Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(32)
“I don’t see why not,” Emerson said, sending him a cocky grin. “He is a part of the Lovely now.”
“Excuse us.” He took Emerson by the elbow and led her behind the barbecue pit. “No way. I said I’d help your girlfriends, not a bunch of little girls who all happen to be friends.”
She shrugged, not giving a shit that he was about to hyperventilate. “Semantics. Plus, if someone hadn’t told my sister to pull the fire alarm when she saw a zombie, neither of us would be here.”
“I told her to squirt potential threats with water, not pull the . . .” He paused, looked at the girl with corkscrew curls and fairy wings, and found himself smiling. And damn if she didn’t smile back. “Pixie pulled the fire alarm?”
“Violet, and don’t encourage her,” Emerson said, turning them so the girls couldn’t overhear. “They evacuated the entire hospital, and their Lovely leader quit, so unless I want to be another person who disappoints my sister, then I am their new Lovely leader. Which in all my spare time should be a snap, so unless you want to find a new chef, then you are my co-Lovely.”
Dax knew jack shit about kids, even less about little girls. No sane person would put him in charge of any squad in his condition, let alone one made up of a bunch of freckle-faced Lady Bugs. Then again, he’d already decided Emerson was crazy, and it must have been rubbing off on him, because he said, “The conditions have changed. Time to reassess. I want two fresh-cooked meals a day, free cuts on your food cart line for lunch, you take me to PT, and . . .” He dragged out the word dramatically, making sure she understood that this and was as nonnegotiable as his stance on John Wayne being the best Green Beret on film. “I want to share one meal a day with you. At my kitchen table. No microwaves, casseroles, or weapons allowed.”
Emerson opened her mouth to say no, hell no if her constipated expression was accurate, but then a little girl with Kool-Aid-stained lips and blonde curls tapped Emerson’s thigh.
“Lovely Leader Emerson,” she said, her voice so high it would send military dogs running. “Do we have to be near the smoke to make fire? Cuz I have asthma and my mom said the smoke will make me sick and I don’t want to get sick cuz then you’d have to take me to the hospital and I don’t like hospitals.”
Dax smiled. “What’s it going to be, Lovely Leader Emerson?”
Knowing she needed his help, she skewered him with a glare and said, “Fine, one meal a week with you and before you go smiling, all smug and irritating, note that even though I won’t have my knife, it’s still not a date.”
No way. It’s green.”
Normally Emerson wouldn’t even address the childish comment, just explain how greens were good for a growing body. But today she wasn’t shopping with her picky kid sister. Today she was shopping with a 250-pound superfancy soldier who went squeamish at the sight of anything that grew in nature.
“It’s kale,” Emerson said, taking a head off the shelf and stuffing it into a produce bag. “It’s supposed to be green.”
“Yeah, well, the only thing that’s green in the army is MREs, and I bet they taste better than that.” Dax picked up some kale, then set it back on the display.
Emerson stared him down. This “quick” trip to the market to restock his fridge with healthy choices had already gone over her allotted time. He was due at PT in less than thirty minutes and they only had five things in the cart: a case of Bud, a couple of T-bones, coffee, and two containers of Muscle Milk. “You can’t shoot down kale. You already nixed squash—”
“Too mushy.”
“Broccoli—”
“Green,” he pointed out as if she were the slow one.
“Asparagus—”
He lifted a finger. “Green.” Up went another. “It comes from outer space. And it makes my pee smell funky.”
She lifted her own finger to indicate the GROWN IN THE NAPA VALLEY sign. “They’re locally grown and good for you.”
“Negative,” he said, not believing a word. “Anything that smells that funky can’t be good for you.”
“I gave you asparagus in last night’s dinner,” she said, thinking back to the meals she’d dropped off over the past few days. Meals that she’d woken up at four a.m. to prepare. “And the spinach in the chicken breast.”
“I picked that out,” he informed her sternly as though he didn’t sound like a finicky eight-year-old. “Had you been there, cooking for me as promised, you would have known that.”
He had her there. She always went to her clients’ houses, did a full preference and allergy chart to ensure what she cooked was high quality, high flavor, and highly enjoyable—based on the client’s palate. She’d skipped that step with Dax, which was completely unprofessional, and now she needed to make it right. Hence the shopping trip.
“Well, I am eating with you tonight—”
“Part of the deal,” he reminded her. “And after sticking me with a bunch of squealing girls for an hour, I think I deserve some dessert too.”
The way he said it, all smooth and full of innuendo, had her stomach fluttering—and her warning bells blaring. “Just think of how good the community service will look on your résumé. Lovely Leader Mister.”