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Authors: Laurie Breton
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in since Luke was in diapers. She wouldn’t be sorry to say good-bye to this place. “In light of this afternoon’s events,” she said, “I’ve decided to make him a counter offer.”
chapter five
Jesse checked his watch for the fifth time and moved the centerpiece of yellow and purple chrysanthemums an eight of an inch to the left. He would have used the best china, except that he didn’t have any best china, just the everyday dishes his ex-wife had bought at the IGA, one place setting at a time. Frowning, he turned a dinner plate so the chipped rim wouldn’t be so noticeable. The oven timer went off as Mikey thundered down the stairs. Jesse flipped a dish towel over his shoulder and went to check on the roast.
It was cooking nicely, tender and juicy, with an aroma just this side of heaven. He shut the oven door and set the timer for another ten minutes. Mikey stood in the archway, football jacket in hand and a puzzled expression on his face. “Who is this lady, anyway?” he said.
A water spot marred one of the glasses. Jesse put it in the dishwasher and took a new one from the cupboard. He paused to polish it with the dish towel before he set it on the table. “Her name is Rose Kenneally. She’s Rob’s sister. I met her at the wedding.”
Mikey eyed the laden table suspiciously. “You never had flowers and candles on the table when Mrs. Delacroix came over.”
His son had been twelve years old when Jesse had been dating Linda Delacroix, and he hadn’t thought Mikey knew what was going on. Apparently he’d underestimated the kid. “This isn’t a date,” he said. “We have business to discuss.”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.” Mikey held out his hand. “Keys?”
Jesse fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I don’t want to see any scratches on my truck when you bring it back.”
Mikey rolled his eyes. “No scratches.”
“And don’t use up all my gas.”
“Dad!”
He tossed his son the keys just as Rose Kenneally’s ancient blue Honda pulled up beside his pickup. “Do you need any money?” he said.
“Twenty bucks would really make my life complete,” Mikey said as Rose stepped out of the car.
“You want twenty bucks, you’d best be cleaning the garage on Saturday.”
Mikey sighed. “I’ll clean the garage on Saturday.”
Jesse fumbled for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and handed it over to his son. “Now, scram.” Mikey grinned and pocketed the twenty, and then he was out the door.
Halfway down the walk, the boy came face to face with Rose. She gave him an impish grin, and he nodded and stepped aside to let her pass. Jesse dropped the curtain and tried to remember if he’d forgotten anything. Tablecloth, flowers, candles, food. Music? That was it. A romantic dinner with a beautiful woman called for music. He started for the stereo, then realized he had no idea what kind of music the mother of his unborn child preferred.
When she rapped on the door, he hurried to open it. Rose was wearing jeans and a green silk blouse that fell softly around her curves. She should always wear green, he decided. Except when she wore nothing.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi. Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
When she stepped past him, the heat from her body drove her scent directly into his face. She smelled of Ivory soap and warm woman, a combination that did dangerous things to his libido. Jesse cleared his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d love a glass of milk.” She patted her tummy. “It coats my stomach.”
“Milk it is. Make yourself at home.”
He retreated to the safety of the kitchen. Rose dropped her purse on a chair and stretched, slow and languorous, like a cat, before she moved to the table to admire the chrysanthemums. “My mother grows these,” she said as he handed her the milk. “She says they remind her of the strength of woman.
chapter five
Jesse checked his watch for the fifth time and moved the centerpiece of yellow and purple chrysanthemums an eight of an inch to the left. He would have used the best china, except that he didn’t have any best china, just the everyday dishes his ex-wife had bought at the IGA, one place setting at a time. Frowning, he turned a dinner plate so the chipped rim wouldn’t be so noticeable. The oven timer went off as Mikey thundered down the stairs. Jesse flipped a dish towel over his shoulder and went to check on the roast.
It was cooking nicely, tender and juicy, with an aroma just this side of heaven. He shut the oven door and set the timer for another ten minutes. Mikey stood in the archway, football jacket in hand and a puzzled expression on his face. “Who is this lady, anyway?” he said.
A water spot marred one of the glasses. Jesse put it in the dishwasher and took a new one from the cupboard. He paused to polish it with the dish towel before he set it on the table. “Her name is Rose Kenneally. She’s Rob’s sister. I met her at the wedding.”
Mikey eyed the laden table suspiciously. “You never had flowers and candles on the table when Mrs. Delacroix came over.”
His son had been twelve years old when Jesse had been dating Linda Delacroix, and he hadn’t thought Mikey knew what was going on. Apparently he’d underestimated the kid. “This isn’t a date,” he said. “We have business to discuss.”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.” Mikey held out his hand. “Keys?”
Jesse fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I don’t want to see any scratches on my truck when you bring it back.”
Mikey rolled his eyes. “No scratches.”
“And don’t use up all my gas.”
“Dad!”
He tossed his son the keys just as Rose Kenneally’s ancient blue Honda pulled up beside his pickup. “Do you need any money?” he said.
“Twenty bucks would really make my life complete,” Mikey said as Rose stepped out of the car.
“You want twenty bucks, you’d best be cleaning the garage on Saturday.”
Mikey sighed. “I’ll clean the garage on Saturday.”
Jesse fumbled for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and handed it over to his son. “Now, scram.” Mikey grinned and pocketed the twenty, and then he was out the door.
Halfway down the walk, the boy came face to face with Rose. She gave him an impish grin, and he nodded and stepped aside to let her pass. Jesse dropped the curtain and tried to remember if he’d forgotten anything. Tablecloth, flowers, candles, food. Music? That was it. A romantic dinner with a beautiful woman called for music. He started for the stereo, then realized he had no idea what kind of music the mother of his unborn child preferred.
When she rapped on the door, he hurried to open it. Rose was wearing jeans and a green silk blouse that fell softly around her curves. She should always wear green, he decided. Except when she wore nothing.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi. Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
When she stepped past him, the heat from her body drove her scent directly into his face. She smelled of Ivory soap and warm woman, a combination that did dangerous things to his libido. Jesse cleared his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d love a glass of milk.” She patted her tummy. “It coats my stomach.”
“Milk it is. Make yourself at home.”
He retreated to the safety of the kitchen. Rose dropped her purse on a chair and stretched, slow and languorous, like a cat, before she moved to the table to admire the chrysanthemums. “My mother grows these,” she said as he handed her the milk. “She says they remind her of the strength of woman.
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