One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(20)

“Who taught you how to cook?” The dishes are in the kitchen, the wine has been consumed, maybe a little more than I expected to drink, and we’re now lounging in a glider on the deck, with Hayden setting a light sway with his foot propped against the coffee table in front of us.

“My mom. She made it her mission to make sure her sons knew how to cook before they left for college. So every Sunday and Monday, we were required to make a meal with my mom. At the time, I was kind of annoyed, because I was a teenage boy wanting to do anything but cook a proper spaghetti sauce, but now as I look back on the time I shared with my mom, I cherish those moments.”

“That’s really sweet.” Turned toward him, my feet tucked under me, one of my hands in his, I take a small sip of wine. His fingers dance along my palm occasionally, sending a tingling sensation up and down my spine and a nervous flutter in my stomach.

“I spent so much time with my dad in the driveway, taking shot after shot at him, that the only moments I had with my mom were when I was in the kitchen cooking with her. It was our time.”

“And do you still cook with her when you get a chance?”

Small dimples settle in the corner of his lips. “She puts me to work right away whenever I go home for a visit, and she still has the apron she got me when I was in middle school.”

“Does she make you wear it?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“What does it look like?”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, he says, “I knew you were going to ask.”

“Oh, it sounds embarrassing, I need to know what it is now.”

He takes the last sip of his wine and sets his empty glass on the coffee table. “It says Chef Hayden and has an embroidered woodchuck on the front holding a puck.”

Like there are two strings slowly pulling at the corner of my mouth, I can’t hold back my smile. “A woodchuck?”

With the hand not holding mine, he grabs the back of his neck. “This is really fucking weird and sort of embarrassing, but for some reason, back in middle school, I thought woodchucks were cool. Who knows where it came from, but I had a small collection of woodchuck figurines.”

I sit a little taller. “No, you didn’t.”

Shamefully he nods. “Yeah, it was weird. I might have one or two figurines left I couldn’t part with, but the apron, that’s still hanging in my parents’ kitchen next to my mom’s.”

“Oh my God, that’s so unexpected, slightly weird but really adorable.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Really adorable, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister.”

Squeezing my hand, he says, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I finish off my glass, and he politely takes it from me, setting it on the coffee table next to his. He turns to face me and edges a little closer. “So why did you want to become a nurse?”

Resting the side of my head against the cushion of the glider, the slow rocking lulling me into a very comfortable and relaxed state, I say, “My mom’s sister, Aunt Peg, used to live with us when we were growing up. She lived in the basement and helped out with us, especially when my mom was about to lose her mind having so many boys in close succession under one roof. My sister is the eldest, twelve years older than me, but then Mom had six boys, me, then my youngest brother.” He looks shocked . . . horrified really. Can’t blame him. “My sister helped out with lots of chores and was busy a lot of the time. And I grew close to Aunt Peg. I’d go to her room in the basement and play with her nursing gear and play doctor on her. As I got older, I knew taking care of people was what I was meant to do.”

Hayden nods. “Well, it’s an attractive attribute you possess, wanting to take care of others. You have a compassionate soul. I really like that.”

“Thank you.” I play with his hand in mine, our fingers seductively gliding over one another. “What about you, did you always think you were going to be a professional hockey player?”

Growing serious, Hayden says, “Well, I didn’t know if I was going to be a professional hockey player, but I knew that’s what I wanted.”

“And if you weren’t a hockey player, what would you be doing?”

“Hmm”—he smirks—“good question.” Pausing, he really thinks about his answer. “Are you asking, if hockey in general wasn’t an option, what would I be? Because if hockey is still on the table, I would probably say coach or scout.”

“Hockey is off the table. Pretend hockey doesn’t even exist in this scenario.”

“That’s a sad fucking scenario.” He chuckles but then grows serious again. He scratches the side of his jaw, his five o’clock shadow disrupting the peaceful night air. “I guess if hockey wasn’t an option on any accord, I would probably have gone to culinary school and hopefully own a restaurant somewhere in the city.”

“In the city?”

He winks. “Aim big, baby, never settle.”

“Apparently.”

“What about you, if you weren’t a nurse, what would you be?”

“Is hockey an option in my scenario?”

He arches his eyebrow in question. “Uh, sure.”

“Perfect.” Casually I pick a piece of lint off my pants. “If I wasn’t a nurse then I would totally be a hockey groupie, because I’m liking this whole hockey player persona. Very sexy.”