dumped on the corner. Ridiculous, the way her heart was pounding. Like she was interested or something. Jiminy Christmas.
“Wonder where everyone else is?” she said through a scratchy throat.
“Oh, that’s easy. Kids are all outside, men are all in the family room watching a game and the women are either in the kitchen or upstairs criticizing the decor.”
She smiled. But not at him.
He stepped closer, smelling of cold air and aftershave and some indefinable unique scent that made her want to smell more. That made her want to run away. She shut her eyes, reminding herself it was a trap, making men smell good. Nature’s way of derailing a woman, making her believe in things that weren’t real. Of making her miss the point. Not to mention the boat.
“Which one’s yours?” he asked, looming over the table, his hands braced on his hips. “And please don’t tell me it’s the Jell-O mold.”
Her own laugh surprised her. She’d really have to watch that. Letting him make her laugh. Because then, see, she might discover she really liked him. And even that was too great a risk. “No. It’s the one over there, by the cranberry sauce. Oh! What are you doing?”
Del had made an exaggerated show of peering over his shoulder before snitching one of the individually sliced rolls, holding it over the palm of his other hand as he munched. “Sampling,” he said around the bite, then groaned.
Galen shrugged, trying not to take it personally. “It’s not to everyone’s liking, I know—”
“Are you kidding?” Del stuffed another bite into his mouth, promptly speared another piece with a plastic fork. “You made this from scratch?”
She nodded, feeling a blush of pride sweep up her cheeks.
“God, I haven’t had anything this good since I was a kid at my grandmother’s house.” Then he gave her a smile, all goofy and wonderful and warm.
With a little cry, she ran from the room.
Chapter 4
What the hell?
Still chewing, Del stared in the direction Galen had fled. Great. Five minutes with the woman, she either throws up or runs away. Real boost for the old male ego.
Not that it mattered one way or the other what Galen Granata thought of him, especially since she was leaving in three days. Especially since he felt downright…unfinished next to her. No, she didn’t exude the studied perfection of Maureen or Elizabeth, or even the casual stylishness of Nancy Braden, Elizabeth’s best friend. But there was something about Galen’s naturalness, her quiet reticence, that just knocked him for a loop whenever he saw her. She was, quite simply, flawless.
Del was, equally simply, not.
“What was that all about?”
He hadn’t heard the kitchen door open, or seen Guy, armed with two cans of black olives, head in his direction. His head humming, Del turned to his step-brother-in-law. “Damned if I know. I complimented Galen on her contribution to the groaning board, and she lit out of here like I’d insulted her.”
“Huh.” Guy dumped the olives into the almost empty crystal dish, his layered, shoulder-length hair swishing over a bold, geometric-patterned sweater in shades of black, purple and bright blue. “Women are strange beasts, no doubt about it. Forget it, dog,” he said to Einstein, who’d wandered into the room on the off-chance someone had called him to dinner. With a groan, the shaggy beast slunk out again, head and tail hanging. Guy set down the empty cans on the corner of the table, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Good-looking woman,” he said, too casually.
Del shrugged, refusing to take the bait. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Bet she doesn’t think she is, either.”
“I couldn’t say.”
Silence.
Guy rubbed his index finger under his lower lip, surveying the spread. “So. What’d she bring?”
Del bit back a smile at the way Guy had just backed down. For the moment, at least. “I don’t know the real name. Pasta rolls, stuffed with cheese and ham. My grandmother used to make it when I was a kid. Go ahead—try one.”
Guy picked up a piece, opened his mouth. Shut it again, his brow wrinkled. “What’s the green stuff?”
“Spinach. Least, that’s the way my grandmother made it.”
Incredulous blue eyes met his. “And you liked it?”
“Hey—you ain’t tasted spinach until you’ve tasted what an Italian can do with spinach.”
Guy squinted. “I thought Cora said Granata was Galen’s married name.”
“Close enough.”
Still, Guy took a cautious bite, chewing slowly at first, then more quickly, his expression changing from skeptical to “wow” within three seconds.
“Was I right or what? Good stuff, huh?”
Guy shoved in another piece. “Any woman who can do this to spinach…” Still chewing, he grabbed the cans and went back into the kitchen, leaving Del to finish the sentence any old way he pleased.
Her heart pounding painfully inside her chest, Galen ducked outside, hoping maybe a few breaths of fresh air would clear her head. She strode across the porch, down the steps, sinking onto the bottom one, her head clamped between her hands.
This had to stop.
Too many thoughts were stampeding through her brain for her to sort them all out, to make enough sense, even, of them to get control. She felt dizzy, off-balance, as if someone had tilted the floor underneath her feet. For heaven’s sake, all Del had done was compliment her cooking and smile at her. Period. He wasn’t flirting, coming on to her, or otherwise threatening her in any way. He probably wasn’t even attracted to her. Not really. Not in the I’d-like-to-get-to-know-you-better sense, at least.
Heat seared her cheeks, again.
Okay, so it had been a while since a male-type person had even looked at her, let alone been nice to her. Other than the occasional bag boy at the Giant Eagle, maybe. And she was feeling a bit odd woman outish, in this house filled with people she didn’t know. Refined, classy people. Oh, sure, Elizabeth and Guy were friendly ‘n’ that, and it wasn’t like their house looked like a museum or anything. But even with four kids, from what she could tell, it still looked like something from one of those home decorating magazines. Like grown-ups lived there, too.
Galen hooked her hands around one knee, listening to the cacophony of children laughing and calling out to each other from the other side of the house. She knew she wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t that. But not having gone to college or pursued a career put her at a definite disadvantage. She simply didn’t fit in with these people.
As much as she ached to be like them.
She frowned, thinking about that. She’d never envied anyone before, not that she could remember. Not even when the
