by C. C. Koen
“Dammit, Maggie, settle down. You’re pounding the hell out of my shins,” Mr. Stone demanded, twisting her further away from Kat and setting her down, but he didn’t let go. His arms remained secured around her waist like a corset.
Hopping from one foot to the other, Kat jabbed her fists from side to side, taunting, “Come on. Come get me, Mags.” Kat darted behind Matt, but he walked away and grabbed a pole, while Alex picked up the other end, continuing to work and ignoring the crazy sisters.
“Kat, put those hands to good use over here.” Matt jerked his chin toward the far side of the fort. “Bring the bolts and socket wrench. We might get this done today if you quit messin’ around.” He propped the cedar plank in place and chided, “Boss’s orders.”
With her tongue stuck out, Kat sauntered past, keeping a foot away and out of Maggie’s reach.
“You know what they say about paybacks,” Maggie grumbled under her breath.
Kat patted her mouth, yawning loudly and echoing it in the process.
There must be a strand in sibling DNA that carried the stick-it-to-you gene. If Mr. Stone didn’t still have a stronghold on her, she would’ve taken a potshot when her sister passed by. Kat knew how far to dig the knife without gutting. Just enough to agitate the hell out of her.
“Do you need a time out?” Of all the people to start badgering, he should be careful, since he had a part of his anatomy sticking into her behind that she could damage in a matter of seconds. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. It might be a good time to remind him. Since actions spoke louder than words, she did just that.
In a circular motion, she rubbed her butt cheeks against a very primed and hardened part of his shorts. Paybacks. Her grin widened and she almost laughed out loud as his eyes grew larger and his lips parted; a hitch in his breath rocked his chest into her back even more.
His grip tightened, and whether he realized it or not, loosened and drifted over her stomach, creeping south. Before he could reach whatever destination, she grabbed his hands, stopping him.
Jumping back several steps, he shoved his palms against his closed eyes, mumbling something she couldn’t figure out. Then he glanced over at the playset where Matt, Alex, and Kat had the swing portion affixed and were untangling the chains, ready to hang them. None of them paid any attention to her or Mr. Stone. His eyes darted to her, then dropped to her chest. Yep, she’d forgotten to put a bra on when she’d been inside. She had other, more important things on her mind. The reminder had her dashing over to the monitor she’d dropped when she went after Kat. Cece’s gibberish put a pep in her step and had her jogging toward the house. Mr. Stone paraded past her, going in the opposite direction. Focused on her target, she hadn’t acknowledged him, and out of the corner of her eye, she didn’t think he’d glanced her way either.
Right then, it didn’t matter. She ran inside, taking care of her first priority.
A huge feast had been prepared and the table set. Maggie’s precious assistant helped serve a late dinner as a thank-you for a job well done. Cece insisted “Max is hungry” after he came inside patting his stomach and said, “Feed me, sweet pea.” As if the earlier catastrophe hadn’t happened, Cece’s dogged determination and extreme focus on getting “Max’s order” had her daughter singing, “This is the way we make our food, make our food, make our food,” with a huge smile as she washed vegetables, got pots and pans out of the cabinet, and put plates, silverware, and napkins out for six people.
After getting washed up in the adjacent powder room, Matt roamed around the kitchen picking up lids and peeking under covered dishes. “What’d you make me, Mags?”
She pushed him out of the way, smacking his hand as he tried to snatch a thumbprint cookie from a tiered serving platter. Since Cece could put together most of the ingredients from memory and because they were her favorite dessert, her daughter took charge and got the majority of it mixed while Maggie whipped up an oatmeal pie. An uncommon choice, but the few instances she baked one, everyone raved about it.
“You wanna eat? Take a seat, boss,” she teased, shoving him toward an empty chair. Everyone else had already crammed in around their comfortable for four people, jammed for six kitchen table. She recited the menu as if she were presenting the Culinary Institute catering service to high society. Next week, she’d be doing just that, since they were contracted for a fundraiser event. She might as well practice on a non-hoity-toity audience.
“Okay, we have mild and hot Italian sausage with red and green peppers and Vidalia onions, slow cooked in my homemade tomato sauce. Secret ingredient undisclosed. You’ll have to guess. An American classic, ham barbeque, sweet with a bit of tang. And in honor of my Irish father, shepherd’s pie. Bon appetit.” With a wave of her hand over the feast, one by one they scooped their selections onto their plates and heaped mounds of meat on the fresh-baked rolls she’d readied at breakfast. At various points throughout the building project, she ducked inside and cooked, expecting she’d have to feed the crew. Being a bulk shopper, she stored reserves for any occasion. Her usual fourteen-day menu saved her plenty of headaches in the past, and once again, came in handy. A combination of leftovers and just-cooked entrees, along with plenty of easy to put together sides, provided a variety for any appetite.
After everyone finished the main course, Maggie hoped they left space in their tummies, since Cece repeated at least a thousand times that she baked dessert “for Max.” She’d share though, “'cause big girls do, right, Max?” From one week to the next, her speech changed as baby teeth fell out, leaving gaps and contorting the sounds. Seated in her booster chair next to her idol, Mr. Stone, she chattered away, providing a rundown of her preschool adventures and entertaining all of them with her witty comebacks. Alex, Matt, and Mr. Stone gave her their undivided attention, asking questions about cooking. Encouraged even more, Cece boasted about her wealth of experience and how she enjoyed teaching her mama too.
“Okay, that pie goes on my dessert of the month delivery.” After three servings heaped with whipped cream, Matt wiggled his fork and his last bite, talking over the mouthful he’d just shoved in.
“You taking orders?” Alex prompted, “What else do you bake?”
“Mama and me makes good stuff.” Over a cookie-filled mouth, Cece spurted crumbs of proof with her testimony. Maggie shoved a napkin over the flying bits, keeping them from landing on the crab-stuffed mushroom cap. She picked up the plate to put it on the counter, when Alex snatched the last piece, and after one chomp, swallowed it without batting an eye.
“Good stuff.” He imitated Cece, his mouth clamped shut so it sounded the same as her garbled compliment.
As a round of laughter and giggling filled the kitchen, she examined the faces of delighted family and friends, grateful for the positive end to a chaotic day.
After the huge meal, Cece insisted Max join her on the playset. Dusk had set in, and it was almost time for a bath. Maggie tried to sway her daughter from the mini-adventure by putting Cinderella on the DVD, but Cece didn’t want anything to do with the distraction. About to offer another compromise, a puzzle, coloring, or anything else that would keep her daughter inside and easy to wrangle, Maggie didn’t have to because Mr. Stone did.
He pointed to his watch, showing it to Cece. “See the big hand, right there?” After Cece nodded, he said, “When it gets to the twelve, you have to tell me.” He tapped the exact number, making sure she did too.
Her brows scrunched and repeating her favorite word in the world, Cece asked, “Why?”
“Well, you wanted me to read a bedtime story. I can’t do that if you don’t get your bath. That means we have five minutes to play. That’s when the hand is on the twelve.”
Her fingers linked through his, and Cece yanked him to the back door. “We better get goin.’ Ya gotta read to me.”
On his way out, he glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you,” she mouthed as he got dragged out the door, a smile as big as Cece’s brightening
his attractive face. When the screen slammed shut, his elated, haha, I’m doing something you can’t do laughing eyes accentuated a charm he didn’t often let show. She saw the serious CEO, not an at-ease, teasing boy next door.
The clean-up had started but wasn’t finished. Maggie scrubbed the dishes while Matt dried. Alex and Kat took off down the hall, mentioning they had a case to discuss and needed privacy. Maggie’s and Cece’s bedrooms were upstairs, and Kat’s on the first floor. Discrete for the most part, her sister didn’t bring men home. Instead, she engaged in sexual escapades elsewhere. Any fears Maggie might’ve had were alleviated when Kat indicated she didn’t want Cece to deal with strangers coming and going. And so far, she stayed true that practice.
Her sister’s sacrifice had been appreciated but she felt bad too. If Kat and Alex were fooling around, she wouldn’t mention it. Cece would be in the bath and bed in no time, and she didn’t want to be a nag. They had enough arguments for one day. She’d rather end on a high note.
“If you need help with your problem, let me know. I don’t want to butt into your business, but I’m here for you.”
The dishes were done. She shut off the water and turned toward the dear man who’d been nothing but kind to her. “Can we talk about it at work this week? I’d appreciate some suggestions. I’d ask Kat, but you saw how well that went. Just tell me what I owe you for the consult.”
Matt threw a towel on the counter and grabbed her hands. “You’ve been feeding me for four months, and I didn’t pay you a dime. You think I’d take money from you? Don’t insult me.”
“I—”
“Don’t argue, just nod and smile, you stubborn pain in the ass.”
So she did, squishing him in a giant bear hug. “All right, give me your requests. I’ll make you a dessert the first of each month from now on.”
He chuckled. “Told ya I’d be back on the list. I’ll have a year’s worth for you on Tuesday.”
Her brotherly smack hit his shoulder, and she followed it with a reward, a plate of cookies she saw him eyeing. He kissed her temple and then shoveled the day-old peanut butter tidbits into his mouth. While chewing, he mumbled, “Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”
“Bath time, Mama.” Cece stormed into the kitchen, yanking a stumbling Mr. Stone behind her as his boot caught on the jamb.
“Slow down.” She picked her up, giving him a much-needed break no doubt.
Twirling around, Cece threw her arms out to him. “Max, ya comin’?”
“Uh, um . . .”
Before Cece could launch her next attack, she interceded. “He’ll be up after your bath and when you’re tucked into bed. Right?” She directed the question to him, suspecting he’d agree since he already made the promise.
“Yeah, yes, I’ll be up. Call me when you’re ready. I’ll be down here keeping the cookie monster away from your thumbprints.”
Cece giggled all the way upstairs, relaying everything Max said while they were sliding, swinging, and climbing the rock wall. Throughout her bath, as she dressed in her nightgown, and when she jumped into bed, Cece recounted each activity and relayed Max’s hysterical antics: pretending to be a gorilla, scratching his armpits, and chasing her around as if he were King Kong trying to capture her.
Earlier, she thought her heart had broken from her daughter’s upset. She had been wrong. Cece cuddled along Mr. Stone’s side, his arm propped above her pillowed head, the other holding Guess How Much I Love You as he read it from Cece’s lap; her lips mimicking and moving with his had tears flowing along Maggie’s cheeks.
Hidden in a blind spot in a corner of the hallway, her heart exploded into smithereens and every ounce of air gushed out as she smothered heaving sobs with her hand.
From behind her, someone squeezed her shoulder, and then Matt whispered, “He needs you . . . and her, Maggie.”
She clutched her quivering stomach, unable to respond. She didn’t need to.
A picture was worth a thousand words, and in this case, reality—a million times louder.
THE TUX AND HIS DAD’S monogrammed silver bar cufflinks completed Rick’s tailored attire. He splashed his favorite Drakkar cologne on each shaved cheek. Appearances were everything, especially at the annual fundraiser Julia’s father held at their residence. He’d attended in past years, a worthy foundation and cause that had personal ties to him and benefitted homeless teens.
Mr. John Kensington had been an honest-to-goodness rags-to-riches story. In and out of the foster system, he ended up living on the streets at sixteen. Over twenty-plus years and a hard- fought battle, he took steps to correct the situation. He earned his GED, obtained scholarships for a business degree, and worked his way through the corporate ranks. In his late forties, he launched his own brokerage firm, becoming a success almost overnight and a multimillionaire in the process.
Rick’s father met the seventeen-year-old panhandler at Lexington Market. His dad gave Mr. Kensington a job at Gateway Enterprises, set him up in a permanent shelter that provided educational support, and served as his mentor. A story his father relayed a time or two, but Mr. Kensington reminded him of often. Forever indebted and grateful for what Dad had done, Mr. Kensington established the foundation in his honor. Humbled by the tribute, Rick funneled a hundred grand a year into the effort, knowing his dad would have done the same thing. Attending shouldn’t have been in question. But with pressure from Grandfather to marry Julia, he delayed the RSVP and considered being a no-show. Since he’d offered a concession to get Grandfather off his back, he didn’t have much choice. He’d made a promise.
At eight o’clock on the nose, Rick pulled his Aston Martin into the semicircular driveway, handed his keys to the teenage valet, and climbed the stairs one reluctant step after another. When social engagements were added to endless research, haggling executives, and browbeating shareholders, it was no wonder he didn’t do much else.
Except last Saturday when Rick had plans to sleep in for once, and Matt showed up at eight in the morning demanding he get his ass up and help him. Consumed by a sleepless night of tossing and turning, he’d been in no mood for his BS. Even with the door slammed in his face, Matt wasn’t deterred. Since his best friend had a key and let himself in, Rick’s knee-jerk reaction hadn’t been a smart choice either. It didn’t matter though. At that moment, he had a goal in mind and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Well, I’m guessing your foul mood has nothing to do with a pleasurable evening with one of your lady friends. With that scowl, I’d say you struck out and you’re gonna take it out on me. Right?”
After hitting the power button on the coffee maker, the scent of Columbian roast built anticipation while Rick collapsed onto a stool at the island until he could get a dose. “Go home. Don’t you have another project or somethin’ to do? Like putting together a toy or some other junk you keep loading your backyard with.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” Matt’s constant give-me-a-hand requests and a loss of sleep had him dropping his exhausted head into the crook of his bent arm. Weariness set in as he thought about the possibilities. The longer Matt stayed quiet, the more anxious he got. Since Matt would wait him out a lot longer, he sat up and brushed the stubble on his unshaven jaw, waiting for the pain in the ass to spit out the plans.
Picking up a mug and ducking it under the stream, Matt diverted the java from the carafe. With his back turned toward Rick, Matt sipped and ignored him. “Stop stallin.’ What do you want?”
Matt mumbled, but Rick couldn’t hear what he said over the brewing gurgle.
Tired of the game, Rick slapped his hand on the butcher block. The ricocheting boom hadn’t produced a flinch out of the nerves-of-steel security specialist. “Matt.” Since it seemed his buddy would draw this out, Rick needed reinforcements too and filled a mug.
Matt saluted him with his cup and shifted his attention to the backyard, taking slow gulps. Quiet and reserved weren’t characteristics Rick would associate with his happy-go-lucky
counterpart.
“What’s goin’ on? You okay, the kids, Sophia?”
“If I told you something was wrong, what would you do?”
The out of the blue, oddball question had his skin prickling. “Wha-what do you mean?” He dropped the mug on the counter and coffee splattered on the granite. “You know I’d do anything for you guys. Just tell me and it’s done.”
Matt’s straight-lipped attitude changed on a dime to a shit-eating grin that disappeared just as quick. “Good, good. Then let’s go.”
“Where?” Rick took a step back, ready to get started and do whatever Matt needed. “Let me get changed. Give me five minutes tops.”
“Go ahead, jump in the shower and get dressed.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” Matt turned his back on him again and refilled his mug. “Go ahead.”
Headed out of Manhattan and north on the interstate, after fifteen minutes of dead silence in Matt’s truck, his buddy revealed where they were going and who needed the help. Trust between them had never been an issue before, but in that instant, Rick didn’t think he’d give Matt the benefit of the doubt ever again. He had to dig deep for control and resist killing him on the spot after finding out they were on their way to Maggie’s to put the playset together.
When a butler in a tux opened the doors to Kensington Manor, Rick shoved the reminders of last week out of his mind and entered the grand foyer. Twin crystal chandeliers were suspended from the twenty-foot-high ceilings. A grand staircase with a red oriental runner provided a restricted pathway to the second floor. Gold mirrors graced the walls on each side of him. A stark contrast to Maggie’s home, with toys scattered everywhere and a kitchen miniature in comparison, which had family photos and preschool drawings magnetized to every available surface of the refrigerator. And yet, with the amount of money invested to make this place prim, proper, and perfect, it paled in comparison.