Page 29 of The Strawberry Patch Pancake House

‘Different is an understatement.’ His attention shifted to where Olive sat on the couch, and he somehow didn’t chop his own fingers off. ‘But it’s not like I could just leave her.’

‘Plenty of people do.’

He paused his chopping, his intense gaze landing on her again and suddenly it was too warm in the kitchen.

She cleared her throat. ‘My dad didn’t have too much trouble taking off and he knew about me. So…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s kind of a big deal that you came back for her.’ Iris refused to identify as someone with daddy issues, she absolutely did not let the man who knocked up her mother have that type of control over her life, but itwasa big deal that Archer had come back. He could have looked the other way and continued on with a life he’d already established. But he didn’t. He was here. And he was trying.

He was still looking at her, but less like he was disappointed and more like he maybe didn’t regret hiring her.

‘Hey, Olive,’ Iris called into the living room, needing to break the tension. ‘You should come in here. Your dad is like a real-life cooking show.’ She watched Archer as she said it and she relished the smile that lit up his face for one brief moment before he bit it back and continued chopping.

Olive appeared by her side before she could try and coax another smile from him. Later. She would try again later because now that she’d seen one she wanted more.

‘What’s he making?’ Olive asked, climbing up onto the stool next to her.

‘French fries.’

‘I like French fries.’

Archer was still concentrating on the meal, but his lips twitched up.

‘Me too,’ Iris said. ‘I hope he doesn’t mess them up,’ she whispered loudly, and Olive giggled.

‘I can make steak frites in my sleep. I won’t mess them up,’ Archer said, with that confident smirk he’d given her the night before when he was cooking pancakes. And she knew she was seeing the real Archer.

‘Sleep cooking! Wow, that would put an interesting spin on cooking shows, huh, Olive!’

The little girl’s forehead crinkled. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

Archer chuckled. ‘I promise to stay awake.’ He dumped the cut potatoes into a bowl of cold water and then started unwrapping the steak from its brown paper package.

‘I don’t want that,’ Olive said, immediately recoiling in horror at the slab of raw beef.

‘Have you tried it before?’ Archer asked, his voice gentle and calm, like he was trying not to scare her, like he had listened to Iris. ‘You might like it if you try it.’

She shook her head.

‘Okay,’ he shrugged. ‘More for me and Iris, then.’

‘Iris is eating it?’ Olive asked, looking up at her.

‘Damn right I am. I’d be happy to eat your piece.’

Olive frowned.

‘I’m going to cook it first,’ Archer told her. ‘With butter and rosemary.’

‘What’s rosemary?’

‘It’s an herb. Here, smell.’ He held out a sprig to Olive and she took it between her tiny fingers. She brought it to her nose and took a tentative sniff. Archer’s lips had curved into a small smile again and Iris didn’t know who was cuter: Olive with the rosemary under her little nose, or Archer watching her.

‘Smells good,’ she said.

‘So, there you go. Maybe you’ll try a tiny bite.’

‘A teeny tiny bite,’ she countered.

Archer grinned. ‘The teeny-tiniest bite. A little mouse bite.’