The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess (6 page)

If she hadn’t suspected it was her friends, she might have hesitated to open her door after dark. She might have reached for
the feather duster again… or called Kim and had her look across and down the street to see who was at Millie’s door. Like
Steven had surmised, Kim looked out for her. Not that she needed anyone looking out for her.

She wasn’t alone now, though. Selfishly she had to admit it had been nice to come home to a house aglow with lights and alive
with sound. As she crossed the foyer to the front door, she heard the blare of the TV drifting up from the basement. Her heart
eased. She was comforted to know that she could call out to Steven, not that he would hear her above the nightly newscast,
but it was nice all the same.

To not be alone.

She drew open the door, then stopped. It wasn’t Kim or Theresa. As she glanced at her watch, she realized the movie probably
wasn’t over yet. But apparently Charles Moelker had left, maybe when she had. He and his little dog now stood on her front
walk right beside the welcome sign she’d posted among her flowers.

Her heart rate accelerated… as if she had opened the door to a dangerous stranger. Maybe Charles was. She didn’t know him
well despite the years they’d lived in the same complex, just a street apart. So he
was
a stranger, and the way he made her heart race and infiltrated her mind, he was certainly dangerous.

“Returning another bowl?” she asked, inwardly cringing about the amount of casseroles she had left with him. She truly hadn’t
realized what she’d been doing, that she’d been using her food to flirt with him.

He shook his head. “No. I feel bad about that.”

“About my cooking?” She lifted her chin, perversely insulted. She took great pride in her culinary skills; she was definitely
a
goddess
in the kitchen.

“No, no. I really enjoyed your cooking. I hope you didn’t think otherwise this afternoon.” He chuckled. “I still can’t believe
you thought Ellen had died… although I guess she is hanging out with a stiff now. That guy she married…”

He dragged in a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. They’re happy together—that’s the important thing.”

“What about you?” The question slipped out before she could censor it.

“Am I happy?” he asked, dark brows lifting about the
eyes that were so bright they even glowed in the faint illumination of her porch light.

It was too personal a question, something strangers or even neighbors wouldn’t ask each other. Maybe her sons got their lack
of manners from her. Because she still wanted to know. “Yes.”

He chuckled with more nerves than humor this time. “Define happy.”

That was the most personal question, someone’s definition of happiness. She knew hers. Family. She’d do anything for her boys,
Audrey, and Brigitte.

Since Charles had confessed to being a long-time bachelor before his marriage to Ellen, she suspected he didn’t have any children.
The two of them really had nothing in common.

She shrugged. “Happiness is something different for everyone, I guess.”

“You’re not going to tell me what your happiness is,” he concluded with a smile.

“You’re going to tell me yours?”

“I’m a simple man. I can be happy with a slice of fresh apple pie.”

Her heart tripped over itself, seeming to stumble inside her chest. “You came by for a slice of pie?”

“I was hoping…” he admitted, his bearded face creasing into a hopeful smile… like a little boy wishing his mother would let
him keep the turtle he’d found.

Her nerves increased, causing her fingers to tremble, so she knotted them together. She hadn’t had a man in her house who
wasn’t a blood relative since Bruce had
died. Inviting him inside seemed too intimate. But it wasn’t like they were alone; Steven was just downstairs.

But if he came up, he’d have a lot of questions. He’d want to know who Charles was… and more than that, what he was to Millie.
She wasn’t prepared to answer any of those questions.

She glanced down at his little dog; he had fallen asleep at Charles’s feet. “Don’t disturb him. I’ll just put a slice in a
container for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was just teasing.” His blue eyes twinkled at her.

Millie’s heart beat harder now than it did during Kim’s exercise class. “I won’t be but a minute,” she said, her voice breathless
even to her own ears. Then she rushed toward the kitchen, needing distance from him more than she needed to give him any pie.
The slice she cut was almost too large for the plastic container she shakily dropped it in. Her fingers trembled as she placed
warm apple slices over the pie and popped the cover onto the container.

After she handed it to him, she licked her fingers, removing the sticky cinnamon filling. When she glanced up, she caught
him staring at her.

“See, it was no trouble,” she said, fighting the nerves that had her hands shaking again.

“No… no trouble,” he said, but his deep voice suggested otherwise. “This was probably a bad idea.”

She chuckled. “You haven’t signed up for Kim’s aerobics class, have you?” She’d already surmised that he didn’t need it. “She
advises against pie, too many calories and too much cholesterol.”

“No.”

She smothered the sigh of relief. The class was hard enough for her without worrying about him being in attendance, possibly
watching her, as she struggled through the simple exercises. Not that she was all that out of shape. For a woman who loved
to cook, she was surprisingly close, except for a few stubborn pounds, to her target weight. She probably owed that to cleaning
Mitchell’s apartment. She definitely worked off some calories with that chore.

“We’re starting another class you might want to sign up for,” she said nonchalantly. She would have tried for coy, but she
had no idea how.

“What kind of class?”

“Cooking will be part of it.”

“I have to admit I’m pretty impressed by your cooking.” He ran his finger around the rim of the bowl, where filling still
oozed, then licked it. His blue eyes closed, as he savored the taste.

Millie’s heart rate kicked into a higher gear.

“I’d like to learn how to cook like this,” he said.

“But you’d said you were a bachelor a long time,” she reminded him. “You must know how to cook.”

“Nope. Just how to dial for takeout. And that gets old.”

She nodded in agreement even though she never got takeout. Maybe she would… once she retired. “Well, it’s going to be a bachelor’s
survival course on how to maintain a household. Kim O’Malley and Theresa Shearer are going to help me teach.”

“I
should
learn how to do more things around the house,” he admitted.

She clenched her hands together behind her back to hide their trembling, but she heard it in her voice as she replied, “Then
this could be the class for you.”

He laughed. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“My joining the class. After what happened this afternoon…”

When she had nearly run him and his dog over? “My thinking your wife was dead?”

“Yes, I hoped there wouldn’t be any awkwardness between us over that misunderstanding.”

Awkwardness? No. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Yes. “Of course not,” she lied. “It’ll be great to have you in the class.”

He nodded. “I think so, too. Sign me up. I’m looking forward to it.”

With a giddy little rush, she acknowledged she was, too. “It’ll be great,” she promised. “You’ll learn a lot.” And hopefully
so would she, about flirting.

“Oh, and I meant to tell you earlier today,” he said, reaching out with his free hand to touch a curl at her cheek. “I like
your hair. A lot.”

“Uh… thanks…” His touch had been fleeting, just the briefest brush of hard knuckle against her cheek, but the feel of it lingered,
long after he moved his hand away.

“Thanks for the pie,” he said, gesturing with the container as he nudged the dog awake and turned to leave.

She stood there, watching him walk away. Why did
he really want to join the class? To learn to cook or for another reason? That little giddy rush coursed through her veins,
setting her pulse to race. Maybe flirting would be easier than she’d thought, if it were all she had to learn.

She also had to learn how to teach; something she’d never done before. Nerves churned the apple pie in her stomach. Maybe
she’d bitten off more than she could chew by inviting Charles to take the class. How would she teach the boys
and
flirt with Charles… without making a fool of herself?

She could have called him back and told him that she’d rather he didn’t take this class, but she wasn’t even tempted to back
out. If she didn’t at least try to kill these three birds with one stone, then she’d really be a fool. She watched Charles
until he was gone from sight, then she closed the door with one hand as she cradled her cheek with the other.

Chapter Four

“The important thing about women today is, as they get older, they still keep house. It’s one reason why they don’t die, but
men die when they retire. Women just polish the teacups.”

—
Margaret Mead

T
hanks for picking me up,” Theresa said, surprised that Wally had actually walked instead of bringing the car. She fell into
step beside her husband. He was much taller than she was, his strides longer, but he walked slower than she did so they managed
to keep perfect rhythm.

Walking.

Life was another matter. Or it was now that he’d retired.

He lifted a hand to his mouth, smothering a yawn. She couldn’t fathom why he was tired. He slept all day. Every day.

“I didn’t want you walking home in the dark, alone,” he said gruffly.

With the street lamps and the lights from the city below them sparkling in the night, it was hardly dark.
But still his concern was sweet, reminiscent of the chivalrous man she used to know. Her heart softened at his thoughtfulness,
which alleviated some of her irritation at the mess he’d left in their bathroom earlier in the day: toothpaste smeared over
the mirror, his socks on the floor, as well as other unmentionables. And the basement family room, where she’d banished the
easy chair he seldom left, was an even bigger mess with newspapers and DVD sleeves spread all around the floor, covering the
carpet.

“You didn’t need to worry about me,” Theresa assured him, although she was pleased he’d left that chair even if just for a
short walk. “Kim and I would have walked home together. Nobody messes with Kim and Harry.”

Wally laughed. “She’s something else.”

Most men said that about Kim. Most women called Kim
something else,
with jealousy not admiration. But Theresa loved her and Millie. She’d been fortunate to find such wonderful friends.

She wished Wally would do the same, find some people that were just
his.
Find a life, like Theresa had since they’d moved to Hilltop.

“You really should come to Kim’s aerobics class in the morning,” Theresa urged. She’d been trying to get him to join the class
since it started, hoping that the exercise would give him more energy and that he might make friends there.

“A lot of men come, too,” she added. To watch Kim, probably. Even Mr. Lindstrom stayed awake for the sight of her in her leopard
print leotard.

“Men can’t bend like that, Theresa.”

“We’re starting up some more classes,” Theresa said, as they followed the sidewalk uphill toward their condo. Thanks to Kim’s
class, she wasn’t even winded, but she could hear Wally breathing. Maybe now was the time to manipulate him, when his brain
was oxygen-deprived. Any other time she wasn’t likely to fool the man. He was too brilliant a businessman to be manipulated.
Or at least, he had been…

“More exercise ones?”

She shook her head. “No. No bending required. We’re going out on a limb with this one. Mrs. Ryers was already mocking us after
we put the sign up on the bulletin board.”

“Old busybody.”

Theresa laughed. “That’s a lot nicer than what Kim calls her.”

“Don’t let her get to you.” It wasn’t a flip comment. His tone was too serious. By nature men were problem solvers, and Wally
had taken this penchant to the extreme when he’d built his consulting business.

She just might be able to manipulate him yet. Theresa forced out a shaky sigh. “Well, she could be right this time.” She worked
on adding a little catch to her voice when she continued, “I’d hate to fail. She’d never let us forget it.”

Wally’s fingers brushed over her hand. “You won’t,” he assured her. “You always pull off whatever you try, Theresa.”

“I don’t know. We came up with the idea to help Millie. A Bachelor’s Survival Course.” She filled him in on
the situation between Millie’s son and his wife. “This might be the only thing to save their marriage. But we have to have
more than one student sign up, or he’ll figure out what Millie’s up to…”

“And his pride will get the best of him, probably like it did when he left his wife.” He sighed. “You’re doing a good thing.
All of you, trying to save a marriage.”