Star Dust (18 page)

Because that wouldn’t cause additional anxiety?
Anne-Marie was grateful Margie couldn’t see her rolling her eyes.

“—but Betty thinks it would be better as a progressive dinner party. Now, I’m going to have cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, Frances is going to have the soup, and Betty the dessert.”

“No entrée?”

“That’s the thing—Kit offered to host the entrée course.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. I saw him at the market yesterday.”

Anne-Marie couldn’t imagine Kit volunteering for such a thing. He must have been dragooned.

Margie was still talking. “But you know him—the man can’t handle this sort of thing. So can you help him?”

“Can I help Kit?”

“Well, can you? Will you?”

Anne-Marie hadn’t seen him since the fishing expedition, when he’d been so kind with the kids. So kind that he had reminded her why she should avoid him altogether in public and why their affair was a disaster waiting to explode. Ever since then, she had avoided him. She hadn’t even allowed herself to watch him jog. She needed to end things now before she got in too deep. Helping him cook and serve a meal in public wasn’t a good idea.

But if she said no, she’d lose a valuable ally in Margie. Surely she and Kit could handle one night of friendliness.

“Um, sure.”

“Good. He’ll have the details!”

And then the other woman hung up, because Margie Dunsford did not have time for salutations or closings, which made sense.

 
Anne-Marie put a slice of cake in a Tupperware, kicked into her step-ins, and said to the kids, “Who wants to see Kit?”

They couldn’t get ready fast enough.

When they pounded on his door two minutes later, Kit answered with a bemused expression. “It’s… all the Smiths.”

“The kids want to play with Bucky and I brought you some cake.” She should have put in some of the roast chicken too—which had turned out well, who knew stuffing it with grapes would work?—but she didn’t want him to think she didn’t think he could feed himself.

“I’m here on behalf of Margie,” she explained.

“About?”

“The dinner you’re serving tomorrow.”

Kit scratched his cheek. “Yeah, that. She, uh, wanted to do this party—she does them quite a bit—but usually the bachelors can get out of bringing food, only she insisted that we could host my course at your house, seeing as how we were neighbors, and…” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking as discomfited as Anne-Marie felt. “I could use some help.”

She scowled at him, and he gave her a sheepish grin in return.

If Margie Dunsford were trying to play matchmaker, there was nothing the two of them could do but keep their heads down and try to avoid getting hit.

They could also end this secret affair, make sure that no one could sense anything between them that might fuel any silliness. She looked up at him, all six foot something of blue-eyed, blond-haired, all-American male sexiness.

Nope. Not quite ready to do that.

She didn’t want to hurt Lisa or Freddie, but she also wasn’t going to stop seeing him. Not yet anyway.

They turned and watched the kids, who were chasing Bucky in circles. He’d taken the ball and didn’t seem to want to return it.

“Do you know how many people are coming?” she asked. She might as well meet her doom head on.

“Not precisely.”

“Or what you want to serve?”

“That pot roast sure was good.” He gave her a hangdog look, which should have annoyed her but only made her want to laugh.

“You’re hopeless! But I will help you fix this—”

“I’ll help you pay for the food.”

“Of course you will.” She sighed. “I have a roast in the freezer I can use. The butcher’s probably closed and I’ve got nothing else handy.”

“Thank you. Is there anything I can do?’

She made another face. He’d known how to set a table. How to dry dishes. Maybe he had other talents. “How are you with a knife?”

“I’m a Boy Scout.”

Like that meant anything. “Follow me.”

Back in her kitchen, she began pulling things out of cabinets and setting them on the counters. “There’s a marinated pot roast recipe I’ve been playing with,” she explained. “It’s a little more special than what I normally make.”

“It doesn’t have to be special, it just has to be good.”

She glanced around. Certain they were alone, she rested her hand on his chest. “That you think so is adorable.”

He reached for her. “Adorable, huh?”

She ducked under his arm. “No flirting, Commander. We have work to do.” She tapped a cutting board. “Dice this onion.”

He made a face but started chopping.

She pulled the roast from the freezer and set it in a casserole dish. Then she opened the pantry and began pushing things around. “How do you feel about potatoes au gratin as a side?”

“Now you want me to peel potatoes? This is like the Navy—though you’re the cutest commanding officer I’ve ever seen.”

She considered pinching him but decided that would send the wrong message.

“I’ll do the potatoes tomorrow. Do you like them?”

“I love ’em.”

Somehow, knowing that felt too much. Too intimate. Too close. Which was ridiculous, given how much they’d shared already. The man had been inside her; she should know how he liked his potatoes.

“Mom!” Lisa burst into the kitchen. “Bucky rolled in some mud.”

Kit nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“If you’re going to keep playing with Kit’s dog—inciting him, more like—you need to take care of him.” She turned to Kit. “Do you mind if they bathe him?”

“That’d be great,” Kit said.

Lisa flushed with excitement. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Get some soap from your bathroom and use one of the old towels from the linen closet to dry him after.”

The girl shivered with excitement and ran off.

“Please don’t get any soap in his eyes. Or his ears!” Kit called after her.

Anne-Marie watched her daughter go with a bright spring in her step. She ought to get the kids a dog. Then they’d stop trying to steal Kit’s and she could put some needed distance between her family and their famous neighbor—advice she really should take.

Once Lisa left with dog washing supplies, Anne-Marie went back to trying to fix the meal. She found a large pot in a lower cabinet and poured a bottle of wine and some seasonings into it.

“What are you putting in there?” he asked.

“Oh a bit of this and a bit of that.” She added a few cloves. “Just some fixings.”

“You won’t tell me?”

“Nope. It’s a secret.”

“Anne-Marie.” He said her name with such sincerity she glanced over her shoulder at him. “You can trust me.”

She bit her lip and hesitated. Then she turned back to her bowl. “Not telling. You’d fold under Margie’s questioning in ninety seconds.”

She could feel his gaze on her back, but she ignored it and went back to prepping. After a few beats she could hear him doing the same.

Several minutes later, he asked, “Where do you want these?” When she turned, he gestured to the onions with the knife.

“In here.”

“What about the roast?”

She crossed the kitchen and poked at the meat in its white-paper wrapping. “I need to wait for it to thaw, but we’ve done most of the work. At least what we can do tonight.”

In silence, Kit washed the cutting board and the knife. She pulled out a cookbook and pretended to consult it while trying not to watch him.

When he was done, he came to stand beside her.

“This goes to show we’re a good team.”

She shook her head. “No, this goes to show that I’m good at helping you impress Margie.”

He slid his hand into her hair and held her head still. “I want to revisit the question of whether we can date.”

“We’ve explored that question and settled it.”

“You settled it. I deferred it. You like some parts of our relationship.”

Her face heated, but she wasn’t going to let him win so easily. She liked sleeping with him, but sex wasn’t everything. It was enough—for now. And soon, they’d part. That was always how this was going to end. That he was pretending otherwise made it both easier and harder.

She pulled away from his grip. “I need to check on the kids.”
 

At the door, she drew a deep breath and composed herself. She was going to find the will to end things with Kit—and soon. She had to.

She pulled the door open. And that was when a sopping-wet Bucky zipped into her house.

“The dog’s inside!” Lisa shouted, running past Anne-Marie, the towel in her hand.

Freddie, so soaked his shoes creaked, screamed with laughter and darted in after them.

What was happening in her life? Could she make anything go according to plan?

She whirled around and watched the children run after the dog.

“Can’t you control him?” she barked at Kit.

“I can’t control anyone,” Kit said, his voice deep and low. He brushed past her, his hip touching hers, which wasn’t strictly necessary, and joined the conga line through the house. They headed toward the den in the back. Shouts, followed by the clatter of dog claws, indicated they didn’t end there.

Bucky shot past her, followed by his entourage.

“Mom! Mom! We’re going to get him!” Freddie shouted.

Anne-Marie leaned against the wall, watched the scene, and listened. Her children’s laughter floated back to her. There was a crash, followed by a bang, and then a muffled clang, but then the parade came back through.

Dog, kid, kid, astronaut. It was like the start of a joke.

They disappeared into the kitchen. There was a thump, a clatter, and Kit’s half-swallowed curses. When the dog led them into the living room this time, he was carrying a package wrapped in white paper. And that was too much.

“Bucky! Sit!” she bellowed.

Against all logic, the dog sat.

She wrenched the roast from his jaws. She turned to face the kids and Kit, who’d all frozen in place. Freddie’s hands were on his mouth. Lisa’s were on her ears. Kit was trying not to crack up.

“Lisa, please get a mop. Freddie, put the furniture to rights.”

Kit stalked across the room and grabbed Bucky’s collar. They both had the good sense to look chastened.

“Do I want to know what that is?” He eyed the package.

“The roast. And now”—she glanced at the clock—“the butcher is definitely closed. What am I going to do?” What was she saying? This was both of their problem. “
We
. What are we going to do?”

“Well.” Kit paused and mirth lit his eyes. “It’s wrapped. He didn’t really get his mouth on it.”

For ten seconds, Anne-Marie wondered whether he was right. What would Helen Corbitt do?
She wouldn’t serve the roast
.

She scowled at him twice as hard for making her consider it. “You’re incorrigible.”

He turned serious. “I will fix this. Somehow.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what he was referring to, but despite massive evidence to the contrary, and for reasons she couldn’t explain—and didn’t want to probe—she trusted him.

She walked him, and his wretched dog, to the door. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’d done it. He’d fixed it. Anne-Marie was going to be so pleased. When he’d driven over to Dick’s, he kept imagining her face. And what she might say.
Oh, Kit! You did it. And you’re right: we should tell everyone that we’re dating.

And perhaps in his head, she’d also added a few things about how she’d had a good time last weekend and how wonderful he’d made her feel.

Okay, that last part was probably too much to hope for. But the rest of it seemed pretty damn likely.

He knocked on her door and waited.

But sadly, when she answered, she didn’t look at him at all.

“What is that?” she asked slowly.

Kit boosted the bird in his hands. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. “It’s a turkey. I think an eastern turkey,” he ventured in answer.

“Where did you get a turkey? Thanksgiving was months ago.”

“I have a friend who hunts. He got this one earlier this week.”

“You brought me a wild turkey?”

He’d felt rather clever, thinking to call Dick. But the sharp incredulity in her voice had him worried.

She tapped her fingers against her lips, an expression of deep concentration coming across her face. “Actually, I think this will work.” She squared her shoulders. “I can do this.” She took the turkey from him.

“Do you need me to help?” He’d enjoyed last night, watching her plan. Watching her work. Watching her.

The kids would likely be around, but he could keep his hands to himself. He could chop things again.

She pursed her lips, as if she knew what he was thinking. “No, I’m going to do this one by myself. You and your dog should stay away—far away. Be back here at five, ready to go,” she ordered.

He smiled and snapped off a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

When she rolled her eyes, it was with affection—or maybe he was deluding himself.

He walked over to her house that night, knocked, and, when there was no answer, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and the smell of roast turkey wafting from the kitchen made his mouth water.