by Marlie May
I blinked at him. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“You’re a twenty-eight-year-old widow, Cara, but you’re not dead yet. You shouldn’t spend the rest of your life alone.”
“And you’re a sixty-year-old widower, and you’ve been alone since Mom died.” My hands stalled again, and a glob of gravy-covered carrot plopped onto the top of my stew, like an orange cake topper. “I don’t recall you going on too many dates over the past few years yourself.”
As far as I knew, he hadn’t gone out on any dates, ever. We’d talked every week. He would’ve mentioned someone new in his life, wouldn’t he? Maybe not. He hadn’t mentioned that Roan was stopping by for visits.
“Not many women out there could’ve replaced your mother.” Staring down at his food, Dad scratched his shoulder. His gaze lifted, and his gray eyes met mine. “Sometimes, I wish I’d looked around back then. Given you a chance with someone new.”
“You were a wonderful mother and father to me. I didn’t need anyone else.” While lobstering hadn’t given him much time off during the week, he’d come to shore early whenever I had an afterschool production. He’d clapped louder than everyone when I stood to take my bow after a band concert, oboe-in-hand. And he’d come to my basketball games, standing front and center on the bleachers, whistling while I dribbled down the court.
Dad smoothed the napkin on his lap and tilted his head to where Arie stirred her stew with more vigor than it probably needed. “Maybe you ought to consider giving someone another father in her life.”
“It’s only been eight months.” And I’d vowed not to date again.
Internally, I grumbled about my vow for the first time since I’d made it. Jason had done everything for me. It was only fair I pay him back for being the rock I’d needed for years. What kind of woman would I be if I gave up the promise I’d made while he lay dying? He’d asked so little of me through the years. I owed him.
Dad coughed. “Roan mentioned he’d run into you the other day, and I could tell he was glad he had.”
“He helped me with…You know what.” I stalled, determined to keep this from Arie. “Besides, we’re friends again.” Sort of. Was that why I wanted to grin whenever he was near? That had to be the only reason.
Sometimes, it felt like the best part of me had been stolen, ripped from me all those years ago, leaving behind a gaping maw. I wanted to recapture what we’d lost but wasn’t sure I dared. There was no denying I had more-than-friendly feelings for Roan. Could I isolate that needy, longing part of myself and lock her away forever? Take a step back to the early days, when being close had only meant our fingers connecting when we reached for the same slice of pizza?
“Friends is a good place to start.” Dad’s eyes delved deep, but I dragged my eyes away before he unveiled all my secrets.
The doorbell rang.
Dad grunted. Dropping his gaze, he fiddled with his stew. The doorbell rang again.
“Do you want me to get that?” I asked.
He wouldn’t look my way. “Might be best.”
Rising, I strode down the hallway. I had a suspicion who this might be but decided not to make assumptions. It could be a neighbor, asking to borrow sugar. A lost person, looking for directions. A pair of guys dressed in 1970s leisure suits, religious fliers extended in their hands.
After smoothing my hair in the hall mirror, I took a deep breath and swung the front door open.
Definitely not someone looking for directions or sugar. No leisure suit, nor a flier in his hand.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Just one hot guy standing on the front porch wearing snug jeans and a winter coat that, unzipped, gave me a peek of a broad chest stretching another Spicy Concoctions t-shirt—this one dark green that highlighted the hints of emerald in his eyes. Shaggy blond hair, chiseled jawline, and a grin that widened as he watched me check him out. Or so it seemed to me.
His eyes darkened. “Fancy meeting you here.” Without giving me time to speak, he bustled inside. On the way by, his hands clasping my forearms as if he was worried I’d stumble from his close motion.
Maybe from emotion, but not from his motion. Because, damn. All he had to do was focus his attention on me, and I was ready to drape myself all over him. I needed to locate some resolve and hold myself back.
He took off his boots and coat while I ran my gaze along his muscular forearms, his trim waist, his narrow hips. How could a simple look fill my veins with fire?
“Cara?” he asked in a gravelly voice.
I stood there, staring numbly. “Yeah?” I whispered. Drag your eyes off the front of his jeans, would you? Please?
“Nice seeing you tonight, honey.”
Wait. An endearment. He’d used the same one while we waited to get Arie on the bus. Did he mean anything by it or was he just being nice? I wanted to know. No, I needed to know.
“Hear you might’ve brought something delicious for dinner. I’m famished.”
Delicious, yes. He looked delicious. And I sure was famished.
I shook my head. What was wrong with me? I was a widow. The mother of a small child. A business owner, for heaven’s sake. I wasn’t a flustered teenager on her first date.
“Hey, I…” Unscrambling my brain, I cleared my throat and hauled my eyes up to meet his, which gleamed. “I brought your scarf. You forgot it the other day.” I nodded toward where I’d looped it over the banister. My ribs ached at the thought of giving it back. It wasn’t like I’d worn it all week, wrapping myself up in everything Roan.
Okay, I had.
Was he fighting another grin? The danger of Roan deploying teasing had been confirmed years ago. Add incredibly sexy into the mix, and I was a goner. Focus, Cara. “Thanks for all you’ve done for Dad recently.”
“I’m glad to help him out. I plan to repair that fallen shutter on his garage after dinner. Since she’s spending the night, I thought Arie could be my assistant.”
Arie would be thrilled. I peeked around Roan, squinting through the narrow panel beside the front door. “It’s dark out.”
“I’ve got a flashlight.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You worried vampires will come out of the woods when the sun goes down?”
Why did his question make me think about latching onto him like a vampire would? Nuzzling his neck? Jeez. I slapped my hands over my hot cheeks before they gave me away. “No. Of course not.”
“Damn.” He leaned in close enough, his words tickling my ear. “I was kind of hoping you were. Nothing better than a little nibbling after dark.” Straightening, he rubbed his palms together. “About that dinner…”
Why did he have to talk about nibbling? And why did the idea of placing my lips on that pulse point in his throat—maybe following it up with a bite—flash heat through my bones? The rational side of my brain had obviously checked out for the evening.
Before I did something rash, like haul Roan close, I swept my arm out, indicating he should go ahead of me to the kitchen.
I’d rather follow. To keep my eye on him. Because, after that nibbling comment, I knew he was sneaky.
I didn’t follow so I could check out his butt.
Roan
Teasing was stretching the boundaries of our friendship, but I had to distract myself somehow. Otherwise, I’d stare at how Cara’s sweater hugged her breasts. The sweet curve of her face. When she turned toward the banister, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her delectable ass outlined by her jeans.
Adjusting my own jeans, which had suddenly become snug, I strode down the hall, calling out, “Hey, Ken, save some food for me.”
I needed to keep this platonic between us. Helping her win the case against her in-laws was something a friend would do. Sliding my fingertips underneath her sweater or tasting her warm skin? That crossed every line in the book.
When we entered the kitchen, Ken stood and patted my shoulder. “Have a seat, son. Stew’s on the menu.” His smile zoned in on Cara. “Dish up this fine man a bowl, why don’t you, daughter
.”
“It’s beef,” she said abruptly.
What was up with her? I took in her pink cheeks and twitchy fingers. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d think I shifted her off her axis as much as she did me.
Wrong way to take this.
She plunked a full bowl of stew on the table in front of me, and then took the chair beside me. Heat jolted through me when our legs brushed.
“Cool.” I rubbed my palms together, ignoring my body’s response. Tried to, anyway. “Haven’t had homemade beef stew in ages.” The bread looked homemade, too. I grabbed a slice and dug into the butter, spreading it thick.
“Didn’t your wife make stew?” Cara asked.
“Lainie? Nope. Hated cooking.” And, within a short time after we got married, she’d hated everything else that signified being with me.
Lainie was old history. Cara was the present. My friendship with her, that is. I lifted my spoon and toasted her with it before diving in. God, I was starved.
Ken leaned close to Cara. “Way to a man’s heart is through my stomach,” he whispered.
I snorted. Ken was playing that game, was he? I should speak up, tell him Cara and I would never be more than friends. But I just couldn’t voice it. Hurt too much, I supposed.
Cara twisted her lips. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Just sayin’.” He tapped Arie’s arm where it rested on the table. “What about you, child? Think a boy could win you over with stew and cookies?”
Arie gulped back a bite and scrunched up her face. “Boys. Yucky. Cookies and stew. Yum.”
I laughed and murmured to Arie, “Things might change when someone comes knocking on your door with cookies in hand. Keep that in mind.”
“Extra yucky.”
We snickered, and I bit into my bread. Crusty on the outside, chewy with hints of rosemary on the inside. Mumbling, this is freakin’ good, I made a goofy face at Arie, who giggled louder and took a bite of her own bread.
After eating most of her stew, Arie started ripping apart the rest of her bread and stacking the pieces. Ignoring her mother’s frown, she built a small pyramid on the tablecloth. Maybe I should take her out to Dag’s father’s construction site. I could teach her how to use some tools, maybe build a birdhouse with scrap lumber. Or my uncle’s garage. We could work on a carburetor or something. I bet she’d like that.
I shoveled a big bite of stew into my mouth. The gravy held hints of pepper, and the tang of Worcester sauce followed. Tender and juicy. I spoke around my food. “This is awesome, Cara. Anything you can’t make?”
More color rose in her face. I needed to ignore how sweet she was when she blushed.
“I just threw everything into the crockpot this morning and let it do its thing.”
“Well—”
The front door opened and a burst of cold air rushed down the hall and swirled through the room. The door thudded closed.
“Another caller.” Cara’s eyebrows brushed her bangs, and she directed her attention at Ken. “Who could this be?”
Ken focused on his meal.
Ms. Menton strode into the room. “Well, hello.” Her warm gaze took in Ken. “I was out this way seeing someone and decided to bring you a little tidbit for next week.” She lifted the dish to chest height. “Mac ‘n cheese loaded with jalapeño cheddar, the way you like it.”
She set the dish on the counter and swung open the fridge. Humming, she settled the container next to two partly filled ones much like it on the shelf.
Maybe the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.
Cara leaned into my side and said softly, “This isn’t her first time strolling in here.” She glanced at her father, maybe hoping he’d reveal what was going on, but he cleared his throat and added hot sauce to his stew, enough to melt my mouth if I did the same.
Because Cara was close and warm, I couldn’t stop noticing how fantastic she smelled. Lightly floral with hints of vanilla. Shit. Maintaining this friendship thing was going to be hard.
“Can I be done now?” Arie provided the distraction I needed.
Cara took her bowl and set it in the sink. “There are books in your backpack. Go read in the living room, if you want.”
Arie slid off her chair and dashed down the hall. The blare of the TV soon filled the air.
Cara frowned at her father. “Cartoons.”
He shrugged. “I think it’s okay for her to watch them every now and then. She likes them.”
“I did, too, but you always insisted they’d rot my brain.” She pouted. “Wouldn’t let me watch them, ever.”
“Now that’s not true. You watched a few.”
“One, maybe.” She rolled her eyes and directed her attention to Ms. Menton. “I’m sorry. Would you like some stew, Ms. Menton?”
“Love some.” Ms. Menton wiped up Arie’s crumbs with a damp sponge, then took a clean bowl from the cupboard, grabbed a napkin and spoon from a drawer, and joined us at the table.
Cara filled her bowl and took her spot beside me again, leaning near. “What do you suppose is up with them?” she said as they chatted together.
Like I’d know? While I’d fixed his porch, I hadn’t thought to ask Ken to fill me in on his dating status. And right now, with Cara half in my lap, I wanted to turn my head and capture her lips. Peel off her snug sweater. Grab her hand, drag her into the hall, and pin her to the wall with my body.
No. I needed to get control of my wild impulses.
“Oh! By the way, call me Barbie, please.” Ms. Menton dimpled a smile at Ken before turning her attention our way. “You’ve long since graduated from high school. No need for formality with me.”
Ken. Barbie. That was something else. I couldn’t hold back my laughter, and neither could Cara. I hummed softly, then leaned near her ear, singing, “Life in plastic.”
“It’s fantastic.” Her smiling eyes met mine, sharing the joke.
Did she remember the time she’d caught me dancing around my living room, belting out the words to the Barbie song at the top of my lungs? She’d said I had a decent butt sway and joked about my lame dance moves for weeks. My moves hadn’t been that bad.
“Hey, Ken. You want to go for a ride?” I whisper-sang.
“Jump in.” She giggled.
God, she was gorgeous. So hot, I could barely stand it.
“What’s going on here?” Ken slid a suspicious look between us.
Perfect. Could he read my racy thoughts in my eyes? Not that I had any intention of acting on them. This would go no further. I just needed to learn to control myself around Cara. That was all.
“Nothing, Dad.” Cara covered her mouth, her eyes gleaming above her fingers, brighter than stars. “Absolutely nothing’s going on.”
We chuckled some more, wiping our eyes.
Barbie grinned at Ken, probably getting the name association but choosing not to stress it. She patted his arm. “Nice to see you tonight.” She took a bite of stew and closed her eyes for a moment. “My goodness, Cara. I knew you’d studied the art of pastry in college, but I didn’t realize your skills extended to main courses.” Her elbow bit into Ken’s side, making him woof. “You never told me your daughter was such an excellent cook.”
He grumbled. “Never came up.”
“Thank you,” Cara said with a smile.
“This’ll definitely give my mac ‘n cheese a run for my money,” Barbie said.
“I’m not sure anything can rival your mac ‘n cheese, Barbie.” Ken recovered quickly, his cheekbones flashing scarlet. “Well, except for Cara’s beef stew. And her bread.” He lifted a slice and toasted us with it. “To good food.”
“Good food.” Barbie ‘clinked’ her bread against his.
When Barbie and Ken—I couldn’t stop chuckling whenever I thought of their names in that order—insisted on doing the dishes, and Cara said she wanted to check on Arie, I followed her to the living room. I should get outside and repair that garage shutter, but, like a sucker,
I wanted more time with Cara first.
Arie sat on the couch, absorbed in the action flashing on the screen. Cara sunk down onto the cushions beside her. Her arm went around her daughter’s shoulder, and she snuggled close.
Pointing at the TV, Arie said, “This is funny. Watch.”
I stood behind Cara and watched, too.
“Look at that truck go,” Cara said.
A bright yellow truck shot down the road behind a red car that had a grimacing face on the grill. Horns tooted. Tires screamed. The wheels blurred, making them look like they flew.
“Go red car.” Arie waved her arm in the air. “Get away.”
“I think the yellow one’s going to catch the red one, don’t you?” Cara tipped her head back, and her gaze glided up to my face before moving away.
I might be hovering, but watching her was more fun than watching the TV.
She directed her attention back at the screen. “The yellow one has to be faster. It’s a truck.”
“No.” Arie sighed as if a forty-ton weight rested on her shoulders. “A race car is always faster, Mom.”
Cara bumped her side. “What about the blue one that’s gaining on them?” She snickered. “That a race car, too?”
Arie shook her head. “That’s a motorcycle, Mommy. They’re way faster than race cars.”
“I kind of figured that.”
Arie shifted away from Cara, falling sideways onto the sofa, and giggled as the vehicles headed up a mountain and flew down the other side. Her dark hair flopped in her eyes, and she swiped it away.
My heart ground to a halt while I stared at her face. That chin. The shape of her brow. For a moment, she’d looked exactly like my sister, Sam, when we were kids.
It had to be a freakin’ coincidence.
Sure, Arie had brown, wavy hair, in the same color as Sam’s. The same color as Cara’s, for that matter. But Jason had been wavy-haired, too. The girl’s gray eyes were all Cara, as was her slender build. And Arie was tall for her age already, so she wouldn’t be short, like Sam.