Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

Mrs. Kowalski immediately turns to face me from where she’s watering the plants in the sunroom. The same place where our tiny blip was conceived. I don’t think he or she would appreciate knowing that fact when they grow up.

Yeah, I’ve started to wonder if my blip is a girl and not a boy.

Damn, Chloe and her convincing superpowers!

“Mr. Hawthorne, I didn’t know you were coming early. Sorry, I’ll get your coffee ready right now.” My housekeeper sets down the plastic watering can that reminds me of Daisy’s elephant-shaped one now staying untouched in the office.

“No, it’s not coffee, but…I’d like your help with something else.” My palms go clammy, and I have the sudden urge to rub them over my pants.

God, why is this so damn hard?

My housekeeper patiently waits for my instructions, while my tongue seems to have gotten stuck at the base of my mouth.

Fuck it, Charles.

This is your home.

If you want to cook, you cook, period. No one can stop you.

Putting my hands inside my pants pockets, I stand tall.

“Can you show me around the kitchen and help me cook?”

Her eyebrows shoot up as if I’ve just asked her to sell national secrets to our enemies. “If you’d like to eat something special, I can make it for you, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“It’s not for me.” I swallow hard, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I had a meeting with one of the most expert nutritionists in the country, and I want to try a recipe for Daisy. But I’ve never cooked before.”

Her face lights up as if I’ve just told her our nation is going tax-free.

Moments later, I’m standing in the kitchen, following Mrs. Kowalski’s instructions. I’ve ditched my jacket, and my shirt sleeves are rolled over my forearms. A white apron hangs from my neck, and I’m holding the long waist ties in each hand as if they’re bombs.

“Shall I help you?” my housekeeper asks softly, and I look over my shoulder to see her all ready.

I nod, and with expert hands, she ties a knot that is neither too tight nor too loose.

“Do you want to show me the recipe, and I can check if we have everything here?”

“What if we don’t? Aren’t grocery stores closing soon?” I look down at my watch and mentally curse.

I’m failing at a task before I’ve even begun.

This must be a new record for you, Hawthorne.

“I’m very proud of my pantry, Mr. Hawthorne.” Mrs. Kowalski, on the other hand, couldn’t be any calmer. I must have that freaked-out expression on my face, because she adds, “In any case, twenty-four-hour shops are always open.”

Thank fucking God.

“I just want to follow the recipe exactly as mentioned.” I finally take out the printout from the inside pocket of my jacket.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, sir.” There’s no humor in her voice as she looks down at the recipe. “And good news, we have everything.”

“Even the cast iron pan?”

“Only the best one.” She winks and places the skillet over the stove before producing a bag of oat flour on the counter. “But first, we need to knead the dough for the tortillas.”

It takes forty minutes and multiple failed tortillas that don’t even get a chance to land on the pan, because I roll so hard that either they stick on the pin or there are big holes in the flat dough. Finally, we have two tortillas that look barely professional, but Mrs. Kowalski is convinced they will taste very good.

“Now, let’s chop the veggies.”