Chapter Four

Dale led the way down a narrow set of steps to the basement. She pointed at a white four-panel door. “Washer and dryer’s through there if you need it.”

They walked past a weight bench and a bin of ball bats, hockey sticks, and various sports balls before stopping outside a door painted a lurid shade of green. Dale opened the door and flipped a light switch.

A musty smell greeted them. In the middle of the floor was a thin mattress on a low frame. Worn carpet, the threads showing through in places, covered the floor. Under the basement window was a squat black chest of drawers.

Mai set her suitcase on the floor. She chewed her lip and pondered how to say she would rather sleep in her car. Don’t be an idiot. Say thank you. You’d be dry and safe.

Dale rested her hands on her hips. “It’ll be better once we air it out. I haven’t been in here since Seth moved in with his girlfriend.”

“Seth?”

“My oldest. You spoke with him on the phone.” Dale sighed and turned away. With a forceful shove she opened the window over the dresser. “This should help.” She frowned at Mai. “You seem underwhelmed.”

Mai barked a laugh. “Sorry. My mother raised me better. Thank you.”

“I’ve got a pillow and some sheets for the futon somewhere upstairs. I’ll bring them down.”

She walked out of the door, the set of her shoulders somewhere between pissed off and sad.

Mai left her bag by the door. “Hey, Dale?”

Dale stopped and turned to Mai. In the dim light Mai could barely see her eyes. “I’m grateful. I was freaked out last night. I hardly slept. Thank you for opening your home to me. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Dale’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Mm, yes, well I have some ideas.”

Mai sucked in a breath. Flirting? Is she flirting? Is she trying to seduce me into hiring her? No. Stop it, Mai. She’s not like that. This is not LA.

A hint of a smile played around Dale’s mouth. “Come upstairs and let’s talk.”

Mai looked down at the steps and counted them on the way back up to the kitchen to keep from staring at Dale’s magnificent ass, trying to stem the lurid images of what she could do to pay Dale back for giving her a place to sleep.

Dale sat down at the cluttered dining room table and pointed to the chair opposite her.

Mai pulled the chair out and sat.

Dale grabbed a glossy brochure off the sideboard. “It’s like this.” She tapped a short nail on the cover. “My Noah wants to go to culinary school.”

Mai rested her hands on the edge of the table. “And?”

“And I’m helping Thomas with his college accounting classes right now, and even if I wasn’t, I can’t afford to send Noah away to school.”

Mai frowned. “Is this a way to get me to say yes? Guilt me into it?”

Dale stood up and raked her hand through her hair. “No. No matter what you decide about the renovation, you’re going to need a place to live, right? And you don’t want to dip into your building fund, right? How about room and board in exchange for you teaching Noah?”

Mai sat back in her chair. “I’m not a professional teacher. The show was scripted.”

Dale raised her eyebrow. “You grew up in your parents’ kitchen, you’ve worked in kitchens your entire life—for fuck’s sake don’t you think you could at least teach a high school kid how to cook?”

Mai drummed her fingers on the table. “What about the job? What if I choose another contractor?”

Dale tilted her head and skewered Mai with her glare. “You think I don’t know the other contractors in this town? I know you haven’t even had anyone else look at it. If this was some silly thing where you’re not sure you’re even going to do this project say it now. You’re still welcome to stay because I don’t want to think about you sleeping in that death trap. But if you’re serious, I’m willing to work with you on the costs.”

Mai raised her gaze to Dale’s stormy blue eyes. “Okay.”

Dale held out her hand and Mai shook it.

Dale rubbed her thumb over the back of Mai’s hand. “At least I know I’ll get something wonderful to eat out of our bargain.” She held on to Mai’s hand a moment longer and then a tinge of pink colored her cheeks. She yanked her hand away. “I just—I’ll go find those sheets. Make yourself at home.”

She retreated from the kitchen and Mai glanced around at the chaos and cluttered countertops. Why the hell did I say yes? What the hell do I know about teaching a high school boy to cook?

*

The sharp buzz of a phone call made Dale pat her pockets. Not mine. Mai’s voice filtered through the hall as Dale dug through the hallway closet and the ramshackle stacks of mismatched sheets. She tugged a rumpled stack of plum-colored sheets from the closet and tucked them under her arm along with a bright-blue pillowcase.

Mai’s bright laugh and conspiratorial tone made Dale clench her jaw. Must be Yvonne. Wonder when she’ll show up. Dale quirked her mouth and shook her head to clear her annoyance over how happy Mai sounded. So what? They’re happy. Good. I should be happy for her. She hurried to her bedroom and snatched a pillow off her bed. Quilt. She’s going to need a quilt.

Dale left the stack of linens on the bed. She opened the chest at the foot of her bed. The scent of cedar rushed out to greet her and she lifted a crocheted blanket from the pile and then added a Toy Story print comforter to the stack. After gathering all of the bedclothes in her arms she walked back to the kitchen.

“I love you. I’ll talk to you next week.” Mai turned toward Dale as she pocketed her phone. “Let me help you.” Mai grabbed the blankets and the pillow from Dale.

“Thanks.” Dale hated how clipped her tone sounded.

Mai’s brows drew down and shadowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay with this.”

“Why would I offer if I wasn’t?”

Mai shrugged. “Because you’re feeling sorry for me? I don’t know.”

Dale turned away from Mai. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. Not anymore.” She walked to the steps leading to the basement. “Let’s get your bed made. I have an appointment I need to get to.”

*

“I can’t believe you’re going to stay with us.” Noah hurried down the stairs behind Mai, carrying her duffel bag.

Mai stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Me either. Thanks for helping me.”

Noah placed her suitcase on the edge of the rug.

Mai held up her sleeping bag, grimacing at the musty smell. Should have laid it out to dry. She held it at arm’s length. “I need to wash this.”

“Lemme show you where the washer is.”

Mai followed Noah to the laundry room. She stepped over a pile of clothes on the floor. “I don’t want to disrupt laundry day.”

Noah snorted. “Every day is laundry day. It’s fine. I’m so behind it won’t make any difference.” He opened the lid of the washer. “There’s soap and you might want to put some vinegar in with it. I use it on Mom’s work clothes.”

Mai loaded her sleeping bag into the washer. “You do the laundry?”

Noah shifted his feet. “Yeah. It helps Mom. She works hard enough as it is.”

“That’s good. Some kids go to college and don’t even know how to use a washer.”

Noah pressed his lips in a thin line. “At least they get to go.”

Mai tilted her head to look into his eyes. “Hey. There are lots of ways to get to college.”

Noah nodded. “It’d help if I had better grades.”

Mai winced at the shame in his voice. “Grades aren’t everything, Noah. Come on, let’s check out your kitchen.”

*

The kitchen counters were crowded with papers, appliances, and a basket of spotty bananas. The sink overflowed with an array of dirty plates and silverware. An unwashed empty coffee press perched on a cutting board next to the oven. Pots, both clean and unwashed, sat atop the stove. Mai blew out a breath.

Noah’s cheeks flamed red. “Um, I would have cleaned up if I had known you were going to be here.”

“It’s a good place to start. Rule number one. Clean as you go.” Mai moved the dishes out of the sink and piled them on the counter. “You have a dishwasher?”

“Yeah.” Noah gestured to the closed door of an under-cabinet dishwasher. “It doesn’t work.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It hasn’t worked in a while.”

Mai opened the door and pulled out the racks. “Okay, then we’ll use it as a dish drainer. Where is your dish soap?” She rummaged in the cabinet under the sink.

“It’s on top.” Noah came and stood next to Mai. He reached over the pile of dishes and retrieved the bottle of blue liquid soap.

Mai filled the sink with hot water and added a squirt of soap. “Now in the kitchen there is a right way to do everything.” A flash of her mother standing next to her as Mai stood on a step stool to help wash dishes in their restaurant bubbled up and she shook her head to stave off her melancholy. Nineteen years on and she still missed her mom.

She plucked a glass from the collection of dishes. “Work from lightly clean to the dirtiest. Glasses first, then silverware, plates, followed by pots and pans. Air dry is best if you’ve got the time and space. Get a clean towel. You dry and then you can show me where things are stored.”

Noah opened a drawer and pulled a worn terry cloth dish towel from a stack. “I’m ready.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Noah dried the glasses before storing them.

“What’s it like to have a cooking show?” Noah opened the drawer and sorted the silverware into the appropriate slots in the holder.

Mai swiped the dishcloth over the plate she was washing. “It’s exhilarating. And exhausting. And fun as hell.”

“It must have sucked when they canceled it.” Noah’s refreshing adolescent bluntness made Mai chuckle.

“It sure did. Out loud even.”

Noah guffawed. “Mom would yell at me for saying ‘sucked.’”

Mai raised her eyebrows. “Your mom swears like a trooper.”

“I know, right? But she wants us not to.”

“I guess it’s a mom thing.”

“One time, in fourth grade, I had to do a book report. I hated the book and at the end of my report I wrote ‘this book really sucks.’”

Mai laughed. “What happened?”

“Mom and I had to go to school to talk to my teacher. I was freaked out. Mom told the teacher she agreed with me, the book did suck, but she’d encourage me to expand my vocabulary.”

Mai laughed harder. “I bet that was not what the teacher was expecting.”

Noah grinned. “No, it was not.”

Mai moved on to the pots. The dried-on remains of soup clung stubbornly to the side of a pot. “I’m going to let this soak.”

Noah draped the dish towel over his shoulder. “Now what?”

“Now we clear the decks. Anything not related to food and cooking on the counter needs to find another place to be.” She pointed at the cat on the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room, nestled on a flannel shirt she recognized as Dale’s. “What about her?”

Noah shrugged. “She’ll pretty much sleep wherever Mom’s stuff is.” With one hand he lifted the cat and drew her to his chest as he picked up the shirt. He carried the cat gently to the dining room table. He placed the shirt in a chair and then placed the cat on top of it. The cat glared at Noah before yawning. She meowed sharply and circled three times before she lay down on the shirt.