Living room walls adorned with pictures of Janet—playing at a birthday party, running through a sprinkler in her bathing suit, graduating from college. He lingered to examine them. There were photographs of Janet with her mother and a few with other women.
Grandmothers, aunts, neighbors, and friends, he figured. But the male of the species was clearly absent. No men. No father.
“That’s her first-grade picture.” Gracie came up behind him. “Doesn’t she look adorable with her front tooth missing?”
“Adorable,” he echoed.
“And this is her first baby photo. She was just three months old. That little fuzz of hair on her head was soft as duck down.” Gracie sighed wistfully. “They grow up so fast.”
This was how their daughter would look if he and Janet had a child together, Gage thought. Seriously cute.
What a minute! What was he thinking? A daughter with Janet? Hell, as independent as she was, she probably wouldn’t even need him there for the conception, much less the birth or the eighteen years afterward.
He had to stop creating these fanciful scenarios about her. She was most definitely not his true love.
He wanted an equal partnership of marriage. A symbiotic give and take. With Janet, no matter how much he tried to give, she simply wouldn’t take from him. How could he ever achieve the intimacy he craved with a woman like that?
And yet, he was so damned attracted to her.
“What’s that wonderful smell coming from the kitchen?” Gage asked Gracie.
“My specialty.” Gracie beamed. “Beef Stroganoff.”
“You’re kidding,” Gage exclaimed. “Stroganoff is my favorite.”
Gracie tittered.
“I’ve got a feeling you’re a fabulous cook.” Gage winked.
“I do my best.” Gracie blushed and patted her hair into place.
“Can I see you in the kitchen for a minute, Gage?” Janet asked through gritted teeth.
“Can’t it wait, snuggle bunny?” He knew he was irritating her, but he couldn’t help it. Ruffling her oh-so-controlled feathers seemed like a step in the right direction.
Snuggle bunny? she mouthed silently, frowned, then said, “No, it can’t wait.”
“Go on, Gage, I bet she just wants to sneak a kiss.” Gracie laughed and waved. “I know what it’s like to be young and in love.”
“We will not be kissing,” Janet exclaimed, taking Gage’s arm and dragging him into the kitchen behind her.
“Stop endearing yourself to my mother,” she muttered the minute they were alone.
He leaned insouciantly against the counter and leveled her with one of his irritating grins. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just being myself.”
“And beef Stroganoff is your favorite meal.” She sank her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.
“It is.” He jutted his chin forward. “Just because I’m from L.A., doesn’t mean I’m insincere when I give compliments.”
“Fine. Okay. All right. Let’s assume you’re the real McCoy. You adore everything about my mother. Now cut it out.”
“Why?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Because you’re supposed to be breaking up with me, that’s why.”
“I’ve been giving that some thought…”
“No.”
“Do you really think it’s such a good idea to break up now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I mean if I ditch you, she’s only going to go fetch Oscar and bring him around again. Or maybe she’ll even recycle Max Crispin.”
Janet shuddered. He made a good point, but never mind. She simply couldn’t go around masquerading as Gage Gregory’s girlfriend.
“Look, as annoying as I find my mother’s matchmaking, it’s better than what’s going to befall us if we keep up this charade. The longer we say we’re going out, the more likely she is to think this is a permanent relationship. I’m not kidding, Gage. She’s hot for a wedding and even hotter for a grandchild. So break up with me now, please.”
“Can’t it wait until after dinner?” He sniffed the air. “That stroganoff smells heavenly.”
“Oh, all right.” She shook a finger. “But then you pick a fight with me.”
“Fine.”
“Knock, knock, kids. Don’t let me interrupt. I’ve got to check on those homemade yeast rolls.” Gracie popped through the swinging double doors and into the kitchen. She bustled over to the stove, shoved her hand into red oven mitts shaped like lobsters, took a dozen rolls from the oven, and set them on a trivet to cool.
“You’re a woman after my own heart, Mrs. Hunter.” Gage smiled at her.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me Gracie? Mrs. Hunter makes me feel so old.”
“Forgive me, Gracie.”
“Apology accepted.”
The man could charm plaster off the walls, Janet thought with a mental eye roll.
“Here, let me butter one for you.” Gracie retrieved a stick of butter from the fridge and slathered some across a roll. She wrapped the roll in a paper towel and passed it over to Gage.
He took an enthusiastic bite. “Incredible,” he pronounced.
Double eye roll. If she hung around these two much longer, her eyes would get stuck to the ceiling. What was Gage plotting? Why was he buttering up her mother like a Thanksgiving turkey?
“You like them?” Gracie grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll give Janet the recipe when you two set up housekeeping.”
Janet shot Gage an I-told-you-so expression and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I have to warn you, though. She was never much of a cook.” Gracie leaned in close and whispered to Gage as if Janet wasn’t standing right there in the room with them. “Can’t boil water in a microwave, poor thing, if you know what I mean.”
Gage grinned at Janet and smugly took another mouthful of bread. “Do tell.”
“Mother, I can hear you.”
“Well, sweetie, you were never much interested in cooking.”
“And that’s not likely to change anytime soon.
“It will. When you and Gage have children, you’ll want to bake cookies and make brownies and many other pleasant things.”
She groaned. “Mom! I’ve only known him three weeks. Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?
“You’re not getting any younger, dear.”
Argh! She might as well bash her head against the wall as talk sense to her mother.
“Don’t worry about the cooking thing,” Gracie said to Gage. “She’s got other talents.”
From the speculative look on Gage’s face, Janet knew
