic bliss. Jill had basically moved into Maxwell’s house, though she insisted on visiting her own home daily to refresh her clothes and overnight supplies. Shacking up in one of Maxwell’s many guest bedrooms made it feel a little bit like a vacation, even with how lush his entire house was.
And within days, as promised, she had the triplets on their nighttime schedule. She waited until Sunday before broaching the topic of not spending the night at Maxwell’s house, but really, she needed to wake up Monday morning in her own house, in her own headspace.