Chapter 38 Chapter thirty eight

Chapter 38 Chapter thirty eight
Mira’s pov

I stood motionless on the sidewalk, arms wrapped tight around my chest as Nat’s car disappeared down the street. I never even got the chance to ask what made him so sure I was his stalker. He never let me speak, never gave me room to explain.
“Mirabel.”
Nat’s father’s voice startled me so badly I jumped, my hands flying up instinctively. I spun around and his sleeves rolled up, looking strangely… domestic as he climbed down the stairs. 
“Can I have a word with you?”
I nodded, my legs carrying me forward before my brain had fully caught up. He led me to a stool at the kitchen island, then moved to the stove, pulling out ingredients and spices from the cabinets.
“Emma told me your cookies are incredible,” He said it without turning around, setting a mixing bowl on the counter. “I’d like you to make some now, I’ll pay you for your time, of course.”
I blinked, caught completely off guard. 
“You want me to bake right now?”
“If you’re willing.” He glanced back, then reached for an apron. “I realize how strange this must sound.”
“Um… sure.” I managed a small smile.
I didn’t have anywhere else to be, and the money wasn’t nothing, so I got up and joined him at the counter, measuring flour while he pulled steaks from the fridge and started seasoning them beside me, the kitchen filling slowly with the smell of butter and garlic and something sweeter underneath it. The quiet clatter of utensils and the low sizzle of oil filled the space.
“Where’s the sugar kept?” I asked, scanning the unfamiliar cabinets.
“Third one, left of the stove.” He pointed with the back of his knife. “Helen reorganized everything last week. I still can’t find half of what I need here.”
I found the sugar where he said and got to work, the two of us falling into an easy rhythm, him at the stove, me at the counter, the silence between us comfortable in a way I hadn’t expected it to be.
“Can I ask you something?” He glanced sideways at me, knife pausing over the meat.
“Okay.”
“How do you think a man should behave? As a husband and a father.” 
I hesitated, cracking an egg slower than I needed to just to buy myself a second. 
“I… I think he should be honest. Protective of the people he loves. Not perfect, but willing to own up when he messes up.” My voice softened. “And he should make his family feel safe.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing that.
“And a mother?” He asked, flipping a steak.
I stirred the cookie dough, thinking of my own fragmented memories of family.
“The same, I guess.” I wiped my hands on a towel. “Nobody gets a pass just because they’re tired or busy. Everybody’s tired.”
He was quiet for a long moment, peeling potatoes with steady strokes.
“I wasn’t raised by anyone who showed up.” He said it plainly. “My parents were never around but one thing my father made sure was we never lacked anything, I thought that was enough, because it was all I knew.”
“That sounds lonely.” 
“It was.” He kept his eyes on the potatoes. “I told myself I would never repeat it. Then I looked up one day and realized I had built the exact same house, just with better furniture.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept mixing, the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl.
“I want to try to be a better father.” He poured the potatoes into the sink.. “I think I am slowly losing my family.”
“My pastor would say it’s never too late.” I glanced at him. “People come back around, sometimes. If you actually try.”
He gave me a small, tired smile, like he wanted to believe that more than he actually did.
The door clicked open.
Mrs. Helen walked in, stopping short at the sight of her husband standing over the stove, an apron somehow tied around his waist.
“Where’s Emma?” Her eyes moved between us, “Why are you both in the kitchen?”
“They went to Aunt Debby’s house.” I mumbled, my heart suddenly racing. I focused on scooping cookie dough onto the tray. 
“Did you send my children away too- Are you into teenagers now, Raymond?”
The kitchen went silent except for the low hum of the oven. My face went hot, humiliation crawling up my neck even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, the accusation somehow sticking to me anyway.
Mr. Martinez took a deep breath and moved toward her. She tried to push him away, but he gently pulled her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything I’ve done, for the pain, the lies, the distance. I’m trying to fix this. Mira is just helping me with dinner tonight. I want to do something for the family. For us.”
She stayed stiff in his arms for a long second, then softened slightly. The oven timer clicked, and I quickly pulled out the golden cookies, the sweet aroma flooding the kitchen.
“I don’t eat unhealthy food like that anymore.” Mrs. Helen crossed her arms when he offered her one.
He took a bite himself instead, chewing slow, clearly enjoying it more than he probably intended to show. “Tonight won’t ruin anything.” He held out the same cookie, already bitten into.
She hesitated, then took it from his hand, and the second she tasted it, she reached for a second one without any more argument.
“Mira, would you help me set the table, please?” Mr. Martinez asked, already moving back toward his steaks.
I nodded and crossed to the dining room, pulling plates from the cabinet while he finished mashing the potatoes behind me, Mrs. Helen still perched at the counter, working through her third cookie with a glass of juice he had poured her.
I was setting the last fork down when the front door opened.
“Right on time.” Mr. Martinez smiled.
“What’s going on here?” Nat’s voice was sharp, eyes narrowing the moment they landed on me.
“Can't a father cook for his family again?” Mr. Martinez replied lightly, setting down the steaks.
“These cookies are so good,” Mrs. Helen said, still munching on one with a glass of juice her husband had handed her.
“Mom, are those cookies?” Nat and Emma asked it in unison, both drawn toward the counter, with their eyes wide.
I added another setting to the table, making it four.
“No, Mirabel. Make it five.” Mr. Martinez glanced back at me. “Join us for dinner.”
My eyes immediately drifted to Nat. His jaw tightened, shoulders rigid with clear displeasure.
“Thank you, Mr. Martinez, but I should head home.”
I caught a glimpse of Nat’s expression again, a small smirk crossing his face, satisfaction written across it.
“I insist,” he replied.
“Yes, Mira! Eat with us!” Emma added, grabbing my hand with pure excitement.