“Hello, Zach,” Mitch said, noting his son’s ease with the English language today. Elaine was always so hard on him about his language skills. He had always thought the woman went overboard with her lectures on using proper English, especially when she set such bad examples for him in every other way.
LaToya raised her brow at him. Mitch looked great as normal. A statue of confidence. Even after working ten hours, he looked resilient and painfully handsome.
He went over to the stove, put on his mitten and pulled out fresh bread as she had instructed. The warm aroma lit up the kitchen. Setting it down on the oven, he looked over at LaToya and mouthed thank you.
“Welcome,” she said, putting the cut veggies into the stew that she was cooking.
He stood beside her, almost arm-to-arm and refused to move. He liked being beside her. It made him stand taller.
“How was work?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Great,” he answered with a grin. He hadn’t been asked that in a while. Running his hand through his chocolate curls, he stopped at the top of his head and scratched it. The muscles in his arms protruded out, even in his red, plaid shirt. “How was your day with Zach?” he asked her, feeling his son looking at the two of them without turning around.
“Nice.” She looked up at him and put down her utensils. “You have a very sweet son. He was easy to watch.”
“I’m not sweet,” Zach said as he set the table. He looked over at the pair with a stern glare.
LaToya grinned. “He’s a man’s man, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” Mitch said, watching her cook. He liked the way that she moved around the kitchen. He liked the way that she moved period.
She picked the utensils up again and began to stir her food carefully. Her body bent into the stove, causing her behind to stick out. He looked. Nice. Really nice.
Tasting the stew from her silver spoon, she reached for a bottle of paprika and doused a little in the pot. Mitch watched her mouth. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her lips. He’d never kissed a pair so full and inviting. Evidently, his thoughts were a little too readable, because she glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. Her long lashes batted at him. He tried to redirect. “You know how to get around a kitchen, don’t you?”
“I love to cook. Can’t you tell,” she said, scooting him out of her way. “Dinner will be ready in a minute. Zach, go and wash up.”
“Alright,” he said, finishing the table. “There, it’s ready.” He looked at the table proudly. It was set for three tonight, instead of a lonely pair. Tilting up on his tiptoes, he meshed his hands together in complete satisfaction of his masterpiece.
Mitch looked at his son and nodded. “Good job.”
“Thanks. You too,” the boy said with a clever grin.
LaToya looked on quietly and felt a twinge of pride herself. It’s the simple things that make a family happy, she thought to herself.
As soon as Zach ran out of the kitchen, Mitch turned to LaToya. There was a glimmer in his eye as if he was about to say something that might ruin everything. LaToya instantly recognized it. She side-stepped past him and went to the refrigerator to give him some space and to grab the butter.
She clenched the cool handle of the refrigerator door and looked blankly inside. “I’m not trying to win you over, Mitch. I’m just trying to be your friend,” she said softly, shaking her head. Reaching inside, she grabbed the butter and closed the door.
A sly grin crossed his lips. “You’re doing both, LaToya. You’re my friend and something else, but I just can’t place it yet.” He reached over to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay. Opening the bottle, he poured it carefully into a glass and passed it to her. She took it and leaned against the countertop across from him.
“That other thing would be your cleaning lady. Remember?”
“Outside of that.” He winked at her. “You’re something else to me. You’re something else to this house.”
She let a smile crack from the side of her full lips but quickly hid it by biting them. “You didn’t tell me that you had a black wife.”
Startled, he quickly gulped down his remaining wine. Without looking at her, he answered in a gruff tone, “I didn’t think it was important.” He poured another glass quickly. “And she’s my ex-wife.”
“I pegged you as having a petite little blonde for a wife.”
“Really?” Mitch shook his head. “Everyone automatically assumed that when we were married. There would always be the shock and awe when I brought her to a dinner party with members from the firm. Then it would be quickly dismissed. You know. They would be like, oh he’s a foreigner. He doesn’t know how things work. But I’m not like that. I feel like I should be allowed to love who I want to love. No questions asked.”