a list of grievances about her mother being the food police.
“She’s not her sunny little self today,” Maggie apologized. “She was restless last night. Teething, I think. I hope she didn’t disturb you.”
“Not a bit. The insulation in these walls is amazing.” She looked around, blue eyes brimming with understanding. “How can I help?”
“Go relax with a cup of coffee. You’re a guest.”
“Oh, please. We both know I’m your friend more than a paying customer. Besides the discount I get for emergency babysitting, it’s a blessing to still be useful when you’re as old as I am.” She put a hand on her hip. “Now, what can I do?”
“You’re doing it. Being a godsend.” Maggie turned on the gas burner underneath the stainless-steel frying pan filled with potatoes. “If you could give Danielle a handful of that cereal, I’d be forever in your debt.”
“Done.” She grabbed the box from the pantry and did as requested. “Now I can get the eggs ready to scramble.”
“Maybe I should change things up.” Maggie grinned. “You know the menu by heart.”
“How many eggs are you thinking with Sloan here? A man like that could be a big eater.”
“So you met him?”
“Last night. We watched TV together in the upstairs game room. Some house-flipping program.” The older woman opened the refrigerator and removed the containers of veggies that had been cut up the night before.
Maggie hadn’t cooked breakfast for a man since the morning she’d said goodbye to her husband, before he deployed to Afghanistan. It wasn’t the first time she’d made sure he ate before leaving the house but she’d never considered it would be her last meal with him. She’d never been able to decide whether or not she would have made the food more special if she’d known. Or if the not knowing had made the ordinary a final blessing.
“I think eight should be enough,” Maggie said.
She couldn’t remember how many Danny would have eaten and felt guilty about that. Every time she realized the recollections were getting fuzzier, she felt disloyal to his memory.
“With all the rest of the food,” she continued, “it should be more than enough. If there are leftovers, I’ll put some on a tortilla later and call it lunch.”
“Okay.” Josie started cracking eggs into a bowl. “He sure is a good-looking man.”
“Who’s that?”
“Your new boarder. Sloan. Unless there’s another man you’re hiding under the bed.”
Just the sound of his name made Maggie’s heart skip a beat. “I suppose he wouldn’t have to wear a bag over his head in public.”
“Not to be insensitive, Maggie. After all, I’m a widow, too. Also not blind. Take it from me, a man who looks like he does would have an almost nun thinking twice about taking final vows. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“Of course I did.” And even if she were blind, there would be no way not to notice the gravelly sex appeal lingering in his deep voice. “But you watched TV with him. What was that like?”
“He’s not just a pretty face. I can tell you that. Seems to know his stuff and, quite frankly, he took a lot of the joy and mystery out of what those TV construction guys do.”
“So it was like watching a medical show with a doctor who tells you how they’re doing CPR all wrong?”
“Exactly.” Josie grinned. “Still, he seems like a nice man. I wouldn’t believe all that stuff about him in the tabloids.”
“I sort of liked that story about him owning houses all over the world and swimming naked with the model.”
“It does give one an image,” Josie admitted.
“Did you ask him? Hanging out watching a house-flipping show seems like the perfect time to find out what inquiring minds want to know.”
“It didn’t occur to me, what with him talking about all the ways those TV guys could have reduced waste, pollution and environmental degradation.”
A piercing wail from the high chair interrupted the fascinating conversation. What Josie had just said made Maggie even more curious than she’d already been, but now wasn’t the time to pursue it. Danielle needed attention.
“Are you thirsty, baby girl?” She grabbed a sippy cup from the cupboard and filled it with milk. She handed it to her daughter, who eagerly stuck the spout in her mouth and drank. “So he’s a green builder?”
“Who?” There was a twinkle in Josie’s blue eyes as she stirred up eggs, veggies and seasoning in a bowl.
“Sloan. Unless there’s a man you’re hiding under the bed, Miss—”
“Good morning.”
That gravelly, deep, sexy voice belonged to the man they’d just been talking about. Maggie exchanged a guilty glance with Josie but couldn’t manage to come up with anything to say to him.
The sippy cup hit the wooden floor, interrupting the awkward silence. Maggie quickly stirred the potatoes before hurrying to her daughter, who was starting to squirm against the belt holding her in. Along with the high-pitched whining, it was clear the little girl wanted out. Maggie undid the strap and lifted the child from the high chair then tried to put her down. Danielle was having none of that and the screech kicked up a notch.
Please, not today, little one, Maggie silently begged. The man was accustomed to five-star hotels, and a two-year-old’s temper tantrum wasn’t the optimal way to put their best foot forward.
“Mommy has to finish cooking breakfast,” she whispered. But Danielle shook her head and clung for all she was worth.
“I’ll take her.” Josie walked over with her arms outstretched, but the little girl buried her face against Maggie’s shoulder.
She looked at Sloan. “I’m really sorry about this. I’ll get her settled down and food will be on the table in no time.”
“There’s no rush. Although I’d love some coffee.”
“It’s made. I’ll just put some in a carafe and you can have it in the dining room. Cups and saucers are already out—”
“A mug is fine.” He walked over to the coffeemaker and grabbed one of the mugs hanging from an under-the-cupboard hook. After pouring the steaming dark liquid, he blew on it, then took a sip. “Good.”
Danielle had lifted her head at the sound of the deep voice and was intently studying the stranger. Her uncle Brady visited regularly, but other than him, a man in this house was a rare occurrence.
Maggie tried to put the little girl down again and got another strong, squealing protest. “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve cooked with this little girl on my hip, and it probably won’t be the last.”
“Maybe
