Leandra Logan - Family - The Secret Ingredient

“It’s not that serious. Ben would’ve called me at my parents’ place and you would’ve been cleared.”

“That would’ve been a little embarrassing for me,” he admitted, ducking into the garage. “I haven’t even seen your parents since my return. Hardly a great way to reconnect, collared like some vagrant.”

She flashed a sympathetic smile, then jabbed the remote to lower the garage door and beckoned him to the service door connected to the house.

She led him through the mudroom to the kitchen. Palming the wall, she flipped the switch controlling the overhead fixture.

“Aren’t you afraid of waking your kitten?”

Grace gestured to the empty basket beside the dishwasher. “She has decided my space is far superior to her own. Found my bed and just stretched out flat.”

Kyle had a sudden and vivid image of doing much the same. Startled by the idea, he avoided her eyes. Instead he concentrated on the cake keeper on the table. He whisked off the lid to reveal a homemade two-layer chocolate confection. It was slightly uneven and held a birthday salutation etched in white icing, which was signed off with a K and a very squiggly B.

Grace gasped, placing a hand at the sweetheart neckline of her dress, on the soft skin of her rising breasts. “It’s absolutely beautiful!”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Kyle’s eyes centered not upon the cake, but her breasts, imagining his own hand checking out her heartbeat. Heaven help him, she was a sex goddess in that dress.

For the first time in his life, Kyle envied a bed-hogging kitten.

She peeled off her shawl and moved closer to the table, yet unaware of her sensual impact. “I haven’t had a wonderful homemade cake since camp. I can’t believe you went to the trouble. That you did this for me.”

Clearly, the gesture meant something special to her. To think he actually had some impact on this pampered, beguiling princess. Seemed impossible.

“Button helped,” he erupted. “No big deal.” In fact, the cake was sort of an afterthought that deserved little attention, just an impulsive gesture to seal their deal. Moreover, he’d thought it a good exercise for Button to do something kind for someone she didn’t particularly like yet. He could only imagine the monster cake she just bit into at her official party.

Arms folded over her chest, Grace was presently giving him the once-over. Lost in her, he’d forgotten about his own sorry state of dress. Allowing Button to run the egg-beater had left his decent shirt and slacks speckled with cake batter. Having little clean laundry he’d thrown on a faded gray T-shirt and some very sorry blue jeans with fabric so thin, they left little to the imagination.

There as a strange light in her green eyes now, suggesting hunger, delight, desire.

It was one thing for a male deprived of intimacy for a full year to feel lustful in these circumstances, but Grace…Surely she wouldn’t use her imagination on him this way, would she?

Dammit, this was little Gracie, the lanky tagalong. And he was unsure of her thoughts!

It was a struggle to trigger lucid conversation, but he managed. “So how was the big party?”

She shrugged, sinking into a chair at the table. “Probably as you remember. Routine.”

Kyle did remember, having helped with the catering on occasion. Never before had he ever been concerned over whether or not she had a date, though. The relief that she’d proven to be alone out on the street tonight had been overwhelming. For no good reason, he was very glad indeed.

She was staring up at him in curious amusement. “All in all, Kyle, you’ll find you haven’t missed much around here.”

Kyle sank into a chair beside her. Setting his elbow on the table he propped up his chin and stared her down. “For starters, I missed watching you grow up.”

She shot him a pained look. “I wasn’t exactly a baby when you left.”

“Guess not,” he slowly relented. “But I was graduating college and you were still too young to vote. There must be some events worth a report.”

She deadpanned him. “I am voting now.”

He laughed richly. “Still quick with the wit. But seriously, fill me in.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything that will help me get my balance round here, help me belong again.”

SHE SIGHED CONTENTEDLY. “Well, Michael and I have shared this duplex since my senior year at St. Catherine’s. I have a degree in theater arts, but my first love is fashion design. Did a lot of work for the plays there, discovered I was more comfortable offstage creating the costumes.”

“Far away from the North accounting empire.”

“Oh, yes. That’s exclusively Michael’s forte.”

“Wondered which way he would fall. When we were roommates, he seemed more interested in juggling girls’ phone numbers than any other kind of numbers.”

“He works way too hard now. You’ll be good for him, Kyle. Maybe you can rediscover his playful side.”

“What do you do for fun these days? Still pal around with Heather Crain?”

“Definitely. Though she’s Heather Basset now. Married a very nice guy from our old crowd, a real estate agent.”

“That scrawny blonde with the blue eye shadow and inline skates is married?” He wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow. “Look out!”

She huffed in frustration. “You always end up impossible, Kyle.”

“Okay, I’ll back off. Just one last thing. All the instances that I’ve thought of you over the years, believed you were perfectly happy, breaking boys’ hearts, was I on the right track?”

He’d thought of her over the years? The news made her melt into the hard wooden chair. “You were close. But I’m still sorting things out.”

“Guess a fair amount of confusion goes with the territory.” He sobered, raking a hand through his jet hair. “I too am still sorting.”

Her face crinkled tenderly. “I’m so sorry about Libby.”

“Yeah.”

“It must be hard, raising Button on your own.”

“Amelia will be helpful.”

“How old is she now?”

“Late sixties, I think.”

“Wow.”

He shook a finger at her. “Gotta warn you, she wouldn’t care for your doubtful look. Button’s given her a new lease on life. She is a challenge Amelia intends to conquer.”

Grace conjured up a picture of the tall, broad-shouldered woman with deep lines around her eyes, her hair in a long salt and pepper ponytail. “She did seem like the invincible kind,” she heartily assured.

“Perfectly said.”

“Would I be prying too much if I asked you how you ever connected with Amelia again? It must have been terribly hard.”

“The initial call with the news of Libby’s death, the existence of a secret great-granddaughter was very difficult.” He paused, wincing. “Amelia was stunned, then harsh over our defection—as was her right. But amazingly she showed up in Chicago for the funeral. After that, her visits became a regular thing. Eventually I must’ve passed some kind of benchmark, for she made me a proposition—move in with her, reopen the bistro and try to make a go of it.” He marveled over the memory. “She put it in such a way as to make it sound like a favor to her, a second chance at family. I’m not the smartest man around, but I did see a hell of a deal there for all three of us.”

She patted his hand. “A terrible twist of fate for you, losing Libby.”

“Maybe I could’ve averted the disaster. Looking back, there are things I’d have done differently. But hey, no one can turn back the clock.”

He clapped his hands together then, as if to break the mood. “Hey, this is way offtrack. Part of my reason for coming is to firm up our deal, decide my weekly hours. You dashed out so fast today, we never settled things.”