“Must be a foolproof recipe,” Kevin observed.
“If you came by to beg a muffin, you’re getting off on the wrong foot,” Mrs. Johnson chastised.
“Just experience talking.” He regarded the muffins intently. “Could be the tide’s about to turn, though. Those look pretty good. I’ll test the first one.”
“I shouldn’t let you have a single one after that remark you made,” Gracie said. “But maybe it would be better to let you take the risk, rather than one of us. It’ll serve you right, if you get sick.”
“On second thought—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Gracie said. “You volunteered.” She popped a muffin out of the pan and put it on a fancy porcelain dessert plate, then slid it in front of him. She sat down across from him and watched him anxiously. “Do you need a knife? Butter?”
“If you’ve done ’em right, I won’t need anything,” he said, breaking off a chunk. The texture was light and fluffy. It was filled with plump blueberries. “Looks okay.”
Actually, it looked better than okay. His mouth was watering, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of telling her that. He waited a full minute for the chunk to cool before popping it into his mouth. He closed his eyes. It was heavenly.
“Well?” Gracie prodded.
“Not bad.”
“Kevin Patrick!” Mrs. Johnson chided.
He grinned. “Okay, it’s sensational.”
Gracie studied him worriedly. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Have you ever known me to be diplomatic?”
“Hardly.”
He ate another chunk. “Delicious. Every bit as good as Mrs. Johnson’s.”
Gracie jumped up and threw her arms around the older woman. “Thank you,” she said fervently.
Her face flooded with embarrassed color, Mrs. Johnson quickly extricated herself from the embrace and patted Gracie’s hand. “You’re the one who did the work.”
“But Kevin was right. Your recipe had to be foolproof.”
“Aren’t you going to taste one yourself?” he asked, amused by her enthusiasm.
“I guess I should,” she said, eyeing the muffins cautiously. Clearly, she thought he might be exaggerating the quality.
Finally she took one, neatly broke off a tiny piece and ate it. A smile broke across her face. She tried a second bite, then sighed contentedly. “It is wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Don’t even think about resting on your laurels,” Mrs. Johnson said briskly. “Tomorrow we’ll do scones.”
“Cranberry-orange?” Kevin asked hopefully.
Mrs. Johnson sighed. “I suppose you’ll be back here begging a sample, if they are.” Despite the sigh, she didn’t look particularly displeased by the prospect.
“You bet.” He glanced at Gracie. “That is, if Gracie doesn’t mind.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled, her mouth stuffed with another chunk of muffin.
Kevin grinned. “If I’d known what it took to make you so agreeable, I’d have arranged for cooking lessons days ago.”
“Okay, you two, get along with you,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I’m tired.”
“We can’t go until I’ve cleaned up,” Gracie protested.
“Leave it be. It won’t take me but a minute. I’ll do it after I’ve fixed supper. No point in cleaning up, only to mess it up again an hour from now.”
“Are you sure?” Gracie asked.
“I said it, didn’t I?”
“Come on, Gracie. I recognize that tone,” Kevin said. “She’s fed up with both of us.”
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Gracie said, taking one last look at Mrs. Johnson.
“Go,” she said succinctly, then glanced at Kevin with a tolerant smile. “Take the muffins along with you, why don’t you? You know I’m not supposed to have them.”
Kevin grabbed a paper sack from the drawer where they’d always been kept, then dumped all but one of the muffins into it. He dropped a kiss on Mrs. Johnson’s weathered cheek.
“Thanks. If I could have found a woman who baked like you, I’d have married her years ago.”
“Give Gracie a little time,” she suggested with a wink. “Maybe she’ll fill the bill.”
“Could be,” he agreed, and turned to find the woman in question blushing furiously. “Come on, Gracie. On the way back to your place, I’ll explain the function of locks.”
“Locks? I know what locks are for.”
He winked at Mrs. Johnson as they left. “Then why don’t you use them?”
He saw the precise instant when Gracie figured out the implication of the question. Bright patches of color appeared in her cheeks and her eyes flashed sparks.
“You’ve been in my house, haven’t you?”
“That unlocked door was the next best thing to an invitation,” he replied unrepentantly. “By the way, your buddy Max called.”
She stared at him indignantly. “You answered the phone, too?”
“Not until after he’d started his message. I didn’t like his attitude.”
“What’s wrong with his attitude?”
“You’ll see.”
“Kevin, you can’t just barge into other people’s homes and start taking their phone calls because you disapprove of the caller.”
“Not normally, no. You made it easy for me.”
She sighed. “I suppose there was another crisis.”
“So he claims.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“Nope. I suggested he try to solve it all by himself.”
She stared at him. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
A smile began working the corners of her mouth. “And what did Max say to that?”
“Let’s just say I doubt we’ll ever be buddies.”
“That was a given,” she said, chuckling. “You and Max are as different as night and day.”
Kevin nodded. “One question, darlin’. Does that work in my favor or his?”
She reached up and patted his cheek. “I think I’ll keep the answer to that to myself.”
12
Though torture couldn’t have forced her to admit it to Kevin, Gracie was delighted with the pattern that was developing. Every afternoon precisely at four, she went to visit Mrs. Johnson for another cooking lesson. An hour later, Kevin showed up to taste the results.
So far, she’d mastered two different kinds of scones, a second type of muffin, and a pecan coffee cake that was to die for. She’d lengthened her walk every morning just to burn off the extra calories. Given his apparent lack of energetic pursuits, she had no idea why Kevin hadn’t turned into a blimp. That he hadn’t raised all sorts of fascinating questions about what he was up to when they weren’t together.
She studied him as they walked back
