“Which reminds me. The three of us need to decide our Christmas project for this year. Shall we save pennies for the Salvation Army bell ringers? Pick an angel from the angel tree? Bake cakes for the homeless shelter? Your choice.”
Rose and Lily screwed their identical faces into expressions of deep thought.
Finally, Lily asked, “If we bake cakes, will you let us help?”
The question took Natalie aback. Let them help? Two monkeys in her kitchen? “I don’t know, girls. Let me give it some thought.”
“We’ll be real careful. We won’t stick our fingers in the icing or anything.”
“Or lick the spoon,” Lily put in.
“Or nothing gross like that. We’re not little kids anymore.”
Natalie suppressed a smile. She had to love their independent spirits. She of all people should understand what it felt like to be told she couldn’t do something. Justin had never wanted her to work, never thought she could handle the pressure of doing anything because of her diabetes. In his macho, overprotective way, he’d stolen her independence. She’d felt loved instead of insulted, but after his death, she’d only felt helpless.
“You know, I think you girls are right.”
The twins exchanged wide-eyed glances. “We are?”
“Uh-huh. But you will have to promise not to touch anything that I’m working on for the business. Deal?”
They both nodded solemnly, saying in unison. “Deal.”
“High-fives all around?”
The three slapped high-fives before Natalie grabbed them into a bear hug, tumbling onto the floor for a shower of kisses. Lord, how she loved her babies.
The timer went off again and she untangled herself from the pile of arms and legs to answer the call. She had tester cakes to bake for several brides with appointments at Belle’s on Monday and a cake to decorate for a baby shower tomorrow.
Suddenly friends again, the twins dashed off to make Christmas plans while she got busy. Multitasking was her middle name. Two cakes in the ancient oven, another in progress on the counter, clothes in a basket to be folded and lunch still to be prepared. Her day never ended, but she could deal with that. At least she was making her own way, not being a pretty parasite on a man’s arm.
As she shut the dishwasher with her foot while adding food coloring to six different bowls of frosting, Lily let out a yelp just as the doorbell chimed. Natalie jumped, splattering red down the front of her sweater onto the top of her foot.
The doorbell ding-donged again.
Rose streaked into sight. “I’ll get it, Mom.”
“Don’t open that door,” she warned.
Too late. A blast of artic air sucked the warm, toasty fragrance of caramel pecan cheesecake out into the frigid Saturday afternoon.
“Rose!” she yelled, frustrated that her daughter could never remember to peek before opening. A serial killer would have no problem gaining entrance into this house.
She came around the row of tables piled with her baking tools just as Rose remembered her instructions and tried to shut the door again. A gloved hand shot out, palm up, to brace the door open.
A jolt of concern raced up Natalie’s back. That was a man’s hand. Black leather gloves. No fingerprints.
Rushing now to protect her child, she stumbled over the basket of clothes in the living room and pitched forward, catching her hip on the coffee table.
“That’ll leave a mark,” a deep voice said.
She looked up to find Cooper Sullivan now inside her house, once again sliding an arm around her waist to lead her to a chair. She felt small and helpless and protected.
“This is starting to be a habit.”
Natalie didn’t like feeling helpless. Been there, done that.
“This is starting to be ridiculous,” she said, scowling at Rose. “Shut that door, Rose Isabella, and go to your room.”
The two names rolled off her tongue with ease. She’d said them far more times than Lily Alexandra.
Rose obeyed, her look of chagrin indicating she knew when to make an exit.
Natalie needed to rub her hip bone but not in front of Cooper. What was he doing here, anyway?
“Cooper,” she said, through gritted teeth. “What a surprise.”
A low rumble of laughter. “Maybe I should have called first.”
“Maybe.”
“I could leave.”
“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” It wasn’t his fault her heart was beating too fast and she’d made a fool of herself in his presence—again. “Take off your coat and have a seat. I’ll be recovered in a moment.”
She gave up and rubbed the smarting hip.
“You’re going to have a bruise,” he said as he slipped out of his coat and draped the long garment over the back of the couch. “Want me to have a look?”
Raising her eyes, she shot him a glare intended to melt iron. He laughed. “Maybe some ice instead?”
“I don’t have the patience to sit still that long.”
“Still the fidgety type?”
“My teachers called it hyperactive.”
He chuckled again and she relaxed the slightest bit. Seeing Cooper brought back a lot of memories and not all of them were bad. In fact, most of them weren’t bad. That was the biggest problem with having him show up at her house looking all handsome and manly. Well, that and the lovely dreams.
“How did you know where I live?”
He shrugged. “I called your boss.”
“Belle would never give out my personal information to a stranger.”
“She saw us dancing together at the Craggins’ wedding.”
“Oh.” Belle had better not be playing matchmaker. She knew Natalie didn’t date, hadn’t even considered dating since Justin’s death. Now that she was an independent woman, she planned to stay that way.
“Don’t worry. I told her we were old friends.” He tilted his head toward her. Melting snowflakes glistened in his black hair. “We are still friends, aren’t we?”
Now she felt silly and downright inhospitable. “Of course we are. It’s good to see you again.”
Really. It was. If only she didn’t have this bizarre chemical reaction every time he came near. At the Craggins’ wedding, she’d blamed it on an insulin reaction,
