years’ growth.”
He gave her an innocent brow-raised, wide-eyed response. “Isn’t it obvious?” He flipped the ruffle on his apron.
And smiled. His smile could melt diamonds.
“Not to me, it isn’t,” she snapped. “I never leave my door unlocked. How did you get in here?”
“Your neighbor across the hall. The neighbor who has your spare key.”
She couldn’t believe he’d talked his way past Brawny Bill Bolliver. “Why would he trust you?” she demanded. “You could have been a thief or an ax murderer. You could have been a maniac, for God’s sake.”
He looked hurt. “I’ve got ID.”
“So? Maniacs can have ID. Besides, you’re supposed to be gone.”
This simply wasn’t fair, she fumed. Seeing him had frightened her at first because she hadn’t realized who had invaded her space; now she was frightened because she did realize who it was. She’d thought him safely out of her life and wasn’t prepared to deal with the shock of finding him here.
“I changed my mind,” he said calmly. “Or rather, your grandmother changed it for me.” He turned back toward the kitchen. “Excuse me while I check my étouffée.”
Her knees nearly buckled. “You’re making étouffée?” It had been years since she’d had étouffée or jambalaya or any of the other favorites from her youth, although she’d hoped to get to a good restaurant when she’d been in New Orleans in July. As things turned out, she hadn’t had time.
He hesitated and his expression softened. “Chère, you look like you’re about to salivate. Sure, I made étouffée. I had to use frozen crawfish—” he made a disparaging face “—and I had to run all over hell’s half acre to find even that.”
She smelled it now, a savory aroma redolent of spices. “But I can’t eat now,” she groaned.
“Why? Did you have time for dinner earlier?”
“No, but...it’s after nine. If I eat now, I’ll never get to sleep.”
“Whatever you say. I’ve already eaten, so I’ll just put the rest in the refrigerator. You can have it tomorrow.”
“Don’t you dare!”
He laughed. “Sit down, then, and I’ll serve you.”
A little shiver of awareness rippled down her spine. He’d served her before—and she’d lived to regret it.
Nevertheless, she sat down at the card table, closing her eyes to better appreciate the lovely aromas wafting from her kitchen. Better to think of food than of this man who’d reappeared to screw up her life all over again.
SHARLEE GROANED and pushed aside her empty bowl. “I can’t eat another bite,” she declared. “Dev, that was wonderful. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed down-home cookin’.”
“I figured.” He stacked her empty rice bowl inside the étouffée bowl.
“I didn’t know you were such a good cook.”
“I’ve got lots of talents you don’t know about.”
That startled her out of her satisfied stupor. “Is breaking and entering among those talents?”
“Ah, Sharlee.” He had the good grace to look sorry, although it might have been an act. “When your grandmother told me not to come back without you—”
“Did she really say that?”
“Absolutely. She wants you home and she’s not in any mood to take no for an answer. But when she said that, I thought, hell, why not get you in a good mood by surprising you with a nice dinner? So I shopped—which isn’t easy in this town—and came on over. I had to talk my way in and then after I did, I realized I had no idea when you’d be getting home.”
“You still seem to have timed things well.” She looked at him with renewed suspicion.
“That’s because I called your office. Some guy in the newsroom said you were at a meeting that would probably run three hours, give or take. So I did everything except the last-minute stuff and settled down to wait.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, I’ll admit the food was great but you’re not going to soften me up with étouffée . You’re nothing but Grandmère’s errand boy and I am not going back to New Orleans with you, even if you feed me great meals every day of the week.”
“Okay,” he said as easily as if she’d refused another slice of bread.
She blinked. “Okay?”
“Sure, why not?” He picked up the dirty dishes. “I’m glad you’re sticking to your principles.”
“You are?”
“Hell, yes! As long as you refuse to listen to reason, I get a free Colorado vacation. Because Margaret Lyon has made it clear that if I don’t come home with you, I’m not to come home at all—period, end of discussion.”
She laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but who am I to argue with Iron Margaret?” He winked and carried the dishes into the kitchen. He returned with two steaming mugs of coffee.
She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t.”
“Decaf.”
He put hers down and she saw that he’d already added milk to make a primitive version of café au lait. So he remembered what she liked. But did he remember all of it or just this?
She looked away. “I’m too tired to argue.”
“Is that the secret, then? Wear you to a frazzle and you turn all soft and agreeable?”
She didn’t like being called “soft and agreeable” when in this man’s company; it was just another way of saying “vulnerable,” and she never intended to be that with him again. But she couldn’t quite think of a way to reprimand him so she hedged. “I’ve had a hard day, if you must know.”
“Poor Sharlee. Drink your coffee and you’ll feel better.”
She took a sip, then lifted her gaze and said impulsively, “Dev, why did you quit your job at WDIX—really?”
“I told you, I—”
“No, I don’t want some vague explanation.” She shook her head vigorously. “I honestly want to know. I thought that’s all you ever wanted to do—work in television.”
His face grew serious. “Politics,” he said finally.
“What did you have to do with politics? You weren’t a newsman or anything like that.”
“Family politics,”
