Jackson tells me about his day, and Scarlet goes back into the kitchen. I can’t see what she’s doing, but it sounds like she’s chopping vegetables. We don’t have vegetables. Well, not fresh ones anyway. I desperately need to go grocery shopping, but Jackson’s been a pain in the ass to take with lately, and I’m ready to bang my head against the wall by the time our shopping trip is over.
“Can I play at Dillan’s house after dinner?” Jackson asks. Dillan lives across the street. His sister is in Jackson’s preschool class with him, but girls currently have cooties, and Jackson wants nothing to do with her. Which is fine by me.
“Maybe for a little bit.”
“Until it gets dark?”
“You can see if he wants to play here,” I offer, liking it better when Jackson brings friends here as opposed to him going to a friend’s house. I can keep a better eye on them…which is probably what every parent on the face of the earth thinks.
“Yay! Thanks, Dad!” Jackson gives me a hug and jumps off the couch.
Scarlet peeks out of the kitchen, knife in hand. Yep. She was chopping something. “You still need to go pick up your farm toys, buddy,” she tells him. “You promised you’d pick them up before dinner.”
“Okay,” Jackson says without so much as a glare or a stomp of his little foot. He hurries up the stairs, and I look back in Scarlet’s direction, thinking I hired a witch instead of a nanny because there’s no way Jackson agrees to cleaning this easily.
Once the shock wears off, I go into the kitchen to make sure Scarlet is cooking dinner and not chopping up frog legs or eye of newt and adding it into a cauldron.
“Hey,” she says with a smile, looking up from the cutting board. She’s chopping carrots and adding them to a Corningware dish.
“Where’d the veggies come from?” I ask, bypassing telling her how spellbinding she looks with her hair in messy waves hanging around her face, wearing a simple black tunic and gray leggings.
“Ms. Hills accidentally bought too much at the farmers’ market today.” Scarlet raises her eyebrows. “Imagine that.”
I plow a hand through my hair, smiling. “Yeah, she’s…uh…”
“Totally hot for you?”
“That’s not how I’d phrase it, but…yeah…I suppose so.”
Scarlet chops up a few more pieces of the carrot and adds them to the dish. “I can’t blame her.” She flicks her eyes up, a small smile playing on her lips. Inhaling deep, Scarlet’s breasts rise and fall beneath her scoop-neck shirt.
“What are you making?” I ask, trying to steer myself back into PG territory. Because my cock is making this conversation want to go into the adults-only section.
“I’m not really sure,” she admits with a laugh. “I found this recipe on Pinterest.” She grabs her phone to show me what she’s making.
“Looks good.”
She grabs an onion and starts slicing. “How was work?”
“Slow today, which isn’t a bad thing.”
“No,” she agrees. “Not at all.” She turns her head, blinking fast. “Oh my god. It really does burn your eyes.”
“The onion?”
“Yes.” Laughing, she sets the knife down and squeezes her eyes closed. “My eyes are watering like crazy!” She opens her eyes again only to shut them a second later. She wipes at them with the back of her hand, still laughing at herself.
“It can’t be that bad,” I say and stride over to cut up the rest of the onion for her. But the second I get next to the cutting board, my own eyes start to burn.
“Okay, you’re right. This has to be the strongest onion in the world.”
Laughing, she turns away and takes a step forward and walks right into me. Her supple breasts crash against my chest, sending a wave of heat right to the tip of my cock. She bounces off me, and I reach out, hands landing on the gentle curves of both her hips to steady her.
With her eyes still closed, she reaches forward with one hand, flattening it against my chest. Slowly, she trails her hand down until it’s resting just inches above my belt. Her lips part, and my heart speeds up. I wonder if she can feel my pulse racing, if she knows what her body close to mine is doing to me. If she brought her hand lower or moved just a tiny bit closer, she’d feel it. My fingertips dig into her flesh, soaking up all the warmth I can through her shirt.
She smells like lavender and strawberries, an intoxicating scent on its own, but so welcome over the smell of the onion. I want to move close and breathe it in, but getting close to Scarlet is a bad fucking idea.
Clearing my throat, I tear myself away before this semi turns into a full erection.
“How are you able to keep your eyes open?” she laughs, blinks hers open for just a few seconds.
“I have superpowers.”
“Well, then use them and chop up the rest of the onion.” That smile looks so good on her, even with the red, watery eyes. She goes to the sink, washes her hands, and rubs her eyes. “Okay…that’s a little better. But, oh my God, I had no idea it got that bad!”
“Have you never chopped an onion before?”
She shakes her head. “It’s been a while. And I’m not the best cook, so don’t hold it against me if dinner tonight sucks.”
“I’m not a good cook either, so I won’t.” Besides…there are other things I want to hold against her. Swallowing hard, I take one last look at her before tearing my eyes away and going upstairs to change.
“Dad, look!” Jackson calls when I walk past his room. “I cleaned up!”
“You did a great job, bud!” I go into his room, impressed by how thorough the kid was.
“Do you think Scarlet will be proud of me?”
“I know she will be. I am.”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
He makes a face. “You’re just saying that because you’re my dad.”
I laugh. “Well, I suppose I am a little biased. But you are a good kid. Most of the time.”
“What am I the other times?”
“Rotten. And a stinker.”
Jackson laughs. “No, I’m not!”
“Yeah, you are,” I tease and poke at his sides, making him erupt in giggles. He climbs onto my lap and runs his finger over my badge.
“I love you, Daddy,” he says softly.
“And I love you.”
I dozed off putting Jackson to bed and woke up not knowing what time it was. Or what day it was. Or my name. Napping always does that to me. All I know is it’s late, and I’m way too old to sleep contorted in a twin bed around my wiggling four year old.
Light from the living room TV filters up the stairs. Scarlet is huddled on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest. She’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt and tight black shorts. Her hair is piled on the top of her head, and her eyes are wide.
The bottom stair creaks under my weight, and Scarlet jumps, knocking a pillow off the couch.
“Jesus!”
“Again, just me,” I say with a cheeky grin. “You’re jumpy.” I flick my eyes to the TV. “And now I see why.”
“Have you watched this?” she asks, picking up the remote and pausing the horror show she’s watching.