would start with that.
She combined and measured and stirred until she had everything mixed together, then dumped it into a loaf pan and smoothed the top. She slid the meat loaf into the preheated oven and set the timer.
The potatoes were next, she thought as she pulled out the bottle of red wine she’d bought. Then the carrots. She’d even bought a little bag of brown gravy mix.
She was making dinner by herself. Something she’d never done in her life. This, after working at the bakery nearly eight hours, babysitting Amy, hitting the mall and going grocery shopping. It had been a regular day. Totally normal.
She found a corkscrew and opened the bottle. After pouring herself a glass, she held it up, as if toasting herself.
“To fitting in,” she whispered. “And being just like everyone else.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
WYATT LET HIMSELF into the house. He was later than he’d expected to be, having spent the last two hours explaining why adding a window at this point in the construction wasn’t going to be as easy as they made it look on the home improvement channel. He was tired, he was pissed off and the last thing he wanted was to see Claire.
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her help with Amy. He did. Nicole’s unexpected surgery had illustrated that he depended on his friend too much for babysitting. He needed a couple of backup plans. Claire had filled in during an emergency, which was great, but now he had to see her. And seeing her meant wanting her.
He didn’t know what combination of her chemistry and his made him so attracted to her, but there it was. An annoying need to claim her whenever they were together and way too much time spent fantasizing about her naked, wet and begging when they weren’t. It was worse than being a teenager again. Back then, his desire had been vague, due to his lack of experience. But now he was very specific with what he wanted and he could imagine it in high-definition detail.
He walked into the living room and saw Claire and Amy sitting next to each other on the sofa. Claire signed something and Amy laughed, then shook her head. Claire finger spelled mutant. Amy laughed again, then looked up and saw him.
She jumped to her feet and ran toward him. He caught her and pulled her up into his arms.
“Hey, baby girl,” he said. “How’s the best part of my day?”
They hugged, then he put her down and she began signing frantically. He watched carefully to follow the conversation.
“You got an A on your math test? Good for you. Uh-huh. Tacos for lunch sound good. The mall?” He glanced at Claire, then back at his daughter. “Yes, we can talk about new jeans.”
He signed as he spoke, watching the light in his daughter’s eyes, both pleased and grateful that she was so happy, so normal. He’d been terrified to be a single parent—sure he was going to screw up completely. But maybe not.
He watched as she told about meat loaf and cookbooks and how Nicole had moved to a chair, then Amy dashed off to tell Nicole that he was here.
Which left him alone with Claire and unable to ignore her much longer.
“Thanks for looking after her,” he said.
She smiled. “She’s wonderful. I had a great time. She’s a lot of fun to be with. So sweet and friendly. She’s very patient with my lousy signing.”
Claire moved her head as she spoke. Her long, blond hair fell over her shoulders, catching the light, making him think about burying his hands in that hair, of feeling the silky strands against his skin as she bent over him, took him in her mouth and—He swore silently and pushed the erotic image from his mind.
“You’re getting better at signing,” he said, hoping she didn’t notice his sudden erection. He took a couple of steps to the left so he was partially concealed by a club chair. “What is mutant?”
“Oh.” She looked at the floor, then back at him. “We were talking about my hands. They’re large, with long fingers. Freak hands, really. It’s good for playing the piano, though. I have a great range. Years ago, serious pianists would cut the tendons between their fingers to give themselves a greater range.”
“Nothing is worth that.”
“You’d be amazed what some people will do to be the best. It’s a serious business with a lot on the line.”
It was just playing the piano, he thought. How serious could it be?
“I bought a cookbook,” Claire said, changing the subject. “My very first meat loaf is in the oven. I’m not much of a cook, so this is a big deal for me.”
“Cooking isn’t that hard. You’ll get it.”
“We’ll see. When I went to use the oven, it was pretty complicated. There were three choices. Regular bake, convection bake and pure convection.”
“When Nicole remodeled, she had a convection oven put in. It cooks faster and hotter, with a fan circulating the heat. You get more even results. In a regular oven, you can’t stack cookie sheets and expect everything to cook evenly. In a convection oven, you can. You have to change the temperature and the cooking time if you’re using a conventional recipe and a convection oven.”
“How?”
“I don’t have a clue. Our oven is regular, so I bake the old-fashioned way. There are cookbooks that can help with that.”
“Maybe I’ll give it another week of practice before I head into that world. It’s a little complicated for me.” She tilted her head slightly. “You really use the oven?”
His arousal had eased, so he moved around the chair and sat down. “I bake a mean brownie. My chocolate cookies are okay, but that’s because there’s a recipe on the chocolate chip bag. I can bake a cake, although I usually order them from Nicole and I’ve never tried pie.”
“Impressive,” she said. “A renaissance man.”
“A single father. Shanna left when Amy was three months old.”
He’d been beyond terrified. Being a dad had been scary enough, but being both parents had been unimaginable. He’d barely slept the first year. Between reading everything he could get his hands on, dragging Amy to the pediatrician if she so much as sighed too heavily and grilling mothers for information, he’d driven everyone crazy. But they’d survived and once Amy started walking and signing, things had gotten easier. At least she could tell him what was wrong.
“How could your wife do that?” Claire asked, her eyes darkening with confusion. “Leave her child? A baby is a miracle and Amy is so amazing.”
“It was Shanna’s choice to go,” he said, not trying to hide his anger. He’d never missed the woman, but Amy needed her mother. “She doesn’t come back and visit. Amy deals.” Because she had to.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “She’s missing out. Amy is a wonder. I can’t believe how well she talks.”
“She goes to a special school for deaf children.
