The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  “I’ve been divorced for a few years and living in an apartment. That’s not the ideal place to live, lots of noise and traffic, but I was too busy to house hunt. So I knew I was too busy to have a house. A condo seemed a smart decision. I assume you’ll be quieter than my previous neighbors.”

  She nodded. “As a mouse,” she swore, using her fingers to cross her heart. A gesture he seemed to follow a little too closely. Then she added, “I’m sure you’ll get used to the howling.”

  He lifted that brow again, probably totally aware of how darned sexy it made him look. Probably. “You howl?”

  “Not me. The cat.” Then she mentally smacked herself again. She shouldn’t speak badly about the cat, not if she wanted him to keep his welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift, the one she intended to drop on his doorstep the minute she got back to her place. Well, maybe not the minute. She’d shower first.

  And probably feed the cat, too. She wouldn’t want it howling at George first thing.

  “So it’s just you and the cat?” he asked, his brown gaze strangely watchful.

  Theresa made that sound from the doorway again, but Kim could barely hear it over the thumping of her heart, which had to be a delayed reaction to the exercise. She was not reacting to her new neighbor, no matter how much he resembled George Clooney.

  “Yes,” she answered finally, a little breathlessly. “Just me and the cat.” And that was how she intended to keep it. Well, except for the cat.

  He would wind up keeping the cat.

  “So should we sign you up?” Theresa dropped her question into the long silence that had fallen between them while George stared at Kim and she stared at him.

  “When is it?”

  Whenever he couldn’t make it, Kim decided. “What shift do you work?” she asked.

  “Second.”

  Kim had heard that shift had killed many a marriage, so it could be the reason for his divorce. But Kim didn’t want to believe it was something as simple as his wife getting sick of his shift. It made more sense that she’d gotten sick of him, as Kim would probably even George Clooney if she had to live with him.

  “That’s too bad.” she said, not even trying to sound as if she meant it. “We need to hold the class after five… to make sure Millie’s sons can make it.”

  He stepped closer to her and lowered his already deep voice as he said, “Well, since I’ll be living right next door to you, maybe I can talk you into private lessons.”

  If he kept talking to her like that, that close and that deep, Kim had a moment’s concern that he might be able to talk her into anything. And that wouldn’t do at all.

  She started pumping her arms and jogging in place. “Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to run now… before I cool off…”

  As she passed Theresa in the doorway, she ignored her friend’s highly amused chuckle and her muttered taunt of, “Chicken.”

  Chapter Five

  “The average man has a carefully cultivated ignorance about household matters—from what to do with the crumbs to the grocer’s telephone number—a sort of cheerful inefficiency which protects him.”

  —Crystal Eastman

  So what’s the plan?” Mitchell asked as he passed through the door Millie held open. His dress shoes squeaked against the hardwood floor of her foyer, as a light rain was falling outside.

  “Honey, I’m so glad it’s you.” Although she wouldn’t have minded too much had it been Charles. “Why’d you knock?”

  He wrapped an arm around her, thumping his briefcase against her hip. “Yes, it’s me, your partner in crime. Since the door was locked I had to knock. It was easier than finding my keys.”

  With a laugh, Millie pushed him away, then closed the door. He dropped his briefcase on the floor; the dented metal case clunked hard. Millie winced, hoping it didn’t scratch the hardwood. So that was what was responsible for the gouges in the floor of his apartment.

  “Kim must have locked the door on her way out.” With the picnic basket she’d borrowed with no clear explanation why; Kim definitely wasn’t the picnic type. Millie was sorry she’d had to leave right after exercise class that morning and hadn’t had a chance during her Red Hat lunch to talk to Kim. She might have been able to figure out what her friend was up to.

  “Sorry I missed her,” Mitchell said. “She’s a trip.”

  “Well, you’ll be seeing more of her,” Millie promised.

  Mitchell’s dark brows dipped as he furrowed his forehead. “Why?”

  “She’s another partner in crime.”

  Mitchell sighed. “The real crime is Steven and Audrey breaking up.”

  “Yes,” Millie agreed. “He won’t talk about it. I’ve tried.” Each time she’d made an attempt during the two days he’d lived with her, Steven had shut down, either leaving the room for the basement or refusing to reply.

  “Has he talked to Audrey?”

  She shook her head. “He won’t call her. Brigitte’s called here, and he’s talked to her then. But he won’t go home to see her.”

  “Man, this sucks,” Mitchell remarked, shaking his head. “That poor kid.”

  “Yes,” Millie said with a sigh. “And your poor brother. He’s miserable.”

  “We’ll do something about that,” Mitchell promised.

  She reached up on tiptoe—all the men in her life were taller than she was—and pressed a kiss against his slightly stubbled cheek. He’d appreciate that more than the “good boy” comment that was burning the back of her throat with pride.

  As she stepped back, Millie studied her baby. Like his brother and father, he was over six feet tall, but he was lean where Steven was… not.

  He shrugged broad shoulders out of his dark suit coat, which landed on the floor near his briefcase. His tie was already askew; his hair, thick and curly like hers, was a little too long. But with his big, dark eyes, the unconventional haircut made him look boyish, more like twenty-three than thirty-three. Catching her staring, he shot her a dimpled grin. Millie couldn’t help but smile back.

  Yes, the only reason the boy was still single was because he was a slob. She had no doubt now. “I’m so glad you’re going to help me,” she said with a smile.

  “Uh-oh,” Mitchell said, narrowing those big eyes. “I’m not sure I like the way you’re looking at me. Whatever Steven said I did, it was really him.”

  “What’s he blaming on me now?” Steven asked as he came in the door behind them. His briefcase dropped, too, glanced off Mitchell’s metal one and spun in a half circle on the floor.

  Millie swallowed an impatient breath and struggled to resist the urge to pick up behind them. They were not her little boys anymore; they were grown men who needed to pick up after themselves.

  “Any reason we’re all standing in the doorway?” Steven asked as he stepped over the briefcases and headed toward the kitchen. “Let me guess, too busy talking about me to even go sit down?”

  Millie hated the bitterness that twisted Steven’s once-smiling face into a grimace. “Honey—”

  “Hey, we just want to help, man,” Mitchell said.

  “I don’t need any help,” his older brother insisted. “I did a pretty bang-up job on my own.”

  “Steven,” Millie said, beginning her pitch, “if you’d meet Audrey half-way—”

  “I told you. I tried. She doesn’t want me anymore.” His voice cracked with emotion and his face mottled with red color. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Mitchell lifted a hand, reaching out for his brother’s shoulder, but Steven pulled away. “C’mon, Steve—”

  Steven drew in a deep, steadying breath and pasted on a fake smile. “Mom, dinner smells great.”

  It should after all the time she’d spent cooking it. But if it made her boys happy it was worth all her effort.

  “Too bad you can’t stay, Mitch,” Steven teased, obviously trying to put his relationship with his brother back on their usual lighthearted footing.

  Mitc
hell forced a laugh; he must have instinctively known what response his brother wanted. “Oh, I’m staying. The only thing I ate today was airport food.” He shuddered and added, “You better not have eaten all that pie. I flew back early for a piece.”

  “Yeah, right,” his older brother scoffed. They all knew why Mitchell had flown back early.

  Millie’s palms itched even though she’d fisted them. She couldn’t follow them into the kitchen. She bent down and picked up the mess, setting the briefcases into the closet in the foyer and hanging up Mitchell’s coat.

  “Mom, aren’t you coming?” Mitchell asked, stepping back into the foyer. Then he lowered his voice. “So how are we handling this?”

  “Follow my lead,” Millie whispered. “And remember,” she added, reaching up to pat his cheek, “you agreed to help me.”

  He narrowed his eyes again. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”

  “Good,” Steven called out from the kitchen. “If you don’t like it, there’ll be more for me.”

  When he joined Steven in the kitchen, Mitchell patted his brother’s belly, which spilled over his belt and strained the buttons on the bottom half of his shirt. “Looks like you could stand to skip a few meals, bro.”

  For a minute when Steven had walked in the door, Millie had worried that Mitchell might be overly solicitous and make him uncomfortable about his marital problems. But she needn’t have worried. As brothers they cared about each other, but they were rarely nice to each other. Fighting a smile, she opened the door of the side-by-side fridge to hide her amusement.

  “Mom, can you grab me a pop?” Steven asked as he settled into a chair at the small dinette table. He’d just walked past the refrigerator. Millie realized that if he’d wanted something, he could have gotten it himself.

  “I’ll take one, too,” Mitchell said, sitting down beside his brother, shoulder to shoulder. He could have gotten his own as well.

  But they expected to be waited on. They were spoiled. And Millie had no one but herself to blame. It was a wonder Audrey hadn’t thrown him out sooner, or at least thrown Millie out of her house sometime over the years.

  “Make Steven’s a diet,” Mitchell added, pushing his brother’s shoulder with his.

  She sighed and brought each of her boys a glass of cola; she’d opened the cans and poured the contents into glasses before she could catch herself. Although she worried about it, teaching them might not be the hardest part of the class. Teaching herself not to keep doing everything for them would be the real challenge.

  “You’re both getting diet,” she said. “It’s all I have in the house.”

  Mitchell exaggerated a face as he took a sip. She chose that opportunity to add, “Have you told Steven about my class?”

  Mouth still full, he shook his head; his dark eyes watchful as he obviously sought to follow her lead. It reminded her of how she’d taught him to dance for his prom. She’d forced him to watch her face instead of her feet. He’d stepped on her toes a few times, but he’d finally picked up the rhythm well enough that after the prom he’d complained about how much dancing the girls had forced him to do.

  Steven took the bait. “What class? Not that aerobics thing Dirty Harriet teaches?” He chuckled, shooting his brother a challenging grin. “She’ll wipe the floor with you.”

  “Kim’s not teaching this class,” Millie said, as she set bowls of salad in front of them. “I am.” Her stomach fluttered nervously even as she said it. She had absolutely no teaching skills. “Kim and Theresa are helping me, though. In fact, we’re working on the lesson plan after dinner, at the community center.”

  “So what’s the class?” Steven asked again, his interest increasing.

  Mitchell floundered. “Mom can describe it better than I can,” he said, gesturing toward her as he took another sip of his drink.

  “A Bachelor’s Survival course.”

  Mitchell’s cola sprayed out of his mouth, droplets spattering the lettuce and Millie’s white tablecloth, as he coughed and choked. Steven thumped him on the back, a little too roughly, and laughed. “So you’ve finally given up on marrying him off?”

  Millie nodded. “Heather was my last hope.”

  “Heather dumped you?” Steven asked, still chuckling. But even though his mouth curved in a smile, his eyes remained dark with the sadness weighing so heavily on him.

  Mitchell opened his mouth, probably to point out that Steven wasn’t in any position to criticize him, but he closed it before saying a word.

  “He’s been telling me he doesn’t want to get married,” Millie admitted, forcing a resigned-sounding sigh. “I’ve finally accepted it and decided to help him.”

  “You already clean his apartment and cook most of his meals. What else can you do?” Steven wondered aloud, probably thinking about himself as well, about what else he could have done for Audrey.

  After talking to his wife and living with him for a few days, Millie could tell him: a lot.

  “I can really help him now. I can give him the skills to do all that stuff himself,” Millie pointed out.

  Mitchell narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know that he didn’t like her plan. At all.

  Steven glanced from Millie to his brother, and his eyes narrowed as well. It was one of many traits they shared. Like competitiveness. “So is he your only student?” he asked, his voice full of skepticism.

  “Not at all. Mr. Lindstrom signed up, probably to stare at Kim some more. Then during lunch with my chapter of the Red Hat Society, some friends enrolled their sons and a few their husbands.” But there was one more student, the one she hoped would be teacher’s pet. She stammered over his name, “And Mr. Mo—Moelker.”

  “And who will Mr. Moelker be staring at?” Steven teased.

  She hoped it would be her. Just the thought had her face heating as if she’d stepped too close to the stove. And she couldn’t meet her sons’ probing gazes.

  “Hey, Mom? Mom?” Mitchell called out, waving the hand holding his salad fork around to catch her attention. Thick, red Catalina dressing dripped from it, spattering the white cloth like his cola had.

  “She’s been doing that a lot,” Steven said around a mouthful of lettuce. “Zoning out.”

  “Well, she is getting to be that age, you know,” Mitchell teased, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. And a little vengeance. He hadn’t missed how she’d manipulated him into the class.

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “In fact, I just may forget that I made another apple pie.”

  “Another one? He eat all of the last one?” Mitchell asked, reaching for his brother’s belly again as Steven slapped at his hand. The glasses of cola teetered on the tabletop.

  Millie flashed back to all the mealtime fights she’d refereed over the years. Too many. “Boys…”

  “I didn’t eat all of it,” Steven defended himself. “She gave some away the other night. To a man.”

  Mitchell choked, and he hadn’t even taken a bite. “A man?” he gasped.

  “Were you spying on me?” Millie accused. And here she’d made a point to never interfere in their lives. She should have made them promise the same about hers.

  Steven laughed. “No, he dropped the bowl back off while you were shopping yesterday. I believe… yeah, he said his name was Charles Moelker. No wonder he signed up for the class. He’s already tried some of the goodies.”

  “Steven!” Millie said, her face so hot now that it had probably turned bright red, which would clash horribly with her new cinnamon-colored hair.

  “So I’ll meet him,” Mitchell said, then with a devilish glint in his eyes added, “Good.”

  “At least you’ll get something out of the class,” Steven said with a derisive snort.

  “He’ll get plenty out of it,” Millie insisted. “Mitchell’s very bright. He’ll catch on fast.” She hoped. She gave her youngest a pointed stare and nodded toward his brother.

  “Yeah,” Mitchel
l said, watching her eyes. “I’ll catch on fast. Faster than you would. You’re hopeless.”

  “Yes,” Steven said, rising from the table as all humor fell from his face. The haunted, sad look was back, aging him ten years, with lines of stress and fatigue. “It’s hopeless. You two aren’t going to fix my marriage with some little class. Audrey threw me out!”

  His frustration and pain hung in the air even after he fled from the room, his footsteps falling heavy on the stairs as he descended to the basement.

  Millie blew out a ragged breath. “I must be getting forgetful. Steven’s the one who catches on fast.”

  Mitchell sighed too. “I thought he was acting too normal.”

  “Acting is right,” she heartily agreed. “He won’t talk about it. He comes home, eats, and heads downstairs to do paperwork.”

  “You really think this’ll help? A few cooking classes?”

  “It’ll be more than that.”

  “But you think it’ll make Audrey take him back?” Mitchell asked, his voice deepening with frustration.

  Millie shrugged. “I don’t know. But I promised Brigitte I’d try to help.”

  Mitchell nodded. “Okay, I’ll work on him. Save me some pie.”

  “There’s a casserole in the oven, too,” Millie said as she stood.

  “You’re leaving already?”

  “Of course.” The truth was that she was still full from lunch, and too nervous over the thought of teaching, to think about eating again.

  “Mom, who is this Moelker guy?” Mitchell asked, his dark eyes softening with concern. “Is it serious?”

  “It’s a joke, honey. There’s nothing going on between us. We’re neighbors. That’s all.”

  Mitchell’s eyes narrowed as he studied her.

  She couldn’t resist teasing him as she dished up a helping of the pie into a plastic container. “I love having a new stepmother. You’d get used to a stepfath—”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m kidding,” she promised. After his recent divorce, Charles wasn’t likely to want to marry again anytime soon, if ever, no matter his reason for joining the class. “I’m just bringing this to the community center where Theresa, Kim, and I are working on lesson plans. I know you two won’t save me any.”