Xander

I sent the video file to the detective working the prowler case. It doesn’t show much, just the outline of a person at the edge of the house. I wouldn’t even be worried about it if I hadn’t seen the color drain from Sasha’s face when the police officer mentioned what kind of cigarettes were piled up in the sand at the shadow’s feet.

She knows who it was, and she’s terrified of him. My PI provided me with a basic background check on Sasha, but I have a bad feeling she’s hiding something important and possibly dangerous, so I called and told him to dig deeper.

Tonight we are going to talk, and one way or another, I am getting to the bottom of this.

“What sounds good for dinner?” Sasha asks from the kitchen. We spent the day watching Dallas, having a ping-pong tournament, and playing Go Fish. It was hard not going outside, but we managed to stay busy. Most kids would have balked at having to spend a beautiful sunny day indoors, but not Tori. Sadly, she understands all too well the dangers that lurk beyond the walls of her secure home.

“What’s your specialty?” I ask hoping it’s another Mexican dish like last night’s chicken tacos.

“I love to cook. I can make almost anything. How about we narrow it down a bit. You pick one of the following… Italian, seafood, deli food, Mexican, or danger dinner.”

“Danger dinner, what’s that?” Tori asks with excitement.

“Danger dinner is when you invent new stuff using leftovers.”

“So leftover night?” I remember a lot of leftover nights growing up with four brothers.

“No, not exactly. You don’t just get out leftovers and eat them. You have to be creative and use them to make a new recipe.”

“I want danger dinner,” Tori says quietly. She’s been subdued since the police left today, and I’m a little worried about her.

“How about you? Are you up for a surprise?”

“Sure, why not?”

She hops up and down once smiling and opens the fridge. “Okay, what do we have in here? Hmm…” she says crouching down to look at her options. “You guys don’t keep leftovers much, do you?”

“We order out a lot when Zion’s not here. There’s not a lot leftover when you order from Christiani’s or Salma’s.” Christiani’s and Salma’s are two restaurants nearby that make the best French and Mexican food outside of France and Mexico. If we quit ordering take-out from them, they might go out of business.

She raises her eyebrows and gives me a smug look. “I can out cook both of them, easy.”

“Well nobody’s stopping you, Chef Sasha, have at it.” I like her confidence, but there’s no way she can make a better Boeuf Bourguignon than Christiani’s or a more delicious flour taco than Salma’s.

“Okay, you two go find something to do, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“You sure you don’t want some help?” I ask, and Tori nods her head up and down excited at the thought of cooking with Sasha. Sasha tilts her head to the side to think.

“Okay, you can peel potatoes while I preheat the oven and get the other ingredients. Oh, wait, is anyone allergic to onions?”

“No.” I shake my head and start thinking of recipes that include potatoes and onions, but there are too many to count. “What are you making?”

“Danger dinner is a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see, which means once you’ve peeled the potatoes, you both have to leave.”

“I love surprises,” Tori says, hauling a five-pound bag of potatoes out from a cabinet near the refrigerator. I had no idea that’s where we kept the potatoes.

“Me, too, they’re the best,” Sasha says taking the bag from Tori. “We’re going to need about half of that bag washed and peeled.”

Tori and I set about scrubbing and peeling potatoes. All the while, I’m keeping one eye on Sasha who has a happy, bright energy oozing from every pore. She’s a natural in the kitchen, moving from one task to the next, cleaning up as she goes, and humming the whole time.

When we are done, she points to a pot of water boiling on the stove, and we plop the potatoes in to cook. “Okay, shoo, I’ll do the rest. Thank you, beautiful helpers,” she says bending down to kiss Tori on the top of her head. When she stands up, I surprise her with a kiss of my own, on her mouth, in front of Tori.

She’s stiff at first but seconds later, she submits, and her body melts against mine. She’s holding a spatula in one hand, and something is popping in a pan behind her. I pull away and swat her on the ass. She’s going to regret telling me to keep my hands to myself around my daughter.

“You’re welcome,” I say and guide my wide-eyed child from the kitchen to her playroom.

I don’t look back, but the food that was popping continues to snap and crack on the stove until we are descending the stairs to the lower level. I wonder how long she’ll stand there with her spatula dazed, and I hope she doesn’t burn anything.

Tori climbs up the ladder of her slide and sits at the top. “You like my Sasha, Daddy?”

“I do, very much. Is that okay with you?”

“Uh-huh.” She slides down, but she looks thoughtful, and I sense a but coming.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

She nods still sitting at the bottom of the slide. I take a seat on an upside-down Lego bucket and wait for her to spill.

“If you like my Sasha, what about my Zion?”

“I like them both, princess, but I like Sasha a different way.”

“The kissing way?”

“Yes, the kissing way. Zion will always have a place in our home and our lives as your nanny as long as she wants or is able. Nobody can replace her. Sasha thinks she has to leave when Zion is better, but I don’t want her to. I want Sasha to be my girlfriend, and I want her to stay with us. Do you think that would work out?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment. “What’s a girlfriend do?”

“Girlfriends hang out with their boyfriend and his family.”

“And they kiss and hug and stuff?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Daddy?”

“Not really, bug.”

“Was my mommy your girlfriend?”

Crap, I wasn’t expecting the conversation to end up here. I hate to lie to her, but the truth is something a child her age simply cannot understand. Her mother was a conniving bitch who saw an opportunity to make a few bucks and took it much further.

“Your mommy and I were friends.”

She looks so confused, but I can’t think of a better way to explain it. I mean how do you say your mom was a slut who took me for a lot of money and abandoned you when she got caught stealing from me?

“Are you gonna have a baby with Sasha, too?”

Aw shit, shit, shit. Maybe Sasha was right? Maybe we should have kept our relationship hidden for a little longer? I would have avoided this difficult conversation if we had.

“No, sweetheart, I mean not now.” This is tricky. If I tell her grown-ups don’t have a baby when they don’t know each other that could start a lot of questions about her creation. And if I tell her Sasha and I aren’t having a baby, and someday in the future we do, it makes me a liar.

“Not now? But maybe someday?”

I stand and scoop her into my arms. “Listen, little lady, don’t you worry about what’s going to happen someday. Sasha and I are getting to know each other now. We are the grown-ups, trust us to do what’s best for you, okay?”

“Okay.” She kisses my cheek and wiggles from my arms to go and sit on the swing. “Push me!” she yells and voila, discussion over.

Kids are like a tornado. They’re frenzied and full of worry one minute and calm kisses the next. I’m not complaining. I’ll take calm kisses any time over frenzied worry.

Forty-five minutes later, Sasha calls downstairs for us to come and eat. Every step I take toward the kitchen makes my mouth water more. The smell of cheese and onions and bacon hangs heavy in the air reminding me that I haven’t eaten since early this morning before surgery.

“Mmm, danger dinner smells good,” Tori says, racing into the kitchen just as Sasha is removing a baking pan from the oven.

“Go wash up quick so you can eat,” she says, and Tori disappears into the bathroom off the kitchen to wash her hands.

“That’s an understatement. It smells like a gourmet French café in here.” I move behind her and slide my hands down her hips looking over her shoulder at the casserole pan she’s placing on a trivet. “You made Tartiflette?”

She smiles and leans back against me. “Hey, how’d you know?”

“I love French food, and it smells better than any Tartiflette I’ve ever had in my life, and I’ve been to France and eaten it there.”

“You’ll like mine better, guarantee it.”

“I like this cocky side of you, it’s hot.”

She giggles, and Tori returns to the kitchen with her arms dripping wet. “Hey there, I think you forgot something, bug.”

“I’m hungry,” she whines wiping her arms on her interesting outfit that I have failed to inquire about yet.

“Hop up on a stool, and we can eat. What do you want to drink?” I ask her moving toward the refrigerator.

“Chocolate milk.”

“One chocolate milk coming up, how about you?” I ask Sasha.

“Oh, I got a bottle of wine from the wine cellar for you. I hope that’s okay. I already poured you a glass, it’s breathing on the table.” She’s going about placing the Tartiflette on plates garnishing each one with little sprigs of parsley talking to me about breathing wine like she’s a professional chef.

“Sasha?”

“Yeah?” she answers not looking up.

“Have you been a cook in a restaurant before?”

She wipes a little bit of cheese off the edge of one of the plates. “No, why?”

“You just seem to be very knowledgeable about it, and if this tastes as good as it smells, I’m going to have to open up a restaurant for you.”

“I wish. That’s always been a dream of mine, just never had the money or the management skills to do it.”

“I might be able to help with that.”

“It’s just a dream. I don’t know the first thing about running a business, and I have no formal training in the kitchen.”

“That’s why you hire people to do the management part for you, and nobody is going to give a shit where you went to school to learn to cook after they taste your food.” I reach around her and grab a fork stabbing a bite of the French cheese, bacon, potato, and onion dish. When I slide the fork into my mouth, she slaps my hand. I moan and close my eyes when the food touches my tastebuds. “Holy shit, Sasha,” I say with my mouth still full of food.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she says, but she’s smiling like a mad woman. “You like it?”

I sigh and continue to chew nodding my head up and down.

“I wanna try, I wanna try!” Tori yells when she sees my reaction. Now that’s more like my girl. I get another bite and reach across the island to put it into her mouth. This will be the true test. Tori is a picky eater, and if she likes it, Sasha is a miracle worker.

“Mmm, that’s good, can I have my plate?” she says reaching across the island to pull her plate in front of her.

“Well, that’s two for two. I think you should be on your way to owning your own place. That kid is the pickiest eater on the planet, and she’s eating. Great job.”

Sasha smiles a shy smile and looks down at the food. “Hey, where did the confident, cocky chef go? Take the compliment, you deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

I pull her in for a side hug and kiss her on the cheek. Tori watches us being affectionate and reaches out her hand across the island. “Love me, too,” she demands. We both reach for her hand, and she smiles.

It’s amazing how right all of this feels. If someone had told me a month ago that I would be falling for a former shoe salesperson at Macy’s and welcoming her into my very private life, I would have laughed in their face and told them they were insane.

Sometimes life is nuts.