Dirty Chef

She still hadn’t lost her blush. Thank fuck.

“Daddy, they slow here.” Nicky scowled as he scanned the restaurant. “I’m hungry now.”

“If he doesn’t become a chef, he’ll make one tough critic,” I said and sat down.

Alessia laughed softly and took a sip of her water. “You’ll get some tasty bread soon, topolino.”

We’d better. Wren had started out in his grandmother’s bakery. He didn’t mess around when it came to bread.

The first time Alessia met him, we’d gone to his restaurant in New York, and she—

“Remember when I got Wren’s recipe for his—”

“Garlic bread,” I chuckled. “I was just thinking about it. You were so pleased ’cause he wouldn’t share it with me.” I saw the same smirky little grin on her now, and I leaned over and kissed her. “It’s okay. I won anyway. I married the chick who has the recipe in her secret drawer in her nightstand.”

She gasped and pretended to be outraged. “You’ve been snooping around? How dare you?”

I snorted. This was coming from the woman who always tried to find her Christmas presents. These days, I had to hide them at Jack’s place.

“Bread, Mama!” Nicky said excitedly. “Can I give it stars?”

My shoulders shook with laughter. “Absolutely.” I broke off a piece of bread for him, and I jammed a buttery piece into my own mouth too. “Mm, easily four stars for me.”

I tuned out the server rambling about the menu I kinda knew by heart at this point, though my wife listened dutifully and asked all the right questions about this and that cut of the meat.

Nicky hummed and stared at his fingers. “Dis many stars.”

“Wow. Five stars—that’s good bread.”

He nodded seriously and took another bite.

After we’d placed our orders and gotten our drinks, I took a swig of my beer and reached over to stroke Alessia’s belly. Only two months to go now.

She rested her chin in her palm, her eyes filled with the same contentment I felt.

“I love you so much,” she mouthed.

“More for every day, love.”