an onion?
Grace stopped short on the threshold of her back door, shoulder weighted by a huge cloth tote bag, keys digging into her palm. She blinked in disbelief. Twice.
Unexpected company did sometimes show up in her absence, let in by her brother who lived next door. But at first glance she couldn’t place this man—or his onion!
“Uh, hello there,” she ventured warily.
He paused in midchop to run a lazy eye over her—the pretty flushed features, vivid green eyes, mass of auburn curls and the denim jumper with a tiny pink T-shirt underneath. An approving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You look wonderful, Gracie.”
Ditto, Grace silently noted. Big time ditto. He cut a lean and fit figure in worn jeans and faded red T-shirt, exuded strength in a clean-shaven jaw and neatly clipped black hair. Deep sexy voice and twinkling blue eyes ensured the most devastating effect.
Devastating is right. The sudden realization of who he was caused her pulse to jump a mile.
This was Kyle. Kyle McRaney.
Clearly oblivious to his impact, Kyle went back to wielding the wide chopping knife around the wooden paddle, working the thick muscles in his arms, dicing the pungent onion to smithereens. Grace took a deep shuddering breath, sliding her tote bag onto her small drop-leaf table. Not to worry. This impossible scenario was one of those dreams starring her girlhood crush. A regular occurrence over the past seven years since his abrupt departure, whenever she was feeling a bit low or unsure of herself.
So Kyle had returned to ravish her thoughts. Strange, she’d never mentally aged him before, given him a haircut and shave. But it was a fine improvement.
So how would it be this time? Passionate loveplay on the table? The sofa? The bed? She anticipated his touch all over her body. Would her senses be keen enough to smell the onion on his hands? Not in any dream of hers, thank you.
He spoke again, gently chiding. “Wasn’t expecting you home so soon.”
Her sculpted brows jumped. “Wasn’t expecting you at all, Kyle.”
“Of course not. This is supposed to be a surprise. I intended to be finished here before you returned.” He winked. “But in any case, happy birthday.”
Ah, that was it. She was indulging in a birthday gift to herself.
“So how was the dentist? Any cavities?”
“No,” she replied dazedly. “It was just a clean and polish.”
“Michael assured me I’d have free rein in your kitchen for at least two hours, so I figured you were having major work done.”
Grace rubbed her temples at his mention of her brother. Michael was never welcome in these dreams. Not once. And the residue from the dental paste still clung to her teeth.
She reached down to pinch herself hard. Ouch! It really hurt!
This was no dream. Kyle was really here. Matured to perfection. Better than ever. She blinked, leaning a hip into the table. Amazing what a thread of silver hair and a few grooves around the eyes could do.
“So how old are you today, Gracie?” he asked conversationally. “Twenty or so?”
“Twenty-four,” she corrected briskly.
“Really.” He grew thoughtful, staring into space. “Why, that’s old enough for…”
She smiled thinly. “Let’s just say it’s old enough.”
He tossed his head back, laughing richly.
How easily he slipped into the tease mode of the old days. It was a swift reminder of how things had been left between them. Not being able to discern between true flirtation and masculine jest had landed her in the heartbreak hotel for an extended stay.
Looking back, it seemed highly unlikely that a man fresh out of college would have fallen for a whimsical schoolgirl of seventeen. Being the sister of Kyle’s college buddy hadn’t helped enhance her womanly image any, either. The guys had shared an apartment near the University of Minnesota campus for four years, but had spent many hours at her parents’ suburban Minneapolis home, witnessing her in the throes of teenage angst. She should have known better, no matter how rich her fantasy life.
Common sense suggested a cool head here. Offering proof that she had truly come of age would perhaps finally give her closure on the trouncing she took at his expense.
Still, hope nudged her as she watched his large hands lever the knife through the hill of chopped onion. His ring finger was bare. Could he and Libby have parted ways?
No one had expected the union with Libby Anderson to happen, much less last. A slender, quiet, intense girl, Libby seemed all wrong for the jovial Kyle from the start. Sure, they were dating casually, and she and Kyle worked at her grandparents’ downtown bar and grill, Amelia’s Bistro, together. But even young Grace was insightful enough to know that the elder Andersons, Andy and Amelia, were working hard to protect their ward Libby from Kyle and all the other males who frequented the college hangout.
Their romance seemed so far off the radar screen that when Kyle had confided to Michael that he intended a surprise proposal, eavesdropper Grace had imagined herself the bride-to-be. She’d played the biggest kind of fool, anticipating a tap at her bedroom window that night, thanking her lucky stars they lived in a one-level home that made elopement ever so convenient.
Michael had been the one to find her at dawn, slumped over in the window seat clutching a handkerchief that would count as something old and something blue. Grace had confided all to him between choked tears, and he had behaved like the best kind of big brother, taking the crisis seriously, rather than making a scene over her incredible naïveté.
It was a mistake they never spoke of again. Kyle and Libby had abruptly moved to Chicago shortly thereafter. Kyle’s absence helped buffer the hurt, allowed Grace to move on.
She could barely believe he was back, in her space, tantalizing her in the same old way. But she couldn’t allow herself to be so easily lured back into his web. He might still be very married for starters. Maybe he didn’t wear his wedding ring when he cooked.
“So, Kyle,” she said on a deep breath, “surely you didn’t fly in just for my birthday. You and Libby must be here for another occasion…” It was an awkward play for information, but he didn’t look offended, just a bit sober.
“Libby’s gone,” he said simply. Trying to lift a smile again, he added. “As for me, I’m back in the Twin Cities for good. Yep. Back to stay. Living in the moment. And at this moment, I’m making my special chili just for you.”
If this wasn’t a dream, it oughta be, she decided. Trying not to allow her weak knees to wobble noticeably, Grace advanced on the narrow alleyway that held her appliances and limited counter space. Sure enough, there was a shiny steel kettle on a front burner, holding a bubbly reddish concoction. Like the onion, the kettle and its contents were new.
“Look good?”
She sniffed appreciatively. “You’ve managed to overpower any traces of last night’s pizza.
