Starting From Scratch (12 page)

more nerve-wracking, was the fact that I wanted to be

attractive to them. Just as I would pass judgment on their

looks, so would they do the same thing to me.

I hated to even think about it.

It was a cool Sunday afternoon and Steve and I were

enjoying a quiet day at home…my favorite kind. We’d

gone for a long walk in the morning, and Steve was now

crashed out on the couch in the living room.

I closed the laptop and stared out the window at a sky

the color of dull metal, wondering when it would rain.

Such weather seemed to cry out for warm chocolate

chip cookies, so I began pulling out the ingredients for

them. I’d only gotten as far as creaming the butter and

sugar together when a knock on the sliding glass door

scared the bejesus out of both me and Steve, who leapt off

the couch as if he’d been ejected from it and started

barking his head off.

ere, with his nose pressed against the glass, probably

hoping to be able to see inside, stood Max.

“Damn,” I muttered. So much for my relaxing Sunday

at home. Alone. Cruel as it sounded, I briefly entertained

the thought of ignoring him. But when Steve jumped at

the door and Max’s face lit up, I had no choice. I had to let

him in.

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“What are you doing outside?” I asked him as he

entered and immediately dropped to his knees to cuddle

Steve. “It’s going to pour.”

“Cece brought me home and she was being loud, so I

left.”

My eyebrows met above my nose as I tried to process.

“Cece?”

“My mom,” he said with a slight hint of annoyance

that said I should have known that.

“Oh.” She was being loud?  at didn’t sound good.

“Was she fighting with your other mom?”

He shrugged and kept his eyes on Steve. “ey always

fight.”

“What were they fighting about?” I cringed, the

realization that I was totally going to hell for siphoning

information from him about his moms’ dysfunctional

relationship tapping me squarely on the shoulder.

He didn’t look at me when he spoke and kept his eyes

and hands on Steve. “Mom said Cece was early. She asked

her if it would kill her to spend more time with me.” en

he shrugged again, such a kid thing to do. “Whatever.”

Even at thirty-four years old, the childhood pain of

not being worth the time of your parents could sneak up

on me and whack me over the head like a board and I

suddenly felt great sympathy for this little boy who, just

moments ago, I was wishing would disappear. I was

ambushed by the unexpected need to make him feel better.

“Hey,” I said, making my voice sound sort of

conspiratorial. “Guess what I was just doing.”

He blinked those deep dark eyes at me, so much like

his mother’s. “What?”

“Making chocolate chip cookies.”

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His eyebrows made a show of trying to climb up into

his hairline and his big eyes grew even wider. “You were?”

“Yep. Want to help?”

“Can I?”

“Absolutely.”

Sharing my kitchen and my baking duties with

anybody but Grandma was not something I was good at

and letting Max help was an exercise in self-control. It

took all the energy I had to let him do stuff himself, like

measuring and stirring, because my instinct was to take

over and do it right. I bit my lip whenever he spilled

something and made myself look away while he cracked

eggs. I guess the fact that I was well aware of my control

freakishness was a good thing, but by the time we had the

batter ready to go, I had a splitting headache from

clenching my jaw.

Instead of occupying his usual space in the living room

while I cooked, Steve stayed in the kitchen with us—and

by “us” I mean Max—the whole time we were working. I

shot him a betrayed glare every now and then, but he

pretended not to notice.

By the time we got the first batch of cookies into the

oven, half an hour had gone by. Upon shutting the oven

door, Max and I high-fived and I tried not to look as

relieved as I felt.

“Nice work, Mr. Assistant Chef,” I said to him.

His little giggle was so cute, I couldn’t help but giggle

a little myself and ruffle the top of his brown head. He

dropped to his knees in front of the oven and watched the

cookies bake through the window. When the timer dinged

nine minutes later, he was still there.

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As I backed him up and put an oven mitt on my hand,

there came a banging on the front door. Apparently, I

didn’t move quickly enough getting the cookies out of the

oven because there was more banging before I was in any

shape to answer.

“All right, all right,” I muttered as I nudged a barking

Steve out of my way with my foot.

e knocker was a harried-looking Elena Walker, hair

disheveled, eyes darting. Before either of us could speak,

her gaze landed on Max and she flew at him, falling to her

knees and crushing him in a bear hug.

“ere you are,” she said, a frantic note of desperation

in her voice.

It was only then that I realized we probably should

have let her know where her son was. I winced as the guilt

seeped in. How stupid could I be?

“I’m so sorry,” was all I could get out before she started

jabbering to Max, as anxious mothers are wont to do.

“You
cannot
just leave the house without telling me,”

she said to him, gripping his shoulders tightly. I got the

impression she wanted to shake him, but was holding

herself back with great effort. “I was worried. I didn’t know

where you were. I called you from the backyard. I checked

the playground. I knocked on doors.
I didn’t know where

you were.
” She seemed to run out of steam then, and simply

pulled him into another hug.

“You were busy with Cece,” Max said, his words

muffled by his mother’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to bother

you.”

“You are
never
a bother.” Elena was almost

frighteningly firm when she said it, shoving him back to

arm’s length so she could look him in the eye. “Never. Do

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you understand me? You’re my son and I love you and you

are
never, ever
a bother to me. Okay?”

Her voice cracked and I had the sudden fear she was

going to burst into tears right there in my foyer. Feeling

intrusive, I looked around for an escape, but found none, so

I stood there like an idiot.

“What’s on your face?” she asked him once she pulled

herself together, and swiped a finger across his cheek as she

stood.

“We made cookies.” His giant grin was contagious and

I couldn’t help but catch it.

Elena turned her gaze my way and I could tell she was

annoyed with me, as she should have been. It also felt a

little like maybe she didn’t
want
to be, so I decided it was a

good time to re-launch my apology.

“I’m so sorry, Elena,” I said as I moved into the

kitchen. “I assumed you knew where he was and I didn’t

ask him and I should have. It won’t happen again.” I hoped

my accompanying grimace was pathetic enough because

having her flash fire at me from those espresso-colored

eyes was too much for me to bear for very long.

How I managed not to jump when she reached

toward my face, I’ll never know. She ran a fingertip along

my chin and held it up, showing me the flour I was

apparently wearing. “It got you, too,” she said, her voice

colored with amusement as she rubbed her finger and

thumb together.

I swallowed hard and tried to fight the sudden surge

of nearly overwhelming arousal she’d just caused by

holding up a chocolate-chippy confection. “at’s because

we made cookies,” I offered and tried to mirror Max’s grin.

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She pursed her lovely lips and cocked an eyebrow at

me, very clearly telling me that she was still irritated, but

my silly facial expressions were making her rethink things.

Or maybe she just liked chocolate chip cookies.

Regardless, she took it from my hand and when she bit

into it, I felt forgiven.

“Oh, still warm,” she said, nearly moaning. I had to

look away.

“Coach King just took ’em out of the oven, Mom,”

Max informed her, in case burning the roof of her mouth

wasn’t enough of a clue.

“And you helped?” She swiped again at the splotch of

flour on his cheek. Like me, she must have concluded it

was just too damn cute to wipe off.

“He was a huge help,” I told her as I spatula’d an entire

tray of cookies onto a plate. “I hardly did a thing.”

Max beamed at the praise. “I was sistant chef.”

“Wow,” said his mother, looking impressed. “You got a

title and everything?”

“Yup.”

“Hey, we don’t mess around here,” I said. “You do the

work, you get a title.”

Elena seemed to have let go of her initial anger and

panic and was now smiling softly at her son. A good time

to offer refreshments, I decided.

“Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? A big glass of

milk?”

e small crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened.

“at’s very sweet of you, but I’ll have to take a rain

check.” To Max, she said, “We have to go to dinner and

Nana and Papa’s.”

“Oh!” Max exclaimed. “I forgot.”

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“No kidding.”

I quickly put some plastic wrap over the plate of

cookies. “Here you go, Mr. Assistant Chef. You get to share

in the fruits of our labor.”

“ere’s no fruit in them,” he said with slight

confusion.

“Figure of speech. Here, take these home and make

sure you share.”

“anks, Coach.”

“ank
you
for your help.” At the door, I reached out

and touched Elena’s elbow, said her name, which felt as

smooth as cream on my tongue. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay.” e size of her smile and that usual twinkle

in her eyes told me she was over it. “I didn’t mean to come

across as a madwoman. I had some residual junk carrying

over from earlier and I should probably apologize to you.”

Deciding not to ask her to elaborate, I simply shook

my head, telling her that it wasn’t necessary, that we were

good, and held the door for them.

“Bye, Steve!” Max waved as he ran down the sidewalk

toward his own home. Steve looked too much like he

wanted to follow, so I held his collar.

I wanted to stand there and watch Elena walk all the

way home in the low-slung jeans that were evidently made

just for her, but I decided that might seem a bit lecherous

and forced myself to shut the door.

I did watch her from the peephole for a couple extra

seconds, though.

102

CHAPTER TWELVE

We were slowly phasing Maddie in and phasing me

out as coach of the tee-ball team and it seemed to be

working well. She’d been sitting in on practices, which I

continued to run since her mobility was still limited, but

she’d begun taking the lead since our last game and I was

perfectly okay with that.

She was somehow able to see that coaching was not

something I wanted to do on a regular basis. I even

managed not to say “I told you so.” But we agreed that I’d

stay on even after she was able to hobble around without

crutches. Hell, there were only six games all together

anyway. I figured I could tough it out.

Plus, letting Maddie take the lead left me more time

to hover around the bench and happily notice that Elena

had made it into the bleachers. I suspected that she often

had to work Saturday mornings, since her branch office

was open from nine until noon, but she must have shifted

some things because she sat high up in the stands (or

high-ish given there were only five rows), clapping and

cheering for her son. And looking devastatingly beautiful

while doing it.

June was turning out to be an incredibly pleasant

month and that morning was sunny and warm. Elena had

traded her worn and sexy jeans for a pair of worn and sexy

Georgia Beers

khaki shorts and I felt warm and mushy inside just

glancing at her knees.

God, what the hell was wrong with me? I’d never felt

such a visceral reaction to any other woman before in my

life.

I ripped my eyes from her legs and lifted them up to

her face, only to have my heart start jackhammering inside

my chest at the realization that she was looking right at

me. en she winked and my insides turned to goo.

I’d had no idea I was so easy.

It was embarrassing, really.

At Max’s turn at bat, the difference between what I

usually saw and what I saw now that Elena was there to

watch him was shocking. He picked up the bat and turned

to the bleachers. Elena smiled and waved at him, all her

focus centered on him, and his face lit up like the