he said. ‘‘I’ll make us some omelets.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘Go get your pajamas on.’’ He stood and headed for the kitchen. ‘‘Come on, Mollie. You want to help Daddy cook?’’
‘‘Uh-huh!’’ His daughter scrambled to her feet.
He found a skillet, eggs, butter, milk and cheese and with Mollie’s ‘‘help,’’ started the omelets. He couldn’t cook many things but he was competent with the few he could.
By the time he’d set the small table in her kitchen, the first omelet was done and he put it in the oven on a plate to keep it warm until the rest were finished.
Kristin walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, clad in an oversize T-shirt and jogging shorts.
He frowned. ‘‘I thought you were going to put your pajamas on.’’
She rolled her eyes. ‘‘These are my pajamas.’’ She fingered the edge of the bottoms. ‘‘Minus the shorts.’’
Minus the shorts. He turned back to the skillet, doing his best not to think about Kristin in nothing but that T-shirt skimming the tops of her thighs. Thighs he could imagine all too well, thanks to those short skirts she’d taken to wearing recently and the trim little shorts that bared a smooth expanse of creamy legs that looked a mile long.
He flipped the last omelet, then withdrew the plate from the oven, slid the omelet atop the others and set it on the trivet he’d placed in the center of the table.
‘‘How about some salad with that?’’ Kristin retrieved a bag of lettuce and assorted salad ingredients from the refrigerator, added several bottles of dressing and salad bowls, and then they took their seats.
As they always had when they ate together, they clasped hands and let Mollie say the little prayer she’d learned in Sunday school. When Kristin would have withdrawn her hand afterward, he held onto her with a light grip, and she stilled. ‘‘I’ve really missed our meals together,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘Thanks for letting us join you.’’
She sent him an almost shy smile from beneath her lashes. ‘‘You’re welcome. I’m glad you stopped by.’’
‘‘Me, too, or your door might have been open all night.’’ He sent her a mock-frown, and when she grinned, he finally began to feel that they were almost back on a normal footing. As normal as it could get, considering.
Derek cut up some egg for Mollie while Kristin dished out salad. It was quiet but comfortable and they listened to Mollie chatter. He allowed Mollie to leave the table after a short while since she already had eaten one dinner and didn’t seem terribly hungry.
‘‘Any luck tracing your financial problem?’’ he asked Kristin. For some reason, he found himself as reluctant as she to give voice to the ugly accusation of embezzlement.
She shook her head. ‘‘No, but I have a meeting with Rusty tomorrow at lunch and I’m going to show him what I’ve found.’’
‘‘Do you want me to be there?’’ It was an impulsive offer, born of his concern for her.
Her eyebrows rose and a look of surprise flitted across her features. ‘‘I think I can handle it.’’ She smiled at him. ‘‘But I appreciate the thought.’’
He wanted to talk to her about the feelings rolling around inside him, but he wasn’t sure how to start. And in any case, he couldn’t seem to make himself utter a word.
Kristin’s smile faded. She reached over and laid a hand on his arm. ‘‘Derek? Are you all right?’’
No. How can I be all right when all I can think of is you? And it wasn’t just the sexual thoughts that were making him crazy, although they sure weren’t helping. He’d always cared about Kristin in a platonic big-brother way. But now there was a more personal element to the way he felt, a tender sweetness that caused his chest to tighten and his heart to pound. It was just friendship, he assured himself. He had cared about her for years.
Aloud, he said, ‘‘I’m fine.’’ He laid his free hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. ‘‘Will you come over for dinner tomorrow evening? I’m on call, but you know how that goes. It probably will be quiet until about 2:00 a.m.’’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘‘And I have an ulterior motive. I’d like your opinion on some of the applications I’ve received for the nanny position.’’
Her smile faded. ‘‘I already have plans for tomorrow evening. I’m sorry. Could we make it Saturday night?’’
What plans? Who with? ‘‘Sure,’’ he said. He lifted his hand and moved his arm out from under hers, busying himself picking up dishes while he fought the jealousy that urged him to demand she tell him her plans. Was she going out with the Fourth of July date again? Or someone entirely different?
She silently began helping him clear the table, putting things in the dishwasher and setting salad dressings back in the refrigerator. When he risked a glance at her, her expression was unreadable, and an unaccountable streak of annoyance ran through him. He realized he’d expected her to try to smooth things over, to cajole him into talking to her like she always had before when he’d gotten into what she called ‘‘a mood’’ about something.
But she hadn’t. She acted as if she weren’t even aware of his mood, and that made him feel even worse. She’d cared before. He knew she had. But ever since she’d brought up marriage and he’d flipped out, things hadn’t been right between them. And now…now he was afraid maybe he’d ruined the relationship he had with her.
She’d said she was glad he’d stopped by. Did she mean that? Was it directed at him, or was she simply pleased that he’d brought Mollie to see her?
No, she’d been smiling at him when she’d said it, smiling in a very feminine way that he was certain had been meant for him.
The telephone rang.
‘‘Oh, rats,’’ Kristin said.
He glanced at her. She’d just plunged her hands into soapy dishwater. ‘‘Do you want me to get that?’’
She shrugged. ‘‘Sure. Thanks.’’
He reached for the handset in the cradle on the far counter and turned it on. ‘‘Hello?’’
There was a moment of silence. ‘‘May I speak to Kristin, please?’’ It was a deep, masculine voice.
A wave of sheer, unadulterated jealousy ripped through him. He had to work to keep the satisfaction from his voice as he said, ‘‘I’m sorry, she can’t come to the phone right now. May I take a message?’’
‘‘Sure.’’ The guy sounded ridiculously cheery. ‘‘Is this Kristin’s father?’’
The question caught him flat-footed. Her father? Was the guy kidding? ‘‘No,’’ he said, aware that his voice was more than a little testy. ‘‘It isn’t.’’
‘‘Oh. Sorry.’’
