Page 15 of The Accidental (Redemption Inc.)

“Yep!” said the preschooler with a headful of ginger curls beside her.

“Then you on that screen.” Lily pointed to the eye-level monitor directly in front of Feb before flopping back in the gamer chair that was fourteen sizes too big for her.

From her other side, Holt handed his daughter a crocheted blanket, a coloring book, and a box of crayons, like they’d done this dance countless times before.

Same with the video calls, Feb guessed, given Lily’s precise instructions.

“Who do you call on this thing?” Feb asked.

“I call David every weekend.”

“Who’s David?”

Her freckled cheeks flamed as red as her ringlets. “He has red hair like me. Texas his other daddy now.”

Feb tried to make sense of Texas as a father until she recalled her conversation with Jax about the blue rose cocktail, particularly when and where Jax had first tried it. “You mean the family friend from Texas?”

“Marsh,” Holt said with a nod. “He lives in San Diego now with his husband, Levi, and Levi’s son, David.” He ruffled Lily’s curls. “Though we call other folks in Texas too, don’t we?”

“Mama Mila and Irina.” Clapping, Lily bounced in her chair, the crayons and coloring book forgotten, tumbling to the floor with the blanket. “Can we call now?”

“Nice try, princess,” Brax said as he appeared behind them and plucked Lily from the chair.

She squealed in delighted surprise, wriggling in his arms until Brax situated her on his hip.

“It’s only Wednesday. You gotta be patient.

” She blew a raspberry at him, and Feb laughed out loud.

Holt too as Brax blew one back at their daughter.

“I’m gonna take her down for breakfast,” Brax said. “What can I bring you two?”

“Celia fed me already,” Feb replied. She’d fallen asleep on the living room couch in the wee hours of the morning, lulled to sleep by the rumble of voices across the foyer and the two massive cats who’d made themselves at home on her feet.

She’d roused several hours later when delicious aromas—fresh-brewed coffee, cinnamon rolls, eggs and cheese—had started wafting from the kitchen.

“And I’ve had enough coffee for a week.”

Holt laughed even louder than he had at his daughter’s antics. “No such thing in this household.” He tipped his head back to look up at his husband. “Refill, please?”

“Helena’s rocket fuel?”

“Big mug.”

Smiling, Brax leaned over and kissed his husband’s forehead. Lily mimicked him, dropping a smacking kiss on her father’s nose. “Anything else you need?” Brax said.

“Texas or Whiskey. Or Barbie.” More code names, Feb assumed, all above her pay grade, though the last one made her giggle.

“I’ll see who’s available,” Brax said before heading down the stairs from the third floor... Room? Command center? Lair? Celia had said Holt had an office upstairs, but this was more than a mere office.

Holt’s domain in any event, the middle Madigan’s fingers flying over the keyboard in front of him. He paused after an initial flurry of typing and reached for an earbud case. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Would you mind listening?” Feb asked, comfortable enough with the flannel-wrapped giant after the past half hour in his easy company. “After what happened with Juan and Chloe, I don’t know who on my team to trust. Maybe you’ll notice if something is off.”

“I can do that.” He shifted to the chair Lily had vacated, then used his mouse to drag his open windows of web searches and code to the monitors directly in front of him.

His fingers flew once more, but the slight angle of his head, his lifted ear and split glance, indicated he was ready to be the impartial observer Feb needed.

She hit the Return button, joining the video chat she’d sent an invite for earlier that morning. Squares populated the screen, each one filled by a member of her kitchen staff. Everyone except Chloe and Juan.

And Jax.

Feb’s audio connected and voices erupted all at once. Chefs talking over each other, speculating, then lobbing questions in her direction once they noticed her join. She waved a hand, and the chatter quieted. “Can everyone hear me okay?”

A chorus of “Yes, chef” echoed back, and it was the first time Feb had felt like herself since she’d walked into UTT yesterday morning.

Holt chuckled beside her.

She swatted his tattooed arm, then smiled and turned her attention back to her friends and colleagues. “Good. First, I want to thank everyone for an amazing service last night. Until that alarm went off, we were kicking serious ass.”

“Yeah, we were,” Adi said as she sipped from a mug on her South Beach balcony, the Giants’ ballpark visible behind her.

“Most of our reviewers were in before we had to cut the night short, so be on the lookout for reviews popping up online today. Text the group thread if we get some good ones. Only the good ones,” she emphasized.

She had enough terrifying and uncertain circumstances to deal with.

She didn’t need scathing reviews of their first V-day effort added to the seemingly insurmountable mountain.

“I haven’t seen any coverage of what happened at the end,” Lacey said.

“What did happen?” another chef asked.

“Where are Juan and Chloe?” from another. “Were they hurt?”

“Where’s Dylan?” Adi said, her dark eyes narrowed. “Or the new guy? He was a pro last night.”

Feb cleared her throat, knee starting to bounce under the desk. “They couldn’t make the call, but they’re okay.”

“And you?” Lacey said. “Are you okay? I saw you go back in.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I went for my grandma’s skillet.” Holt stifled another laugh. Brax must have told him how he’d found her in the pantry. “Then I stayed behind to speak with the authorities.”

“And the restaurant?” Adi asked.

“Took some damage from an issue in the upstairs unit.” The story she’d rehearsed with Brax and Hawes this morning. “We’ll be closed through the weekend for repairs,” she told them. “We should be back for prep on Monday and open again Tuesday, assuming everything’s repaired by then.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Lacey asked.

“Go to Tahoe or Napa, take a well-deserved vaca?—”

“Holy shit!” Adi interrupted, standing abruptly, her head knocking one of the many hanging flowerpots on her balcony.

She brushed dirt and hair out of her face, her gaze never leaving the phone screen, though to Feb, it didn’t seem like her sous was actually looking at the camera.

It looked like she was reading something instead.

“Render review is up.” She pumped her fist. “Three fucking stars!”

Feb muted her mic and whipped her gaze to the side. “How?”

“Is Dylan there with you?” Adi practically shouted, but Feb’s attention was on Holt’s screen, the Render review displayed there. After a moment, he rotated in his chair toward her, a wide grin splitting his freckled face. “There’s a message for us. In the review.”

“Guests don’t usually wash dishes.”

Feb glanced up from the soapy dishwater she was forearms deep in as Brax entered from the dining room, a collection of empty mugs dangling from his bent fingers. “I’m incapable of doing nothing in a kitchen. Drop those mugs in here,” she said with a nod to the sink.

“Baba!” Lily shouted from the step stool beside Feb. “She got more tattoos than you or Daddy.” In her excitement, she whacked Feb’s inked biceps with the spatula she’d half dried, slinging water and laughter everywhere.

“Easy, princess.” Brax slid the utensil from her tiny grip and set it on the island behind them. “As for the tattoos, Feb’s a chef. Every one I’ve ever met has ink, even the cooks your Daddy and I knew in the army.”

“Every chef I know too,” Feb added. “We have an annual staff contest at Under the Table. Best new ink.”

“I wanna be a chef,” Lily declared with all the awe and certainty of a four-and-a-half-year-old.

“You wanted to be a bus driver last week,” Celia said from the other end of the kitchen island where she was whipping up cream cheese frosting for the carrot cake she’d baked that morning.

In a flash, Lily swung from certain to uncertain, her expressive face on the verge of crumbling, the little girl torn between today’s fascination and last week’s wonder. Celia spared them the impending breakdown. “If you want to be a chef,” she said, “come help me frost this cake.”

“Frosting!” She raced down the two stool steps, surprisingly graceful for a preschooler, and to her aunt’s end of the island, climbing just as gracefully onto the barstool beside her. Far more gracefully than Feb had ever managed, and she spent more than half her life these days around barstools.

Feb turned her attention back to the dishes and Brax, who’d picked up Lily’s abandoned dishtowel. “I’m sorry,” she said to Brax. “I’m not the best with kids. I didn’t mean to give her?—”

“Another career option? More glimpses of art?” Brax dried and tucked utensils away. “None of those things are bad for my daughter at any age.”

He was a good dad, and so was Holt, their interactions with Lily this morning reminding Feb of the unconditional love her own parents gave her.

She’d been ready to call them, to reassure them she was fine, if news had broken about the incident last night.

But it mysteriously never had—or maybe not so mysteriously given the connections Jax’s family seemed to have.

She opened her mouth to ask Brax how they’d managed that feat, but Brax beat her to a more pressing question—the here and now.

“I asked last night if you would be in if the time came we needed your help.” He finished drying the last mug and handed her the dishtowel.

“Well, the time’s here. Are you in, Feb? ”