dinner your sister’s working so hard to fix.”
“Thanks. It didn’t even hurt.”
“Well, don’t forget, you’re still going to need those stitches.”
Owen grinned, then his eyes lit up. “Hey, you want to stay for dinner, if it’s okay with my mom? We always have tons of leftovers when we have spaghetti.”
The knife Claire was holding stilled, then flashed with renewed vigor, he noticed with interest.
“Thanks for the invitation but I’d better not. I’m sure you’ve got homework and your mom and Macy weren’t expecting company.”
“I did all my homework before I went over to the…” He stumbled. “Before I went to Robbie’s house. Mom, is it okay?”
Claire had a hint of color on her cheekbones and she didn’t meet his gaze. “Of course. Riley’s always welcome here. I’m sure he knows that. We owe him anyway for cleaning up after the windstorm the other day and for helping you home.”
He thought of the sandwich she had so carefully made him and of the sweetness of her kiss. She didn’t owe him anything.
He should say no. Should leave this warm, cozy kitchen while he still could. “In that case, I’d love to,” he found himself saying. “I’m starving and those bread-sticks smell like the most delicious thing I’ve had in years.”
This will be good, he told himself. He could regain his footing with her. They needed to return to the easy friendship they had shared for years. No more flirting and certainly no more kissing.
No matter how hungry she left him.
SHE HAD A CRUSH ON RILEY McKnight.
Claire would have been astonished if she could find any room around the mortification that swamped every thing else.
She was thirty-six years old, had two children and a failed marriage behind her, but she was still acting as if she were Macy’s age, trying to get the cutest boy in school to notice she was alive.
This was humiliating on so many levels. Every time he smiled at her, color soaked her cheeks until she imagined she was redder than the spaghetti sauce—which she was also terrified she was going to spill all over while she tried to wrangle the spaghetti one-handed and listen to his stories at the same time.
“My first week out of the police academy, I crashed a brand-new bike into a parked car.”
“You did?” Owen asked, eyes shining with a severe case of hero worship, despite Riley’s story showing himself in less-than-perfect light.
“Yep. We were chasing this kid who’d fled the scene of an attempted robbery on foot. My partner and I split up to try to cut him off and I had to book up a hill on a side street to get ahead of him. A car came up behind me and I could hear him coming right at me. We didn’t know the kid had an accomplice in a getaway car. I don’t know if he was trying to hit me on purpose—and I didn’t really care. I just swerved out of the way. My bike hit a parked car and I went sailing over it.”
“Was your bike okay?” Owen asked, while Claire was still cringing from that mental image.
“Completely trashed. I had to get a new one. The guys called me McFlight after that.”
“Were you hurt?” Macy asked.
“Not bad. I felt it for a few days but I didn’t break any bones. Not like you guys.”
His gaze met Claire’s and she flushed and focused on dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, hoping she hadn’t trailed sauce there.
She did not have a crush. The very idea was ridiculous. She was only reacting as any woman would to the man who had rescued her and her children from a dire situation. Riley had risked his own health and welfare to stand out in that water for long moments to ensure they were safe. Any mother would be grateful to a man willing to wade into danger for her children, right?
Not to mention that he was an exceptionally gorgeous man, sexy even, with those green eyes and the tousle of dark hair. The part of her ego that felt frumpy and dried-up and old after the raw indignity of her divorce wanted to bask in his attention like Chester splayed out in the grass on a summer afternoon.
How foolish could she be?
The commonsense part of her was quietly whispering a warning. Riley was a womanizer. He collected women like Evie collected antique beads.
His mother and sisters delighted in telling about his heroic triumphs as a police officer. But Alex, at least, was just as quick to report with a combination of indulgence and frustration about how the man went through women like the store went through jump rings.
Yes, they had kissed. She couldn’t find a better example of just how different they were. That kiss had left her shaky and stunned, while Riley had acted as if the whole thing had been just a casual brush of mouth against mouth.
“Did you catch the bad guy?” Macy was asking and Claire forced herself to focus on the conversation instead of a kiss that never should have happened.
Riley grinned. “Matter of fact, we did. He came running up, trying to make it to his getaway car. I was sprawled out on the sidewalk amid the broken pieces of my bike, the breath still knocked out of me. I was thinking he was going to get away, but right by my hand was my front tire, which had come off in the crash. I wasn’t even aware of doing it really, but I chucked the bike tire at him like a Frisbee and down he went. Before he could climb back up and escape in the getaway car, my partner came up behind him just as our backup in a squad car came down the street to cut off their escape route.”
The kids giggled and Claire smiled, picturing a battered Riley chucking a bike tire at a suspect.
Her kids were crazy about him, she thought. All through dinner, they laughed at his jokes, they plagued him with questions, they vied to tell him their own stories. She might have thought he would find their simple experiences boring, but Riley acted as if a story Owen told about breaking up a playground fracas was the most fascinating anecdote in the world.
Claire didn’t know why she should find it surprising that her kids loved him. Riley had always been good at charming people. Why wouldn’t he be? He’d grown up with five indulgent older sisters who probably offered plenty of opportunities for him to practice working the charm.
She had watched his technique in various incarnations dozens of times. She could vividly remember one day when Angie had spent an entire summer afternoon making macaroons, simply because he had mentioned with a passing sort of sigh that he’d woken up with a craving.
As the next oldest sister to him and probably the one most susceptible to sibling rivalry, Alex had been the most immune. She had accused him of manipulation—but even she could fall prey if she wasn’t careful.
Riley could nearly always sway people to his point of view by wielding that charm that made everyone want to be around him, at least until he turned into the moody, unhappy teenager he’d become after his father left.
The
