She glanced at the freshly sanded dock. “I’m cooking for you, tonight, to say thanks for doing this.”
“No thanks are necessary,” he murmured.
Their gazes met for a moment, his warm and hers flustered. A blush started to bloom on her cheeks, and she looked away hastily. “Come on, Lily. You can feed the cat while I start making us supper.”
By the time he put the tools away and went inside, the house smelled deliciously of something cooked with beef and savory spices. He stepped into the kitchen and took an appreciative sniff. “What’s for supper?” he asked.
“Beef stew!” Lily answered. “And I put the little carrots in the pot.”
“High five!” Reno replied, holding out his hand. Lily reached up to slap his palm with her small hand, and his heartstrings twanged painfully at the sight and feel of her soft little hand against his big, calloused one
He had to clear his throat before he could ask Grace, “Do I have time to take a quick shower before supper’s ready?”
She plopped a mound of dough onto a floured spot on the counter as she said, “Biscuits will be hot out of the oven in fifteen minutes. If you come to the table after that, they’ll get cold and won’t taste nearly as good.”
He grinned. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, and I’ll set the table.”
“Deal,” she replied. She looked at the clock on the microwave oven and said with a smile, “Your time has started.”
He was back in eight minutes. Granted his hair was hastily toweled dry, and his clean black T-shirt clung to him damply in spots. He recruited Lily to set out the silverware while he got down plates and dishes. He finished by carrying over the small crystal bowl from the windowsill with a stunning picked flower floating in it. The flower had soft, almost rose-like petals, but arranged in a more open shape. Its scent was sweet and light. It reminded him of Grace. It was the color of her cheeks when she blushed and had the same delicate beauty.
“What kind of flower is this?” he asked Grace.
“A camelia.”
“It’s pretty. Smells nice, too,” he replied, feeling a little silly to be complimenting a flower. But it was better than waxing poetic about how it reminded him of her and having her toss him out of the house.
The timer dinged and she pulled a pan of perfectly browned buttermilk biscuits out of the oven and set them on the table. “Dinner’s ready.” She glanced down at his knee brace and said, “Help Lily into her booster seat and I’ll dish up the stew for us.”
He was grateful she didn’t ask him to navigate around a kitchen carrying bowls of hot liquid with his knee sore in its brace. He probably shouldn’t have repaired and sanded an entire dock with it, today.
He got Lily settled, and as Grace set down the last bowl of stew at their places, he reached for her chair and pulled it out for her.
As she brushed past him to sit down, she said, “You did not have to fix the dock.”
"I know."
"But thank you."
He sat down and unfolded his napkin, then waited for Grace to pick up her spoon and take a bite before he did the same. “It was my pleasure to do something helpful around here, Grace. Thank you for letting me help out.”
Her gaze lifted to his, and he was startled by the vulnerability in her eyes. The same instinct to protect her and take care of her that had overtaken him the first time he ever met her surged through him now. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said kindly.
“Everything’s okay now,” she said firmly.
Right. Little ears were in range. And goodness knew, Lily didn’t miss a thing.
“That’s what I meant,” he replied cheerfully. But he sent Grace an I’ve-got-your-back look across the table when Lily commenced crumbling a biscuit into her stew with great focus.
Grace nodded ever so slightly. Then her gaze clouded over abruptly. She ducked her head and got very busy splitting and buttering a biscuit.
Now what was that all about? He was dying to ask her, but he would clearly have to wait until Lily went to bed to ask.
11
The kitchen smelled like dish soap and the last of the beef stew when Grace came back from putting Lily to bed.
Reno was at the sink. He had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, and most of the plates already on the drying rack. The brace creaked softly every time he shifted his weight. He was humming something under his breath that did not, as best she could tell, have a tune.
