Chapter Twelve
When the knock came at her half-glass back door that night, Rachel jumped even after the five-minute-warning text had told her to expect it.
Her throat tightened, and her palms were so damp that she’d never be able to turn the doorknob.
Near the stove, she wiped her hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the garbage can.
“Coming,” she said too softly for him to hear outside.
She couldn’t allow herself to think about events from less than twenty-four hours before, when this particular guest had visited.
Things that could never happen again, no matter how many locations in her body warmed at the memory of it.
She conjured her brother’s face to tamp down her hormones and brushed her fingers down the front of her baggy sweatpants.
If her whole outfit, including a top that was closer to a dress and an oversize zipper sweatshirt, didn’t help him to forget about the night before, she didn’t know what would.
The tap came a second time, this one on the glass, just as she reached the entry. She slid the curtain aside though she already knew who to expect and twisted the lock. Mick pushed the door open, slid inside and closed it behind him.
“Hey,” he said, stomping his boots on the mat.
Rachel took an automatic step back. Though Mick looked away as he shoved off his hood and shook snowflakes from his messy hair, his upper lip twitched.
He clearly recognized that he made her uncomfortable.
After that kiss last night, that had blown her socks off—and nearly everything else—she almost resented that she didn’t do the same thing for him.
Not that she should care. Especially if she planned to follow the rules they’d set. And she did.
“It smells great in here, but we really have to stop meeting like this.”
His chuckle sent a pleasant, though unwelcome, tremor through her, but the irony of his words settled like a rock in her gut. “You know that in the dark is the only way we can meet. At least, if we don’t want anyone to know about it.”
“That’ll be even tougher after daylight savings time starts Sunday.” He bent to remove his boots.
“You think there’ll be more reasons for us to compare notes?” She was surprised by both his suggestion and by the flip in her tummy at the prospect of his continued visits. If she wasn’t careful, she could get used to him being around.
“There might be,” he said. “And if that’s the case, it’ll probably be the girls’ bedtime before it even gets dark.”
Rachel had turned away to stir the spaghetti sauce, but at his mention of her daughters’ evening schedule, she whirled back to face him.
Sauce from the wooden spoon still in her hand landed with a splat on the floor.
They both stared at the red sunburst on the yellowed tile before Rachel lunged for a paper towel and started wiping up the mess.
“Sorry about that.”
“No big deal.” She waved off his apology with the messy cloth as she stood.
Mick appeared to be holding back a smile. He was joking with her, probably because she’d invited him to join the girls and her for dinner when he’d suggested they should meet that night.
“Guess the time change will make that tougher for any ‘tea sessions.’”
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” she said.
They would have to. She didn’t know what Mick thought about it, but she appreciated having those two pint-sized chaperones around them to remind her to keep her hands to herself.
“Uh, anyway, you texted me about meeting, so…”
Mick slid out of his coat and draped it over his arm. He wore jeans that fit his strong legs better than they should have and that same soft-looking flannel shirt he’d worn the night they’d met. Hadn’t he gotten the memo about trying not to look good?
“You want to know what I found? Besides an excuse to get invited to dinner?”
“Yeah. Besides that.”
She rolled her eyes at his joke, but her chest still tightened. Had he found something that could confirm her suspicions that someone had set up Riley? After the things her own brother had said—and didn’t say—earlier, she doubted anything Mick had learned would surprise her.
“Well? Are you going to tell me?” She tried to appear nonchalant, stirring the sauce again at first. After a few seconds, she set her utensil in the spoon rest and turned back to him, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms.
“Who are you talking to, Mommy?”
Rachel jumped and then glanced at the kitchen doorway. Carissa stood there, wearing a long top and socks, her pale shins and knees peeking out where her leggings should have been. The outline under her shirt showed she’d at least left her underwear on instead of greeting company commando-style.
“Honey, what are you doing down here without any pants on?” Rachel asked instead of answering her question. “You’re supposed to be taking a bath right now. I already ran the water, and I said I’d be up to help you out in a few minutes.”
Her daughter wasn’t paying attention as she’d figured out for herself who’d been on the other end of the conversation she’d overheard. She scrambled past Rachel to greet their guest.
“Hi, Mr. Mick.”
“Hello, Carissa.”
Rachel slid a glance to Mick, who grinned back at her.
She hadn’t identified which twin had entered the room, and yet he’d called the child by name.
Unlike even some of their teachers after a few weeks in school, Mick could already tell them apart.
He probably had no idea how important that was to identical twins. Or their mother.
“How did you…?” she mouthed the question to him.
He touched his cheekbone just beneath his right eye, the same spot where Carissa had a tiny freckle. Something Carly didn’t have. Rachel was still digesting that he’d taken the time to notice that little detail as Mick glanced down to speak to her child.
“Are you going to eat dinner with us?” Carissa asked. “We’re having spaghetti.”
“It smells really good, too.” He pointed to the saucepan and then the pasta pot. “Wasn’t it nice of your mom to invite me?”
She’d had to do something when Mick sent her the most information-deprived text she’d ever read.
Guess what I figured out today?
After her troubling conversation with Riley that morning, she wasn’t in the mood for any guessing games. She just wanted answers.
Carissa crossed her arms and tapped her stocking-clad foot on the floor. “We’re starving, but Mom said we had to wait to eat dinner until after we took our baths.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” Mick grinned when he looked over at her again.
“We get to wash each other’s hair,” Carissa added, lifting her chin.
Rachel turned back to the stove, though the sauce didn’t need another stir, and the water in the pasta pot had yet to boil. She made a point of checking the oven that was warming for the frozen garlic bread she’d arranged on a tray.
When she turned back, Mick was bent at the waist, addressing her daughter.
“I’m pretty hungry, too. If you hurry and get cleaned up, I bet we can eat sooner. Anyway, aren’t you cold?” He pointed to her bare legs.
“We’re out of shampoo.”
Carissa shook the bottle that had been dangling from her hand since she’d entered the room.
How Rachel had missed that, she wasn’t sure, though she’d probably glossed over many things while hunting for information that could help Riley.
A search that no one, including her brother, wanted her to continue.
“I need to take care of this. Could you…” She gestured to the pots on the stove. “It’ll just take me a minute.”
“I’ll make sure everything doesn’t boil over,” Mick said.
She followed Carissa up the stairs and to the linen closet where she stored extra supplies in tubs on the top shelf. When she returned ten minutes later, she was surprised to find Mick in the dining area, setting the table.
“I thought you were going to—”
Having just arranged the final place setting, he lifted both hands. “Don’t worry. It’s all under control.”
She followed him into the kitchen, where she found the garlic bread in the oven and the spaghetti noodles already drained and back in the pan. Mick stepped to the stove and lowered the heat on the sauce to simmer.
“Looks like you’ve done this before.”
He lifted a brow as he looked back at her. “That shouldn’t surprise you. All firefighters can cook. It comes with the job.”
“Not all of them. Like I told you, my dad was a lousy cook, but he insisted on trying.” Rachel braced herself, waiting for the rush of emotions that sometimes made her want to curl in a ball when she spoke about her father. The chuckle that bubbled up through her chest surprised her.
“I bet he was a good man. Even if he couldn’t cook.”
“You’re a good man, too.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could process let alone edit them.
That didn’t make them any less true. The more she got to know Mick, the more she liked him.
Sure, she’d responded to the hot firefighter vibe first, but now she found his qualities of both integrity and tenderness, particularly around her children, just as appealing.
A twist on the dangerous bad boys who’d always drawn her like an oversize magnet, Mick was a good guy who battled danger.
She felt a little safer just having him around.
Mick glanced back at her over his shoulder and dampened his lips as though trying to find his words. The rumbling on the stairs saved him from having to try and gave her a reprieve from having to explain why she’d said it.
The floor vibrated beneath their feet as both girls raced into the kitchen, pajamas sticking to their damp skin and towels on their heads.
“Is it time to eat?” Carly pointed to the stove.
“It’s ready. Now get in your seats, and we’ll bring out the food.” She could have sent Mick out of the kitchen, too, but he’d already helped with dinner, so she doubted he would mind assisting her in serving.
She ladled some sauce into a bowl and then poured the pasta into a second one, noting that he’d added a little olive oil so it didn’t stick. He put the bread on a plate and grabbed the plastic-wrap-covered salad bowl from the refrigerator and started into the dining room.
When he reached the table, he glanced back at her, his gaze so warm that it felt like a caress. Yes, it was for the best that the two of them wouldn’t be eating dinner alone together tonight.