Forever Grace (16 page)

“You have Internet here?”

“Luc has satellite, thank heaven. I don’t know what we’d do without it.” She set the kettle onto an element and switched on the stove. “Do you take sugar or milk?”

“Both, please.”

She spooned loose tea into a teapot, then carried mugs, spoons, sugar bowl, and milk jug to the table.

“You’ve no idea how nice it will be to have tea while I’m sitting down,” Sean said, giving a wistful sigh. “I’ve misplaced my travel mug, and if there’s a way to get an open cup of hot beverage across a room on crutches, I have yet to discover it.”

“You have to stand up to drink your tea?”

“And my coffee.” His mouth twisted. “No one should have to stand up to drink their first cup of coffee in the morning. It’s just not civilized.”

Grace returned to the kitchen to take down her travel mug from the cupboard. She set it before him.

Sean looked abashed. “I wasn’t hinting…”

She waved away his protest. “Consider it a trade for the bear protection tips. And it seals, too, so it won’t leak if you tip it.”

The kettle began a low warning whistle. Grace went back to lift it from the stove before it leveled up to ear-piercing shriek. She poured the water into the teapot and set the timer for five minutes, then turned to find Sean watching her.

“What?”

“I’m a little surprised at the precision behind a pot of tea,” he said. “For someone with your reputation in the kitchen, I mean.”

“My…” She shot a look into the living room, where Josh sat between Sage and Annabelle, reading
The Cat in the Hat
, and Lilliane knelt at the coffee table, working on a drawing she’d started earlier. She scowled. Traitors. Her gaze flicked back to Sean. She shrugged. “I dated a British guy for a couple of years. I was never able to go back to tea bags afterward.”

“So what happened to your cooking?”

She bristled. “I’m not
that
bad at it.”

“I’ve eaten your fried potatoes and sausage, remember?” Sean’s level gaze met hers, equal parts humor and pity dancing in his eyes. “And Lilliane offered to dump the mac and cheese in the woods so I wouldn’t have to eat it. That’s what led to the whole bear discussion.”

Grace sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I admit it. I can’t follow a recipe to save my own life. Take-out was invented for people like me.”

“Do you have any more?”

“Casserole?”

“Ingredients. Macaroni, cheddar cheese?” Sean reached for his crutches and pulled up onto them.

Grace’s jaw dropped. “You want to cook? On crutches?”

“I can cook perfectly well on crutches,” he informed her. “But no. I’m not cooking, you are. Under supervision.”

“But—”

“No buts. If you don’t like the idea of a cooking lesson, think of it as a rescue mission on behalf of your kids.” Sean swung around the peninsula to join her in the kitchen’s suddenly tight space, and Grace sidled out of the way as he opened the refrigerator door. “Good. You have cream cheese, too. We’ll do the shortcut version today, and I’ll teach you the white sauce way another time.”

Another time?

Before she could wrap her head around the words, or their implications, the stove timer sounded for the tea she’d made. Sean reached past her to switch it off, his chest brushing against her arm. His hard, muscled chest, if memory served from seeing it the other night.

Which it totally didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Wasn’t allowed to, damn it.

Sean stepped back and motioned for her to take his place at the open fridge. “You’ll need both the cream cheese and the cheddar. Oh, and get the broccoli, too. We’ll add some of that.”

She wrinkled her nose. “To mac and cheese?”

Sean’s hard, heated pecs leaned in again. He waggled his eyebrows. “Trust me.”

The warmth in Grace’s belly climbed up to scorch her cheeks. She covered her discomfiture by taking out the ingredients he’d requested and setting them on the counter by the stove. Sean retreated a couple of steps to lean against the peninsula, and from there, he started issuing orders.

“First, a pot of water. Bigger than that. You need lots of water for cooking pasta or else it clumps together.”

“Do you have some kind of broth? Bouillon cubes are fine. You’ll need to dissolve one in boiling water.”

“Grate your cheddar while you’re waiting for the water to boil.”

“Add your macaroni to the water and turn the heat down so it doesn’t boil over. Now set your timer so you don’t overcook it.”

The instructions came at a steady pace, interspersed with gentle reminders to stir this, wash that, add something else. Twenty minutes later, Grace stared down in astonishment at the steaming pot of completed macaroni and cheese before her, chunks of vibrant green broccoli sprinkled throughout.

“That’s it?” she asked, shooting Sean a suspicious look. “That’s all I have to do?”

“It’s the…quick and easy method,” he responded diplomatically, but the light dancing in his eyes assured her he’d meant
idiot proof
. Mindful of the young faces that had gathered on the other side of the peninsula to watch the proceedings, she refrained from sticking out her tongue.

“Cooking doesn’t need to be complicated to be good,” Sean added. He glanced over his shoulder at their onlookers. “Lilly and Sage, why don’t you two clear the table for dinner? Josh, can you put Annabelle in her high chair and get out some bowls?”

A bemused Grace watched her nieces and nephew spring into action, unsure what she found most surprising: Sean’s ease at issuing requests, her own comfort with letting him do so, or the kids’ unquestioning acceptance of his authority, with not a single one of them looking her way for confirmation.

“Are you staying for dinner, Mr. McKittrick?” Josh asked, coming between them on his way to get the bowls.

Sean raised a lazy eyebrow in Grace’s direction. “I don’t know. Am I invited?”

She hesitated. Damn. Every time she resigned herself to what she felt certain was a final goodbye with this man, they somehow ended up seeing one another again. That in itself was bad enough. But dinner? She glanced at her nephew’s expectant face and groaned inwardly. Well, it
would
be rather rude to say no after he’d supervised the making of the meal…

Her gaze moved to Lilly and Sage waiting by the table for her answer. Even Annabelle sat quietly, as if sensing some impending decision. Grace held back a sigh.

“Of course you’re invited,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t reflect her reluctance as much as she suspected it did. She forced a lighter note. “You still have to tell me how to do the bear-proofing, remember?”

A shadow flickered in Sean’s green gaze. Disappointment? Of course. After a couple of days of peace and quiet, relatively speaking, he would have had a chance to rethink his impulsive offer of help with her
brood
, as he called them. He hadn’t really wanted to stay for dinner, and he’d hoped she’d give him an easy out. Grace wondered what it said about her that she found a perverse satisfaction in his discomfort. Then she reminded herself yet again how it didn’t matter whether he wanted to be with the kids or not, because
he
didn’t matter.

Despite what her dratted hormones tried to tell her.

Holding out her hand, she signaled for the bowls Josh had taken down. He handed them over, and then, without being asked, counted out forks for everyone and passed them to Sage to put on the table. Water glasses followed, with Lilliane distributing those. Grace’s heart warmed as she left them to it and began piling mac and cheese into bowls.

Only a month, and already their thrown-together family had little routines in place. To her, it seemed a mark of security in the kids’ lives. Small progress, but good to see nonetheless. Sean’s hand relieved her of the bowl she held, interrupting her reverie and giving her a start.

“Everything okay?”

“It’s fine, thanks. Just daydreaming. You can give that to Josh for Sage.”

Sean quirked a skeptical brow at the heaping bowl. “A five-year-old can eat that much?”

Grace’s face flamed with heat for a third time—or was it the fourth?—and she pressed her lips together. “Of course not,” she mumbled. “I wasn’t paying attention. Josh, you can give that one to Mr. McKittrick, please. He can have my place at the table.”

“I don’t want—” Sean began.

“I can’t offer you the bench for your leg,” she said. “But at least the chair has arms, so it will be easier for you to get up.”

And so, despite her very best intentions, Sean McKittrick joined her family yet again.

SEAN LISTENED TO THE MURMUR
of voices floating down the hall from the bedrooms. Lilliane, calling to Sage to bring her a towel. Josh, chanting “Annabelly with the big round belly” to the delighted giggles of his baby sister. Grace’s warm, melodic tones urging everyone along toward their bedtime.

He stared down at his hands, buried up to their wrists in hot, sudsy water. It was all so…

Domestic.

Sean waited for the shudder that inevitably accompanied the thought. It didn’t come. In fact, about all he felt right now was a warm, comfortable glow in the pit of his belly. Well, that and a buzz of anticipation, knowing that Grace would return to join him. With the kids tucked into bed, it would be just the two of them. They could make tea—or maybe she’d have a bottle of wine kicking around somewhere, and they could sit and…

Sean yarded his libido back to reality. As attractive as his neighbor was, and as much as he might want to see whether his instincts were right where the kids were concerned, maybe staying wasn’t such a good idea after all. Or necessary.

Once his cell phone was functioning again, he’d have the answers he needed in ten minutes or less. He didn’t need to be involved with Grace on any level. He was out here to rest and recuperate, not to…well.

Certainly not to do whatever his traitorous body kept suggesting he do. Not with someone like Grace, who screamed commitment and domesticity and all the things he’d made it a mission to avoid in his life.

A door closed at the end of the hall. Anticipation kicked in Sean’s gut. Mouth tight, he washed the last bowl, rinsed it, and placed it in the rack. He needed to get out of here before he did something stupid. Needed to go home, back to his own cottage, and—

And then he remembered how, in a moment of weakness, he’d promised Lilly he’d give their aunt another cooking lesson tomorrow. Hell. He’d really screwed that up, hadn’t he? How would he extricate himself from that brilliant idea?

Really, McKittrick? You’re not some horny teenager anymore. You can’t trust yourself to keep it light and friendly? Just neighbors?

Another door closed, and Grace’s footsteps came down the hallway toward him. This was it. Just her and him. Parts of his anatomy tightened, and Sean scowled in disgust at the involuntary response.

He might not be a horny teenager anymore, but apparently he made one hell of a horny thirty-seven-year-old. He slapped the dishcloth into the sink, spraying water down his shirtfront, and finished washing the macaroni pot as Grace entered the living room. Her gaze met his, and her step faltered. Stopped. Slow seconds dragged by as neither of them spoke. About the same time as Sean decided it was a damned good thing he was on crutches and unable to cross the room to her as quickly as he’d like, she cleared her throat.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting down?”

Mundane. Mundane was good.

Sean pulled the plug from the sink and reached for a tea towel. “I’m good, thanks. I wanted to hang around to say goodbye, so I thought I’d make myself useful.”

“Oh…you’re going already?”

Anatomical things stirred again. His fingers tightened on the towel he held.

Bloody hell, Grace
.

She nodded in answer to her own question, turning brisk. “Of course. You must be tired. I’ll get my coat and a flashlight and walk you back.”

“I brought a headlamp.”

“Ah. Smart thinking.” She scuffed a toe against the floorboards and crossed her arms over herself. “Well, then…thank you again for rescuing the kids from another disastrous meal. And for the bear advice. I’ll take down the bird feeders in the morning and put the garbage cans back in the shed.”

Sean draped the tea towel over the edge of the sink to dry. He reached for his crutches and tucked them back under his arms. “What time would you like me back here?”

“Back…?”

“For tomorrow’s cooking lesson?”

“Oh.” Grace wrinkled her nose. “You really don’t have to do that. Despite what the kids might think, we’ll manage.”

His jaw clenched. Unclenched. Clenched again. She was giving him an out. This could end here. It
needed
to
end here. But already his head was shaking, his lips stretching into a smile of betrayal.

“I don’t mind,” he heard himself say. “A few more lessons, and you’ll be well on your way to chef-hood.”

A
few
more lessons? Oh, this just got better and better. It was one thing to want to build trust, but quite another to let things become too personal. And working this close to Grace definitely strayed into
personal
. Sean gripped the handholds on the crutches and formulated a polite correction—
actually, just one more lesson will do
—but Grace’s smile wiped it from his mind before he could speak it.

“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” she said. “I suspect we’d all appreciate it. And I have to admit I’ll appreciate the grown-up company, too.”

Sean swallowed. So much for backing out of his offer. At least it would give the cop in him a chance to dig deeper into the family’s mystery…assuming his inner teenager could be convinced to stay on track.

“It’s no trouble,” he assured her. “I’m happy to help.”

“Annabelle naps between two and four, if you’d like to come over then. We’ll get more done without her underfoot.”

He nodded. “Sounds good. But I really should go now.”

Before I get myself into any more trouble.

“Of course. I’ll get your things.”

Grace returned from the entrance with his one shoe and his jacket. She stood with the latter hugged against her as he sat to put on his running shoe and tie it, then handed the garment to him when he straightened in the chair. Acutely aware of her warmth imprinted on the fabric, he slid his arms into it, then stood again to rest on his crutches. The silence between them teetered on the verge of uncomfortable. Sean cleared his throat.