it working. As subtext to that motto was another. “Never alone, never lonely.” The one thing his mother and sisters would say he lacked was intimacy, but they were women—and women were never content until a man was hooked up for life.
The doorbell rang. Before Jack could react, it rang again. And again. He caught Renita’s eye. They burst out laughing and said in unison, “Lexie.” Jack didn’t bother going down the hall. Lexie would be inside before he got there. The bell was less a request for entry than an announcement of her impending whirlwind arrival.
Sure enough, a moment later their older sister hurried into the kitchen clutching a wine bottle, her shoulder-length curly blond hair swinging behind her as if trying to catch up. Lexie was thirty-eight going on eighteen, and about as responsible as an eight-year-old, but her smile lit a room. “When do we eat? I’m starving.”
“Jack’s met someone,” Renita announced.
“I haven’t.” Jack shot her a warning frown.
“Who is she?” Lexie squealed, ignoring Jack’s denial. She reached for a wineglass, her fingers clean but permanently stained with oil paints. Tonight she’d changed out of the equally stained, loose shirt she wore while working on portraits and into a long Indian cotton skirt and a V-necked T-shirt. A fractured stripe of cobalt-blue curved around her forearm like a tattooed bracelet.
“No one,” Jack said firmly.
“A mystery woman who likes to cook,” Renita said.
“I’m not sure about that,” Jack protested.
“She was after Kaffir lime leaves,” Renita pointed out. “Not exactly a staple ingredient in most households.”
“She sounds perfect,” Lexie said. “When do we meet her?”
Thankfully Jack was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Ron and Diane. Glenn and Sharon got there a few minutes later. Soon Jack’s kitchen-cum-family-room was filled with talk and laughter. They poured wine into glasses and set dishes on the long jarrah-wood table surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs all painted a warm deep red. Work clothes had been shed for jeans; everyone had come ready to relax.
Renita’s appetizer took longer to prepare than she’d anticipated, but no one minded. They ate her garlicky skewered prawns standing around the kitchen counter, jostling good-naturedly for space, three different conversations going at once.
Jack teased his sisters and joked with his friends, but his thoughts returned over and over to a certain pair of fine gray-green eyes. He was all stocked up, but he found himself thinking about his next trip to the greengrocer. What were the chances he’d run into her again? And could he wait a whole week?
GARLIC AND CHOPPED ONIONS were sizzling in the frying pan. The chicken was on a plate to one side, waiting to be sliced into strips. A bottle of curry paste sat defiantly next to the chicken. Glancing at the clock, Sienna frowned. It was nearly seven-thirty. Glyneth and Rex were late.
“See you later, Mum.” Oliver strode through the kitchen, pulling on his jacket. “I’m going to Jason’s now.”
Sienna tossed the onion and garlic skins into the garbage. “Aren’t you staying for dinner?”
“We’re going to get a pizza.”
Sienna sighed gustily, blowing back the same wayward lock of hair that always came loose and fell over her forehead. Pizza sounded good about now. “Be home by eleven.”
“One o’clock.” Oliver sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”
With a cry, Sienna whirled to see acrid smoke wafting up from the pan. She flipped the gas off and turned on the fan to carry away the odor of scorched garlic.
“Midnight,” she said firmly to Oliver. “Call me if you need a ride.”
“I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks.”
“Don’t forget your key.”
“I won’t. See you later.”
Sienna grabbed the frying pan and took it to the sink. As she scraped out the burned onion and garlic she heard Oliver’s footsteps in the tiled hall, then a moment later the front door shut with a snick.
The phone rang and she left the pan in the sink to reach for the cordless handset on the counter. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Glyneth said, sounding harried as she spoke above the sound of traffic. “The car’s broken down on the freeway. Rex thinks it’s the fuel pump. We’ve called the auto association, but it’s going to be a couple of hours before they get here. I wanted to take a taxi, but Rex won’t leave his stupid Jag and I don’t have the heart to abandon him. We’re not going to make it, Sienna. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, hell. I was so looking forward to seeing you guys,” Sienna said. “When is Rex going to admit his vintage Jaguar is more trouble than it’s worth?”
“God, don’t I wish! I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
Sienna gazed at the haze hanging over the ruin of a kitchen. It wasn’t the work and the mess she minded. It was another evening on her own. Glyneth couldn’t help that. She straightened her shoulders. “Oh, you know me—I open a packet and heat. I’m just sorry you’re stuck out there with car trouble. How about next weekend?”
“We can’t. It’s Rex’s niece’s wedding.” Glyneth’s phone started to crackle with static. “I’m dropping out. I’d better go. I’ll call you and we’ll catch up soon.”
Sienna hung up and rubbed her right temple where a headache was starting. She rummaged in her purse for a bottle of painkillers. Jack Thatcher’s card fell out.
She stared at the bold black letters of his name on the white card. Now that her plans had fallen through did she have the guts to take him up on his invitation? Bev had personally vouched for Jack Thatcher, so Sienna wasn’t worried that he was some random wacko. And she’d been looking for an opportunity to get out and meet people.
Sienna wasn’t interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. She just wanted a distraction and a few friendly faces to fill an otherwise solitary evening. And for all Jack Thatcher’s banter she didn’t think he was interested, either. He seemed the type to have invited the whole grocery store to dinner.
She’d always been cautious, too controlled to do things on the spur of the moment. Plan ahead had been her motto. That was how she’d gotten through med school and how she’d coped with a demanding workload while being a wife and mother. That hadn’t worked so well, she thought wryly. So maybe this was something else in her life she should change. Maybe it was time she trusted her instinct and gave in to impulse.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she wrapped up the food she’d been cooking and put it back in the fridge. A quick shower and a change into her favorite little black dress perked up her spirits. She put her hair up, applied fresh makeup and slipped into her best pair of shoes.
Then she wrote a note for Oliver and left it on the kitchen counter where he’d see it when he came in. Leaving a light burning over the stove, she slipped out the front door into a fragrant spring evening that suddenly seemed alive with possibility.
