In return, his light blue eyes twinkled and warmed. But he was duty-bound by habit to give her his monthly scowl as he leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. "Is it that time already?"
"You know it is."
"Yeah. So what do you want?"
Grabbing his hand, she slapped the check into his palm. "What do you think?"
He peered down at the piece of paper, and as it did every month, his scowl deepened. "Is it any good?"
"Deposit it and see."
"Maybe I don't want to go to the trouble." Nothing ever changed about this dialogue. As always, he tried to hand the check back to her. She put her hands behind her back. "What's the matter, my money not good enough for you?"
"I keep telling you I don't want your money."
"I bought your place, I'm paying for your place. You hold the mortgage. How many times do we have to go through this? Just deposit the damn check and reduce my damn debt, and soon enough I'll stop showing up on your doorstep."
"Fine." He jammed the check into the pocket of his faded Hawaiian surf shorts, which hung low on his skinny hips. "I suppose you've been staying out of trouble."
"I suppose." She peered in past him to look at the small place he'd been slowly renovating now that he'd retired. "You hire a maid for this sty yet?"
"Yep, with your money, thanks. Sure you don't want to take the check back?" He looked at her with some amusement. "You could buy yourself some cooking lessons. Learn to make brownies."
"Ha, ha." Everyone knew about her determination to make decent brownies.
And really, the urge made perfect sense. Any psychiatrist would have had a field day with it-her mother had always made brownies, and they'd always been perfect and scrumptious.
Sam knew deep down she wrecked her own batches on purpose. She must have a thing against being truly happy, or wanting real love, or being afraid something stupid like that.
She didn't care. She still tried to make brownies the way her mom had.
"Well, then, maybe buy yourself some new clothes," Red suggested, eyeing her denim cutoffs, tank top and flip-flops. "Or even get a haircut. Find yourself a man."
"Shows what you know. I don't need to get new clothes or trim my hair to get a man."
"Uh-huh. I see you've got yourself a real big rock on that marrying finger."
She glanced down at her ringless hands and rolled her eyes. "I'm not interested in getting married. Why would I be?"
"Maybe because I'd like to see you happy and taken care of."
Everything within her softened. Still she had her tough facade to keep up. "I can make myself happy, thank you very much, and I certainly can take care of myself."
"Really? You've got it all covered, huh?"
She lifted her chin. "You bet."
"And kids? You going to give yourself kids?"
"Look, I didn't come all the way down here to get a lecture."
"Then why are you still standing here?" Because he was the closest thing to a father she had, and sometimes she just liked to look at him. "Traffic's a bitch. I figured you'd want to feed me the leftovers you'd just be throwing away anyway."
"I suppose." He stood back, gestured her in with a jerk of his head.
The moment she reached the top step, he put his hand on her shoulder, then pulled her in for a big hug. She dropped her tough stance and held on tightly.
"Leftovers that I'd be throwing away?" he murmured, his body shaking as he let out a belly laugh. "Have I ever fed you leftovers?"
"No, because thankfully you're such an awesome cook there are rarely leftovers for more than an hour." She grinned.
"Then I suppose it's lucky for you I just put together lunch."
"Oh, really?" She batted her eyes, making him laugh again, because they both knew he'd planned on her coming and that, as always, he'd made them a meal.
"Come on," he said, and drew her inside, toward the kitchen that smelled delicious. "And tell me what's new."
She did exactly that, leaving out only the news of her date with Jack Scandal Knight, probably for the same reason she hadn't spilled all to Lorissa-she had no idea what exactly to say.
For a year now, Jack had been concentrating on keeping a low profile, on just amusing himself.
He'd been pretty damn successful at it, too. He hung out with friends, rode his bike for miles every morning. Lately, he'd been spending more time with the kids Heather helped, and at the old rec center. And most recently, he'd been organizing and coaching basketball teams.
He'd been content with that, or as content as he could be. But then had come his blind date with Sam. It didn't make any sense that he couldn't stop thinking about her. She'd run with him from the reporters, she'd made the charity event fun-not an easy feat-and then later Her kisses had made him so hot, and those little sounds she'd made in the back of her throat when he touched her, even hotter.
Not to mention bodysurfing half-naked by moonlight on a first date. That had been a welcome first. In comparison, his slow, unplanned life seemed just a tad boring. Maybe he was ready for the next phase of retirement, whatever that might be.
He hoped it included Sam.
He had looked up the number for Wild Cherries, but when he'd called, no one answered. Later, he had driven by the place, but it had been closed.
Seemed even beach girls took days off. Which was too bad because their next date seemed a long way off.
What he really needed was a distraction. And thankfully Monday night was poker night with his buddies. This was their chance to get together and blow off steam-a time to vent and forget that they were all famous celebrities, athletes, politicians Every week, they took as much joy in razzing each other for whatever headlines they'd shown up in that week as they did in actually playing cards.
This week, Jack was the host. Cole showed up first. As always, he came dressed to be seen, wearing expensive clothes with a casual air that always boggled Jack's mind. Jack dressed up only when he had to. They'd become friends in college while sharing a dorm room, and though they'd led vastly different lives, Jack in basketball, and Cole in marketing, they'd remained tight. Mostly because Cole never deferred to Jack's celebrity status, and never talked B.S. Two traits not easily found in Jack's world.
Cole slapped a stack of magazines against Jack's chest and headed straight for the vodka behind the bar. "You're going to suffer tonight, buddy."
Jack looked down at the magazines in his hands. He'd made a few covers. Splashed across People, US Weekly and a handful of others, were shots of Jack piggybacking Sam in her little black dress across the rolling grass hills at the country club.
Another set showed them at the buffet table, oblivious to the upscale crowd around them, sharing some food, their heads close enough to kiss. On his face was a look he hardly recognized.
Pleasure.
He didn't quite know how to describe his expression in the next photo, where he was tugging Sam out of the club, other than that it was one of sheer determination, hunger and pure, unadulterated lust. "Oh boy."
"Yeah." Cole swallowed his first shot, set the glass on the bar and smiled. "She's something. You can thank me any time. You going to do her?"
"Shut up, Cole."
Cole stopped in the act of pouring another shot. He looked Jack over for a long moment. "So the pictures are telling the truth."
"What truth?"
"You're into her."
"I don't know what I am."
"No?" Cole toasted him with his glass. "Well, you'd better figure it out before the other guys get here, or they'll tear you apart."
They tore him apart anyway until he lost all dignity. And in a sign of how far he'd lost his edge, he also nearly lost his shirt, too.
On Tuesday, Jack refereed three boys' basketball games and then, needing a different kind of connection, tried calling Sam again-yet another sign of how far gone he was. While he sat in his car listening to the phone ringing, he tried to create a mental list of the things that had bothered him about her, his usual MO for not having date number two.
But his list turned up short. In fact, it was non-existent.
"Hello," she answered breathlessly.
"Sam, it's Jack."
Silence.
"Jack Knight," he said, and felt very stupid.
"I remember who you are, Jack. The first man I've ever bodysurfed with at midnight."
An idiotic grin split his face. The first? He liked that, he liked that far too much. "So how are you?" he asked, discovering that the usual easy conversation starter, the one that had always meant nothing, suddenly mattered. He really did want to know how she was.
"I'm up to my elbows in brownie mix if you want the truth, and this time, I have a good feeling about it."
"Why? Do you usually have a problem with brownies?"
She sighed. "I make the best sandwiches under the sun. Cookies, too. But I'm an utter failure at brownies. Today, I break the curse."
"Want a personal taster?"
"You mean"
"For brownies, I'd drive to China. I'll come over and sample them for you."
"No! I mean, I'm not sure that's a good idea. I've never managed a good batch yet."
"If they're awful, I promise I won't even mention it."
"Look, I- No. No, thank you. I'm sorry-"
His grin faded. He'd misread everything. "No, it's okay. I understand-"
"It's just that the other night was so" She let out a breath.
"Yeah." From stupid to mortified.
"So I guess I'm just hoping that by Saturday, I'll see you and realize I've just exaggerated how much fun you were."
Suddenly, he didn't feel anything but good, damn good. "Best of luck with the brownies, Sam."
"The brownies-" Something clanged in his ear, and he realized she'd dropped the phone. He waited, and when she came back, she was irritated. "Got to have that oven checked. The damn thermostat is out and it's over-cooking everything."
"Blaming the oven?"
"What? You want to hear that you distracted me and I overcooked them? You've been distracting me for days. Go away, Jack. And stay out of my head until Saturday. Please."
"I will if you will."
"You're having the same problem?"
She sounded far more wary than amused, and his own pleasure faded, replaced by other emotions he didn't want to face. "See you Saturday," he said softly, and hung up.