Free The One You Want by Gena Showalter Page A

think he could have luncher with us?”
    Luncher?
    Jessie Kay gave him a once-over, saying, “Luncher is a combo of lunch and dinner. Too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. Trademark pending. Now, what are you doing here?”
    “Uncle Dane is going to cook for us,” Norrie announced.
    Um, never. “Is Kenna here?” he asked, focusing on Jessie Kay.
    “She had to go to her school and talk to her teacher,” Norrie piped up, “because it’s important to keep open lines of communization even when xasperating men won’t respond to your thousands of emails.”
    “Communication,” Jessie Kay corrected. “Exasperating.”
    Norrie threw her arms up. “That’s what I said. Anyway.” She rolled her eyes, and Dane had to fight a grin.
Really not getting embroiled with her.
“Momma will be back at three, she promised, and we’re gonna go pet Sara Lambert’s puppies. Sara didn’t have the puppies, because no one gave her any of that special seed, and she’s too young, but her dog, Muffin, did have the puppies. But I can’t have one ’cause—”
    “Dude,” Jessie Kay said, shaking her head, “you’ve gotta learn when to stop.”
    Good advice. “I’ll come back later,” Dane said, backing away.
    “Oh, no you don’t.” Jessie Kay grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Yes,” she said to the little girl. “Uncle Dane is going to cook our luncher.”
    The little girl jumped up and down, clapping.
    “No. No, I’m not,” he said.
    Norrie stilled, tears filling her eyes. “You’re really not?”
    Oh...damn. “I...am?”
    “Great. You two have fun. I’ll be watching TV in the living room if anyone needs me.” Jessie Kay smirked at him before walking away and plopping on the couch.
    What was her game?
    What did it matter? He tried not to panic. What if the kid cried? What was he supposed to do? At what age did kids stop wearing diapers?
    This was going to be a disaster.
    “Come on,” the girl said, taking his hand. Hers was small, delicate.
    She led him into the kitchen, moving so fast he was only able to glance at his surroundings. But a glance was enough. The home was small and run-down, with old paint peeling on the walls and holes in the carpet. Scuffed furniture.
    Kenna and her roommates had clearly done their best to make the place as attractive as possible, because there were feminine touches everywhere. A drape of sheer cloth over a lamp. A vase overflowing with fresh flowers. A bowl of fruit. A pink blanket cascading over the arm of the couch.
    Norrie sat at a yellow laminate counter and folded her hands together, waiting patiently. He relaxed when he realized the home’s open concept gave Jessie Kay a clear view of the kid.
    “What are you hungry for?” he asked.
    She hooked a hank of red hair behind her ear. “Can you make a cheese pizza?”
    He looked in the fridge, but didn’t see more than a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and maybe ten thousand packages of cheese. No tomato sauce. No ready-made crusts. The freezer had boxes of pizza ready to be thawed, but they didn’t look appetizing.
    “How about I order one?” he suggested.
    “Even better. The number is on the wall.”
    He placed the order, and though The Tomato Shack didn’t deliver, he offered the teenager on the other end two hundred dollars, all the cash currently in his wallet, to make it happen. As he waited, he walked around the kitchen looking through semibare cabinets, tightening knobs, lighting the pilot light on the stove, fixing a squeaky hinge on the oven door and messing with the leaky pipes under the sink. There was a somewhat awkward silence between Norrie and him, but better that than conversation.
    Of course, she just had to speak up. “My momma says we don’t need a man to do our chores for us, ’cause we are smart and capable and I believe her even though Sara’s mom says men were born to be our slaves, we just have to know how to manage them.”
    “Sara’s mom is an