The Baby Truce by Jeannie Watt

option of walking away without a backward glance. That option was now severely compromised. From this point on she was going to have to try to manage him.
    â€œSo what do you want me to do?” he asked in a polite and professional way as he folded his arms over his chest. She was close enough that she caught his scent, warm and masculine, triggering memories best forgotten.
    She stood a little taller. This was something she had to deal with.
    â€œStart chopping veg for eighty chicken potpies.”
    Tom smiled as if he was humoring her. “You’re preparing an Italian meal, which I happen to be rather good at, and you want me to chop veg for potpies.”
    â€œYes.”
    He nodded. “I understand.” And no doubt he did. Reggie was putting him in his place.
    She started to fold her own arms over her chest, caught herself and forced them back to her sides.
    â€œAnd I want you to be nice to Patty. For some reason her back is up.”
    â€œNo problem.” This time there was a note of irony inhis voice, but Reggie ignored it as she turned and led the way into the kitchen. She stopped next to the counter closest to the storage areas and pulled a list out of her apron pocket.
    â€œHere you go. Veggies are in the cooler and dry storage. I’m sure you can find them as you familiarize yourself with the kitchen. This is your station.” She indicated an area of the stainless steel counter with a sweep of her hand. “Let me know when you’re done.” She hesitated, then repeated, “And be nice to Patty. I mean it.”
    â€œYes, Chef.”
    Reggie left him standing next to the counter, and went into the office to change into her kitchen clogs. Patty stepped out of the cooler and handed her the completed inventory on her way by.
    â€œMy recommendations are on the bottom,” she said.
    â€œThank you, Patty. Start chopping onions for the sauce. Three should do. It’s a small batch.” Reggie could have pulled out the frozen tomato sauce, but instinct told her to mollify the prep cook, let her take charge of a project—especially since Reggie wasn’t certain how things were going to play out today with Tom.
    â€œCertainly.”
    When she came back out of the office after taking a call from a prospective client, Tom glanced up, then focused on the veg.
    Oh, yeah. This wasn’t nerve racking or anything, having him here in the kitchen.
    She made herself think of her baby’s heartbeat. Of why she was doing this.
    Tom was chopping as he’d been told to do, his handmoving so quickly it was a blur. Reggie knew instinctively he wasn’t showing off. He was making a point. Yes, he’d chop veg, but using him that way was a waste. He was probably thinking of how he could revolutionize her kitchen.
    He’d lost that chance seven years ago.
    Meanwhile Patty methodically chopped away at her onions, in slow motion compared to Tom, whom she was pointedly ignoring.
    â€œAre these all right?” Tom asked when Reggie passed by on the way to her work area.
    She inspected the identical cubes. “Perfect. When you get done, store them in the cooler and start deboning the roasted chickens.” At this rate, they’d be ahead of the game. Eden could take all the time she needed for setup and for once not have to race back to attend to last-minute details. Having Tom here was going to play hell with Reggie’s nerves, but it might not be bad for business.
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    T OM WAS IN NO POSITION TO complain, and it was killing him.
    He was the one who’d asked for a chance to work in Reggie’s kitchen, and she’d graciously complied. Or, rather, she’d seen the potential for a mutually beneficial arrangement. However, not in the way Tom had anticipated. He wanted to get his feet under him concerning fatherhood and his and Reggie’s future parenting relationship, and he’d assumed that she’d actually make use of his cooking