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“Are you done?” His voice rumbled with amusement.
She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe.”
“I’d like to explain.”
She sighed. “Explain.”
Humor filled his brown eyes. “I finished at Rachel’s and decided to come over to see about the lawn, thinking I could maybe help out while waiting for you to get off work. You know, as a surprise. But one thing led to another—just like your grandpa said.”
“Okay, then …” She puffed out a breath. “Then how much do I owe you?”
Cal rested his hand on her shoulder. “Nothing, Bee,” he said in a lowered tone. “It was no trouble.”
She tried to ignore the warmth of his touch and the goose bumps it brought. She was also trying to ignore his clean soap scent, which lingered even though there must have been plenty of exertion on his part today. “At least tell me how much you spent on the lawn treatment and the faucet and the light bulb.”
“Probably as much as your groceries for dinner,” he said, dropping his hand, and taking the warmth with him. “Let’s not debate pennies. I’d rather make dinner. I’m starving, and your grandpa is, too.”
“You’re not helping.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s the least I can do—make you dinner like I said I would.”
Cal leaned close, his body invading her carefully arranged space. “You’re a stubborn woman. I want to help. In fact, I insist on it.”
At the close distance, she could see the lighter browns in his otherwise dark eyes. “You’re pretty stubborn yourself.”
He smiled, and she felt that smile all the way to her toes.
Which meant it was time for this little tête-à-tête to end. She reached for the doorknob, but he grasped her hand, stopping her.
He released her hand quickly, but the warmth remained. “Wait,” he said. “I need to tell you something about your friend’s mother. About fifteen minutes before you came home, I got the emailed reports I’d requested. The man she’s dating has been married four other times. All to women at least a dozen years older than him. All divorces. I couldn’t find any records other than standard divorce proceedings. Without you giving me full access to investigate, I don’t know much beyond that. But in my opinion, Lydia Kane should stay away from Greg Makin.”
Steph’s breath had gone shallow as she stared at him. “Oh wow. I can’t believe it …” She leaned against the door, her mind spinning around all sorts of conclusions. “Do you think he’s a con artist? I mean, that’s a lot of divorces … right?”
“I don’t have proof of him being a con artist—but I could probably get it if you really want.”
“No, I think what you’ve found out is plenty. Bottom line, he’s not the man for Lydia.” Steph looked up and met his steady gaze. “Thanks for finding that information.” She paused. “Would you … oh, never mind.”
“I’ll start dinner, and you call Brandy.”
She hated to put another thing on him, because they were all hungry, yet she was dying to tell Brandy as soon as possible. So while Cal played the hero once again, she slipped into her bedroom and reported everything.
“I need to confront Mom,” Brandy said into the phone, her voice tight. “She’s not going to be happy with me interfering.”
“I’m the one who told you when she asked me to keep it a secret,” Steph said. “I can send her an apology later—just let me know how she reacts.”
“I will,” Brandy said. “And Steph, thank you. I’m going to call Everly and update her on everything, because I want her to come with me to Mom’s.”
“Good idea.” When Steph hung up with her friend, she stood in the middle of her bedroom, processing all that had been set into motion with Lydia agreeing to date a stranger she’d met through a dating app. It could happen to any of them. Steph had met men that way … She’d given up on apps a while back, and now she was so grateful she had.
Voices rumbled from the kitchen, along with the murmuring sounds of a baseball game. Was the television on? The smell of something delicious cooking made her stomach grumble. She’d have to think more about Cal Conner later—and ask herself why he’d come over early, and stayed, and done so much, and helped her with the information about Greg Makin, and basically been an amazing man.
Opening the bedroom door, she headed down the hall.
Pops was sitting at the table still, but he was tearing up lettuce for the salad. Steph couldn’t remember the last time he’d helped with dinner. Oh sure, he’d do cleanup if he was “steady on his legs,” but preparing food had never been something he’d volunteered to do.
Cal had the chicken heating in a frying pan, sizzling away, and water boiling the fettucine. And on the corner of the counter, the ancient mini-TV was on—broadcasting the game. That TV hadn’t worked for years. Pops usually watched the flat-screen in the living room.
“You got the TV to work?” She crossed to the counter.
“Your boyfriend here wrangled it back to life.”
