asked, “You’re not seeing anyone, are you, Matt?”
Matt wondered what that had to do with anything. “Nope.”
“Not even the caterer?”
“Not even her,” Matt said. Yet.
“Then listen up.” Carter sounded like his old self, full of bluster and confidence. “Take a good long look before you leap.”
“Excuse me?”
“Make damn sure you don’t get involved with the wrong woman.”
The French doors opened and Callie stepped out side, the sun shining down on her and highlighting the lines around her eyes. She was older than she’d first appeared, but still substantially younger than Carter.
“Hey, honey.” Carter’s voice softened. “Miss me?”
Tom Dougherty had been on to something at the track the other day, Matt thought. Fair or not, people who dealt with high school students were held to higher standards than others.
Don’t get involved with the wrong woman, Carter had said.
The former A.D. didn’t seem to realize which woman in his life that was.
JAZZ CLOSED HER MOUTH, which meant jaws really must drop. She tried to compose an answer to Matt’s sister’s question about whether she was into Matt.
“Oh, honey. You should see your face.” Terry clapped her hands. “You really just need to tell me to mind my own business. Everybody else does.”
“I can vouch for that,” her husband, Kevin, said.
“My curiosity got the best of me,” Terry said. “I’ve never met one of Matt’s girlfriends before.”
That was an easier topic for Jazz to address than her opinion of Matt.
“You still haven’t. I did meet your brother at the park but I really am the caterer.” Jazz indicated the tray of food. “Here. Try something.”
Terry picked up a stuffed mushroom, took a bite and fluttered her eyelids as though she were in ecstasy. “Okay. You convinced me. These are divine.”
Robbie appeared at his mother’s side and wrinkled his nose. “Mushrooms! Yech!”
“Robbie, mind your manners.” Kevin flashed Jazz a grin. “Sorry about my boy. If it’s not a hot dog or PB and J, he won’t touch it.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” Robbie protested. “I like Pop-Tarts and mac and cheese.”
Kevin ruffled his son’s red hair. Callie had left the kitchen but the room seemed much too small for a caterer and a family of four. Especially this family of four.
“I’ll take this tray of food onto the deck,” Jazz said. “I think that’s where Matt wants everybody.”
“That must be where Carter is,” Kevin said. “I don’t care if it is his going-away party, he owes me money.”
Terry made a face. “Why do you guys have to bet on the golf course?”
“Why is the sky blue?” Kevin asked with a grin. “Why do you like to shop?”
“Smart aleck,” Terry said, but her eyes sparkled with humor.
“I’ll take the tray out there for you, Jazz.” Kevin picked it up, but not before Terry snagged another stuffed mushroom. She winked at Jazz, then followed her husband out of the town house, their two children flanking them.
“Uncle Matt! There you are!” Robbie yelled before disappearing outside.
Jazz sank onto one of the kitchen stools, the heat from the oven enveloping her. How had it happened that she was catering a party attended by children who were quite possibly hers biologically?
Matt hadn’t forced her to accept this job. And it was clear Kevin was in the golf league with Carter, but a part of Jazz must have realized Matt might invite family to a going-away party for a friend. Maybe a chance to see the twins again had even been part of the allure. Jazz’s willpower had certainly let her down before.
The French doors opened. Matt entered the kitchen and spotted her sitting down. His brows creased. “Hey, are you okay?”
She got up from the stool so fast she felt light-headed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Kevin—that’s my brother-in-law—just told me about Terry and all her questions. Sorry about that.”
“No problem.”
He tilted his head. His eyes were almost the exact shade of golden-brown as his hair. A golden boy, Carter had called him.
“You sure you’re okay?” Matt asked. “The way Terry goes on sometimes, I think she misses the interrogation room.”
“Excuse me?”
“She used to be a cop until the kids came along. That’s how she met Kevin. He’s a D.A. They’re good people even if Terry can be kind of scary.” He paused just as the doorbell rang. “Excuse me. I need to get that.”
More guests trickled in over the next few hours, a decent turnout. Jazz kept busy supplying a constant stream of hot finger foods, trying not to think about what Matt had said. It didn’t work.
Ironically, the ex-con’s children had quite possibly ended up with a district attorney and a former cop for parents.
The kitchen window provided a panoramic view of the backyard, where Brooke and Robbie played. The soccer ball covered with netting appeared to be a training tool with a boomerang effect. The twins took turns kicking it under the supervision of their father and uncle.
Jazz was careful to stand far enough back from the window not to be seen. Through the screen she could hear snippets of conversation about this morning’s youth soccer games. She watched Robbie run up to his sister, tag her on the arm and backpedal.
“Bet you can’t catch me!” the boy shouted.
“Maybe I don’t want to catch you,” Brooke retorted just as loudly.
“Chicken!” Robbie taunted.
After a long hesitation, Brooke dropped the soccer ball and dashed after him. Robbie ran in a zigzag pattern, his laughter ringing out. Brooke was about to tag him when she stumbled. She fell down, giggling even before she hit the grass.
Robbie raised both arms to the sky in triumph. “Told you that you couldn’t catch me!” he shouted.
“This is scrumptious. What’s in it? I think I taste eggplant.” Terry walked into the kitchen holding up a cracker slathered with dip.
Jazz slid back from the window, feeling unaccountably guilty. She strived for composure. “Eggplant, sunflower oil, onions, garlic and black pepper,” she said. “It’s called vinetta in Hungarian.”
“Sounds
