‘Okay, let’s find Grandma. We’l say hel o, place the cake in her capable hands, make ourselves up plates of goodies and then find some people to talk to.’
He bit back a sigh. It had al sounded great up until that last bit. He’d rather find a cosy corner and settle down to flirt with her. Finding people to talk to, a crowd, was far more sensible. Safer.
There was stil the promise of that swim later.
He’d hold onto that while he gritted his teeth and made smal talk.
‘I’ve been meaning to say,’ Kit said, ‘that I like this new casual look of yours.’
He wore a pair of long, loose cargo shorts and a cotton T-shirt. The simple compliment took him off guard. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Can’t paint in a suit,’ he final y muttered. ‘I’d look a bit stupid.’
Her laugh made him grin. He could do smal talk for an hour or so. For Kit. He could do anything she wanted him to.
He pushed the thought away. He wasn’t ready to face those questions and al they implied yet.
He rol ed his shoulders. Later. When he had her house finished and… He gulped. The house was almost finished. Another week or so and…
Soon. He’d have to answer those questions soon.
‘Alex, it’s lovely to see you again. I’m so glad you could make it.’
He latched onto the distraction. ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs…uh…Patti,’ he corrected at her glare.
‘Thank you for the cake, dear. Now, head on over to the tables and grab yourselves some food before it’s al gone.’
‘No chance of that,’ Alex said. ‘You’l be eating this for a week!’
Patti touched his arm. ‘Make sure my
granddaughter has something with lashings of fresh cream. It’s good for the baby.’
Fresh cream? He frowned. He’d baked a simple sultana pound cake. He wished now that he’d baked something with lashings of cream, like a strawberry shortcake. Tomorrow he’d make Kit one of those.
He liked to watch her eat. He’d like to watch her lick whipped cream from her fingers. He’d like to drop dol ops of whipped cream onto her naked body and slowly lick—
Whoa!
He did his best to banish that image as he fol owed Kit. She pushed an unerring path through the crowd towards laden trestle tables groaning under the weight of luncheon goodies.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. ‘How d’you learn to bake anyway? I thought you said your mum couldn’t bake to save her life.’
‘I spent a lot of time in the kitchen when I lived at my grandfather’s, watching the housekeeper. Some of it obviously rubbed off.’
She started fil ing two plates with sandwiches, cakes and slices. He scanned the table for something laden with whipped cream. He seized a chocolate eclair and popped it onto one of the plates. ‘Your grandmother’s orders,’ he muttered at her raised eyebrow.
Her laugh made him grin. He couldn’t help it. He Her laugh made him grin. He couldn’t help it. He should be doing his best to keep his distance until he’d worked out how he was going to deal with…
everything. When he was with her, though, that resolution flew out of the window. She made it impossible.
‘Did you like the housekeeper? Was she kind to you?’
He met her gaze and saw hope there—hope that he hadn’t been completely alienated whilst at his grandfather’s. He swal owed. ‘Yes,’ he lied.
He told himself it was only half a lie. The housekeeper had been kind. She’d taught him how to cook and had taken him under her wing. She’d ruffled his hair and wrapped an arm around his shoulders at least once a day—her every caress a treasure to a lonely boy’s soul. Until his grandfather had found out about it and she’d been dismissed.
After that, Alex had been banished from the kitchen.
He hadn’t tried making friends with any of the other staff.
‘Here.’ Kit pressed a laden plate into his hands.
‘Fol ow me.’
He shook off the sombre memory and fol owed her.
The smal talk wasn’t the chore he’d dreaded. He found himself in a circle with four of Kit’s male friends from school talking renovations and home maintenance. He took mental notes when they discussed
the
predominantly
sandy
