to get under my skin.”
Stephanie wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s working, too. I can tell.” She leaned closer. “I can also tell you like her. You were pretty obvious at the ribbon cutting.”
“Go back to Florida,” he told her, deadpan.
“I’m like a rash,” she countered. “You can’t get rid of me.”
Steven laughed. “You do realize you just compared yourself to a bad skin condition.”
“Fitting,” Callum said.
Stephanie only rolled her eyes at their gentle ribbing. “What are you bringing?”
Callum shrugged. “Nothing. She said she’d handle it all.”
She groaned. “Don’t be an idiot right out of the gate. What about flowers or wine or chocolate?”
“You sound like Marci,” Callum told her. “Enough with the matchmaking.”
“Li’l sis is right,” Steven said. “Step up, Callum. Your pretty nurse has been through a lot. Even if it’s just a thank-you, make her feel special.”
“She’s not ‘my’ anything,” he protested, although his heart seemed to pinch at the thought of a woman like Becky belonging to him. He should listen to that subtle sharpening and not get any more involved with her when it could only end badly. “But she is special.”
“Then show her,” Steven urged, laughing when Stephanie gave him a playful slap. “Hey, what was that for? It’s good advice.”
“I’m just shocked it came from you.”
“Remember, I’m the oldest.” Steven pointed a finger at each of them. “That also means I’m the wisest.”
“Hardly,” Callum said on a half laugh, half cough. But his brother had a point. He didn’t know much about Becky Averill, but it was obvious she worked hard, both at her job and taking care of her girls. She deserved to have someone treat her special. Despite knowing he could never be that man, he couldn’t help wanting to ignore the truth—even for one night.
The doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock that night.
Becky stifled a groan as she finished fastening the snaps on Luna’s pajamas. “Of all the nights for things to go off the rails,” she said to her girls as she lifted them into her arms and hurried toward the front of the small house.
She opened the door to Callum, who stood on the other side holding the most beautiful bouquet of colorful flowers she’d ever seen. “Am I early?” he asked, his dark gaze taking in the twins as well as Becky’s bedraggled appearance.
“Bedtime is running late,” she answered.
Luna babbled at him and swiped a chubby hand at the flowers while Sasha snuggled more deeply against Becky’s shoulder.
“What can I do?”
Her heart did that melty thing she couldn’t seem to stop around this man. “Give me five minutes,” she told him as she backed into the house. “This night is to thank you for helping the first time, not to force you into another round of child care duties.”
“I don’t mind,” he assured her, grinning at the girls.
“The flowers are beautiful,” she said.
“They’re for you.” He looked down at the bouquet, then up at her again. “You probably guessed that.”
Despite her nerves and the craziness of the evening, Becky grinned. “I have a bottle of wine on the counter. Would you open it while I put them down?”
“Sure.”
It felt a bit strange to leave him alone in her house when he’d just arrived, but she didn’t have a choice.
She began to sing softly to the girls as she made her way back to their bedroom. As if on cue, both Luna and Sasha yawned when Becky turned off the overhead light in the room, leaving the space bathed in only the soft glow from the butterfly night-light plugged in next to the rocking chair in the corner.
She placed them in their cribs, smiling as they babbled to each other in that secret language they seemed to share. She finished the song, gave each one a last kiss and said good-night. After checking the monitor that sat on the dresser, she quietly closed the door to their room.
Once in the hallway, she glanced down at herself and cringed. The twins were normally asleep by six thirty so Becky had thought she’d have a few minutes to freshen up before Callum arrived. She’d changed from her scrubs into a faded T-shirt and black leggings, both of which were wet thanks to the dual tantrums she’d dealt with during bath time.
Hurrying to her bedroom, she changed into a chunky sweater and dark jeans, cursing the fact that she hadn’t been shopping for new clothes since before the girls were born. She hadn’t done anything for herself in far too long, which was why this night felt so special.
She dabbed a bit of gloss on her lips, fluffed her hair and headed for the kitchen and Callum. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest once again.
Her reaction to his presence felt silly. He’d helped with her daughters and agreed to come for dinner. Nothing more. He probably regretted it already and was counting the minutes until he could make his escape.
But the warmth in his gaze when he looked up from his phone as she walked into the kitchen told a different story. One that made sparks tingle along her spine.
“You arranged the flowers,” she murmured, taking in the bouquet that had been placed in a vase on the table.
“I found a vase in the cabinet.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I hope you don’t mind. It was one less thing you’d have to deal with tonight.”
“They’re perfect,” she told him, then breathed out a soft laugh. “You can manage multiple construction projects and excel at the art of floral arranging. Quite the Renaissance man, Callum.”
Her silly comment seemed to relax them both. She could hardly believe he had nerves in the same way she did, but the thought made her feel more confident.
“Something smells really great,” he told her.
“I almost forgot about dinner,” she admitted, pulling a face. “It’s not fancy, but I hope you like chicken potpie.”
“I like everything.”
And didn’t those words just whisper across her skin like a promise? Becky gave herself a little head shake. He was talking about food and she stood there staring at him like he was the main course.
“My grandma used to make it when we went to her house for Sunday dinner. I make some modifications so the recipe doesn’t take so long, but the crust is homemade.”
“I’m impressed.” He handed her a glass of wine. “To new friends and new beginnings.”
