Page 62 of The Last Date

“Yes, pumpkin, but it will stick to the pan if I don’t keep it moving.”

Glancing back to Georgie , she waved her blonde pigtails back and forth at me, looking so much like Sasha, even though her eyes were more of a blue-green.

Sasha had named her after the mother of American modern painting. I had named her after my mentor, the chef at the first restaurant that hired me as a line cook. Georgie was a perfect blend of the two names together.

“Stirring is boring. Can I go watch Mommy paint?”

“Tell me the rules of the studio again first,” I said, setting the spatula down and facing her chair.

Her chubby little face squinched up in exasperation. “I have to be very quiet and sit in my special spot. No asking questions or bugging her.”

“And if the door is closed?”

“I come back here because she’s thinking really hard.”

“That’s my girl.”

As soon as she left, I took the sauce off the heat, giving it one more thorough stir for a few minutes before sneaking downstairs.

Sasha’s odd ethereal music was playing, as she swayed in front of a huge canvas, adding bits of blue and green to the gray and black swirls.

Her work was absolutely incredible. Everyone who took a good look at one of Sasha’s paintings instantly smiled, and stepped in for a closer look.

Even after I had purchased several of her pieces for my restaurants, she didn’t think that they were professional quality. No matter how much I had begged and pleaded, she had refused to show her work to her boss at the gallery.

It might have been a bit sneaky, but at an art opening just over four years ago, I had proudly showed Collin a photo of our sweet newborn daughter. She just happened to be posed in front of one of her mommy’s latest paintings.

Now Sasha’s work was shown in the gallery, and she even did custom pieces for businesses who wanted a specific size and color canvas for their lobby or boardroom.

The best thing of all was that between her fancy colors and my fancy flavors, our daughter was always entertained.

Georgie sat in the corner of the studio on her fluffy cushion, with a row of stuffies around her, whispering to the giraffe in her hand while pointing to the latest painting.

“I am sneaking up behind you,” I said softly, as Sasha turned around. “Do you want dinner in ten minutes, or are you in the zone and need more time?”

“Fifteen minutes,” she smiled, giving me a kiss.

“Daddy’s allowed to interrupt,” Georgie explained to a hippo. “I know, it’s not fair.”

“She’s fine,” Sasha smiled before I had a chance to ask.

“I’m coming back up,” Georgie announced, “But Sherman’s coming too.”

I held her hand as she held the paw of her little blue stuffed dog, and we went back up to the kitchen. Since dinner was nearly ready, I sat Georgie back in her chair.

“Do you want water or juice?” I asked.

She clapped her hands excitedly. “Cocktails!”

Laughing, I pulled out the ridiculous pink plastic glasses with flamingos around the rim. With a little ice, sparkling water, juice, and orange slices, I set a cocktail in front of her chair and mine.

People often looked at us strangely when we had friends over for dinner, but there was no reason that those who didn’t drink alcohol couldn’t have fancy cocktails.

I had opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc earlier since I needed a cup for the chicken, so I poured Sasha a glass.

Plating our dinner, I added an extra side plate for Sherman the blue dog, so that he could pretend to eat the onions Georgie would inevitably pick out of her salad.

“Hey there, angel,” I said as Sasha came in. Twirling her so that she was blocked from view with my back, my lips grazed hers softly, as my hand slipped along her hip.

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