Naughty Or Nice. Sherri Browning Erwin

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      “Mmm. It all looks wonderful,” I said, looking over the bounty laid out on the table once I hobbled my way into the kitchen, embellishing a bit to maintain my status as the injured party. It wasn’t the usual spread I would have laid out for company, with my finer china and extra decorative touches, but Kate had used one of my nicer tablecloths to complement my everyday dishes, the heavy rustic earthenware. “Salad, too?”

      “Courtesy of Josh.”

      “Caesar is a specialty of mine,” he said proudly as he stopped filling glasses to dash over and help me to my seat at the head of the table. “I have a secret formula to make sure you get a crouton with every bite.”

      I looked up, astounded. He had no idea that I had a similar secret formula, about which Kate teased me mercilessly. Kate and I exchanged a glance. Maybe I’d met my salad-making match.

      Josh took the seat next to me, across from Kate, Ellie in her high chair, and Marc, who had put himself on baby duty for the evening to give Kate a break. The kids joined us and filled in the rest of the seats.

      We passed around dishes, filled plates, and made comfortable conversation. The kids told us about their days. Josh complimented my lasagna, my mother’s recipe. I returned the compliments on his salad.

      “If I’d known I was coming for dinner, I would have brought a loaf of my famous home-baked bread.”

      I cocked a brow. “Right, like the kind you pick up at the store, stick in the oven for a few minutes, and voila, home-baked bread?”

      His fork paused in the air, midway to his mouth. “Uh, maybe that’s what you do, Betty Crocker. I actually take the time to measure, mix, and knead.” He met my surprised stare with a shrug. “It’s therapeutic after a hard day on a construction site. Kneading is incredible stress relief.”

      “I can’t believe you actually get home from a long day of building and bake bread,” I said, out loud, then wanted to kick myself for directing my stare to his strong, workingman hands. Thick fingers.

      “Something about punching down dough just takes the edge right off.” He put down his fork and pounded a fist into his other open hand. “You should try it sometime.”

      “Oh, I have. I can see that it might be therapeutic. But you just don’t seem the type.” I sipped my wine to chase away the image of Josh working dough with his hands, sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms.

      “What type do I seem?”

      “The biker bar type.” I laughed, thinking of my earlier image of leather-clad Josh knocking back a beer with a buxom blonde at his side. The wine had relaxed me and loosened my tongue.

      “Ha!” He laughed. “Just call me Easy Rider.”

      His eyes twinkled in the way that made me think of my birthstone, aquamarine. They held me rapt, the way the light refracted from his glistening pupils. Those eyes were dangerous! They should be declared a lethal weapon. It took a minute to break my stare and realize that we were carrying on a conversation as if we were the only two at the table. “So, um, Marc, who do you play Monday night?”

      “Indianapolis. The Colts are also undefeated, so it’s going to be a good one. I wish I could get on the field.”

      “The knee’s still giving you trouble?” Josh asked.

      “Yeah. Every now and then. The coach is good about trusting my instincts. I tell him when it’s good to go and when I need to take it easy.”

      “You’re lucky to be with an understanding coach. A lot of teams might keep putting you out there, testing your limits.”

      “I know it. I do like it here. For so many reasons.” Marc looked at Ellie and then up at Kate, warmth lighting his brown eyes to a golden amber glow.

      Kate smiled, but didn’t seem to pick up on Marc’s meaning. How clueless could she be?

      I tried to throw Kate a look, but Sarah piped in. “Mom, my teacher’s going to call you next week.”

      Aha, that was never a good sign. I noticed she waited for the right time to strike, with friends and family around and Mom building a nice wine buzz. Smart.

      “About what?” I said, keeping it casual. She knew I wouldn’t lose my temper now.

      “Math. I’m having trouble. I kind of failed my last quiz.”

      “Kind of failed?” Josh and I asked in unison.

      She blushed. “Did fail. But the teacher said I can make it up. It’s not that I don’t understand balancing equations. It’s that I go too fast and make stupid little mistakes, so that the answer ends up wrong in the end.”

      “I used to have that problem,” Josh said. “My teacher solved it by teaching me to play cribbage, believe it or not. Playing sharpened my adding skills, but it also helped me to focus, to slow down and see the big picture.”

      “Cribbage?” Sarah asked.

      “It’s a card game. You play with a board.”

      “We have one,” I said. “Patrick and I used to play. He always won. It’s in the game cabinet.”

      “Cool. So, Josh, will you teach me after dinner?”

      “I don’t see why not.”

      As if tired of being neglected in favor of food and conversation, Ellie let out a wail.

      “I’ll get her.” Marc jumped up. “You stay, Kate. Eat.”

      “Oh no. That’s fine. She probably needs mommy time.” Kate stood, but Marc scooped Ellie up in his arms. As if to prove her mother wrong, Ellie stopped crying and let out a delighted coo once in Marc’s arms.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ