considered weird for a meat eater.â
âIâm not weird. Iâm...possibly traumatized.â
He didnât mean to laugh because what if she wasnât kidding? Heâd already ticked her off once today. âTrauma by luncheon meat. Thatâs a new one, Emily. Do ninja salamis chase you in your dreams?â
She huffed, and he wondered if she was sitting at her desk, tapping a pencil against her mouth the way she did at their first meeting. She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. âThey jiggle.â
âThey what?â
âYou heard me. Cold cuts jiggle. Except hard salami, but if I make an exception for that, the others will think Iâve caved.â
âThis is preposterous, you know.â
âIâve been told that before. And yet, itâs true, so if you want me to come and hang out with you and those adorable, somewhat naughty children, no cold-cut platter, okay?â
âWhat about pizza?â he asked. âDo you have any qualms about pepperoni or mozzarella cheese?â
âHomemade?â
âMy motherâs recipe.â
âI couldnât be more âinâ if I tried.â She sounded downright excited about the idea of pizza and toddlers. He couldnât help himself.
He laughed. âPizza it is. Sunday, after eleven.â
âYes, and Iâll let you know what Christa says about the dress shopping then, okay?â
âPerfect.â He hung up the phone, still grinning. For a minute, he thought she was going to be a salad kind of woman, and he didnât remember a day when Serenity wasnât on his case for his eating habits. Heâd laughed then, because at six foot two and two hundred pounds, he liked food. And anyone who got that excited over pizza and kids was okay in his book.
* * *
Emily pulled into Grantâs driveway at quarter past eleven on Sunday morning. She grabbed a cloth bag from the passenger seat, got out and surveyed her surroundings.
Nothing about this house said children lived there. A classic sprawling ranch with arched ceilings and south-facing skylights, impeccable landscaping and hand-laid paver walkways between gardens suggested the grass was not to be walked on. No toys lay scattered around the yard, and no tiny muddy shoes lined the elegant porch. The exterior of the house said appearances mattered, and that surprised her. She rang the bell and waited. And waited. And waited.
Was he here? Had he forgotten? Had something happened?
She was just about to ring the bell again, when the garage door started rolling up. âEmily?â
She moved down the steps and across the walk. âItâs me.â She entered a garage that didnât look nearly as HGTV pristine and saw Grant at the back door.
âSorry, Timmy built a really cool tower by the front door and Iâd have to ruin it or move it to open the door, and either one would probably launch a third world war. I figured weâd wait at least five minutes before we engaged in two-year-old histrionics. Iâm glad you came.â
He sounded delightfully normal and sincere, so she didnât tell him sheâd weighed the invitation for the past twenty-four hours. Sheâd left the gray-stoned church still unsure, but sheâd given her word and here she was. She stepped into a busy kitchen and instantly felt better. âThis is more like it.â
His brow knit, puzzled. âMore like what?â
âThe front of the house looks like a no-kid zone. This doesnât.â
âOh.â He made a face as he shut the door. âThe house and yard were from our upscale phase when Serenity was sure children werenât going to be part of the equation. Itâs not exactly a kid-friendly house or location, thereâs no one around to play with, but lifeâs been too busy to think about moving. Although itâs on the list,â he finished.
Dolly was in the next room, systematically
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