She made the offer casually, wiping down the counter without looking at him, but he sensed that she was nervous.
“What’s the activity?” He had a couple of reports to finish, but he could put them off until tomorrow.
“Something Sage suggested. Trust me, it’ll be fun.”
The door crashed downstairs then as Mark burst through it and ran up to greet them.
“DeeDee, DeeDee,” he shouted, shoving something into her hands. “Look what I made for you. Can we go see Mr. Fluffy Legs today? And Kadoka?”
“Easy, buddy,” she told him. “I’m right here. No need to yell down the walls. We’ll see your cat tomorrow. We’ve got a different activity for today.”
She dutifully admired the cardboard picture frame, which Isaac could see had been prefabbed by a hobby supply outlet. Mark had only glued the pieces together and decorated it, but he was so proud.
“Wash up for snack time,” she said. “Then, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Few other words had the same effect on Mark. He stormed down the hallway to the bathroom, his lumbering footfalls making the light fixtures shake in their housings.
Isaac turned to the stairs. “I’ve got two calls to make. Let me know when you’re ready to start this mysterious activity.”
DeeDee’s face opened like the sunrise. “Really? You’ll join us? That’s wonderful. I mean, Mark will be so glad.”
He hadn’t expected her enthusiasm.
“Mark?” he said softly. “Not you?”
Her eyes widened, then a smile teased her lips. “Do you want me to be glad?”
Heat rose lazily within him, stretched and curled. Her lips were plump and inviting. She was easy to be around, fun, funny, and wasn’t bothered by Mark. In fact, she seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.
Mark. He gave his head a shake. What was he thinking, flirting with her? Deirdre was here for Mark, not him.
“I’m hungry,” Mark said from behind them. “Why do those meatballs smell like cimmanin?”
*
Sage had given DeeDee the idea, based on the Easter treat she was retooling for the fashion show, a white-chocolate bark dotted with homemade mini-eggs coated in a multitude of pastel colors.
Isaac and Mark had no family around to celebrate Easter with, which DeeDee found sad. Part of her wanted to invite them to the ranch for one of her mom’s lavish family dinners.
Another part of her shuddered at the prospect. Mom would make assumptions, Maddie would say something embarrassing, Mick would clap Isaac on the back in a manly, congratulatory way despite there being nothing to congratulate him on.
Because they weren’t involved.
Not like that, at least. Though they kept having moments…
What was wrong with her? Where was all this coming from? She was thinking as if she was… attracted to Isaac.
As if she… liked him.
Well, of course she liked him. She wouldn’t be working for him if she didn’t.
No, her brain argued. Like him, like him.
Which was crazy.
Almost as crazy as imagining herself in an argument with her brain.
“Easter Egg Bark,” she announced, her voice bouncing loudly off the walls. She cleared her throat. “The project, I mean. Since you aren’t doing anything for Easter, I thought it would be a fun way to celebrate spring. And… Easter…”
“We’re going to church on Easter Sunday,” Mark said.
Isaac looked like he was holding in laughter.
“Oh,” DeeDee said. “That’s good. Well, anyway. This is fun, super pretty, easy, and quick. And delicious.” She had to rethink her caffeine ingestion. This was ridiculous. She forced herself to take a deep breath.
“First, we chop the white chocolate,” DeeDee said. “Isaac, will you handle this part, please?”
She set a cutting board and a large bar of silky smooth white chocolate in front of him, trying to ignore the fact that he smelled better than any sweet treat.
“What do I do?” Mark clapped his hands. “I want to help.”
“Of course,” DeeDee said. “We need one scoop of mini-eggs in this bowl, a scoop of smarties in this bowl, and then you have to choose which sprinkles you want.”
“I want them all,” he said promptly.
“Okay,” she responded with a laugh. It didn’t much matter what they used.
Sage wouldn’t dream of using commercially available candies for her recipes; it was what made her stuff special. DeeDee’s project was more about fun and letting Mark share in the joy of Sage’s creative genius.
“Good,” DeeDee said. “The next step is to put the bowl of chopped chocolate into the microwave.”
Isaac picked up the bowl.
“No,” she said. “Let Mark do it.”
“I do it,” Mark said.
“Don’t drop it,” Isaac cautioned.
DeeDee touched his arm. “Relax, Ike. This is supposed to be fun.”
Mark put the bowl into the microwave, then punched the buttons as directed.
“Don’t stand so close, Mark,” Isaac said. “Radiation is bad for you.”
“Your attitude is bad for him,” she said, exasperated. “I hate to tell you this, but no one gets out of life alive.”
Isaac pressed his lips together.
The timer went off, and Mark clapped again. “It’s ready?”
She checked the chocolate, gave it a stir, set it for another thirty seconds, and went to find parchment paper for the cookie sheets.
“Now?” Mark was nearly beside himself. “Now?”
“Almost. It needs another stir. It’s still warming up.”
The microwave dinged, then Mark reached in with both hands.
“Wait, Mark! Use oven mitts,” she called, but he was already pulling the Pyrex bowl out.
“Ow-ow-ow!” he yelped, dropping it.
And holy sweet napalm, the bowl shattered, sending chunks of broken glass and semi-molten chocolate everywhere—on the stovetop, the counter, the cabinets, Mark’s clothing, the floor.
“Mark! Are you okay?” Isaac skidded in a puddle of chocolate and nearly fell. “Damn it, don’t move.”
Mark was sobbing. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I made a mess. Sorry. Ow, ow, ow.”
DeeDee grabbed a roll of paper towels and turned the cold-water faucet on. “Did you burn your hands, honey? Let me see.”
She led Mark carefully away from the broken glass and turned his palms over. No burns, just a bit of redness. He’d been surprised, that’s all.
“Hold them under the cold water, okay? It’ll take away the sting.”
“I sorry, sorry, sorry.” Mark was full-on weeping.
“Damn it,” Isaac muttered again. “This is a disaster. I knew this was a bad idea.”
“You’re not helping, Ike,” she said in a singsong voice. “How about grabbing a trash can for the shrapnel and save the recriminations for the court martial.”
He gave her a dirty look but tiptoed to the closet where the cleaning supplies were kept.
“This isn’t a disaster,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh yeah?” Isaac gestured to Mark. “What do you call that?”
Mark was quaking, rocking, and muttering, snot and tears dripping off his chin.
Maybe it was a disaster. What did she know?
“Look at me, Mark,” she instructed.
He ignored her, continuing to moan and rock.
“Disaster.” Isaac snapped the cupboard door shut. “He’ll be like this until he goes to bed, then he’ll probably be up once or twice in the night, upset again. You haven’t lived with him. You don’t know him.”
Isaac’s criticism stung. But it was true. She hadn’t known Mark long, and her entire education about mental disabilities had come from the reading she’d done over the past few weeks.
Isaac obviously knew better.
Isaac, Logan Stafford, Mrs. Hatcher, heck, everyone at the May Bell Care Home.
&
nbsp; DeeDee, in her ignorance, had assumed that caring for Mark would be a simple task when, in fact, she’d barely scratched the surface of what it took to care for a person with special needs.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right.” She turned off the faucet and pressed a dish towel into Mark’s hands. She wiped his face, stroked his hair, then pulled him close.
“I sorry,” Mark sobbed into her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Isaac gently pried Mark away. “Let’s get you cleaned up, buddy.” His voice was resigned. “DeeDee, can you handle the rest of this mess?”
She swallowed, fighting her own tears. “Yes.”
Cleaning up messes. She had plenty of experience there.
*
It had taken Isaac an hour to get Mark cleaned up and settled down enough to take a nap. Hopefully, when he woke up, he’d be in a better frame of mind, but Isaac wasn’t holding his breath.
DeeDee had everything sparkling once more when he joined her in the kitchen, broken glass gone, melted chocolate wiped up. The bowls of candy remained neatly on the table, as well as a fresh container of chopped white chocolate and the prepared pans.
“You don’t need to finish it, you know,” he told her. “He’ll probably forget all about it.”
DeeDee raised her eyebrows. “But I promised him. He was so excited. It won’t take long and this time, I’ll make sure he uses oven mitts.”
Her eyes were a clear blue-green, wide and innocent. Determined, but so naive. She meant well. She was expanding Mark’s comfort zone. Mark was making friends, doing new things, and having fun, just as Isaac wanted.
But there was a limit. DeeDee didn’t seem to get that.
“Best to find a new project, one better suited to his… skill level.”
“This is his skill level. He broke a bowl. He didn’t blow up the house.”
“It may not seem like much to you.” Isaac worked to keep his voice calm. “Emotional outbursts are hard on him. It’s important to avoid anything that might set him off. You’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes, he cries so hard he throws up. He bangs his head until he gets a nosebleed. He hits himself. He throws things. That’s why I don’t want him participating in your show. Stress and crowds aren’t his thing. He might think he wants to do it now, but on the day, he’ll freak out. Neither of us wants that.”
She swiped a cloth over the already-gleaming surface. There was a smear of white chocolate on the back of her shirt. The set to her jaw suggested that she disagreed with him.
But to his surprise, she didn’t argue.
“I didn’t know.” She folded the cloth and hung it over the sink. “I apologize. Of course you know your brother best.”
Isaac scrubbed a hand over the bristle on his chin, feeling like a heel. “I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard.”
She braced her arms on the table between them, looking down. “Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. I deserve it. I have a long history of not paying attention to what other people need, of leaping onto the next shiny thing, regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not, or if I’ve left someone else in the lurch. Me-Me-DeeDee. Ditzy-DeeDee.” She gave a little laugh. “I’m trying to change, but old habits, you know. If you don’t want him in the show, then he won’t be in the show. I should know better than to talk to him without asking you first.”
Something inside Isaac’s chest pinched him. He liked that she treated Mark as she did. She listened, which was more than Isaac could say sometimes. Even though Mark didn’t always know what was best for him, DeeDee gave him the same respect—or lack thereof—that she gave anyone else.
“DeeDee.” He took a step toward her, coming around the side of the table and closing the gap between them.
“What?” She tossed her head as if annoyed with herself.
A silky strand of hair had come free from her ponytail, drifting over her cheek. He reached out and tucked it behind her ear. “You’re good for Mark.”
“Ha.” Her dark lashes swept up, then down, as she glanced briefly at him.
He wasn’t used to her being hesitant.
He didn’t like it.
“You’re good for me, too.”
She looked up again. This time, she held his gaze. The delicate muscles and tendons of her neck shifted as she swallowed, and he heard the little click in her throat.
He was so close he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the hint of sweetness on her breath. She was breathing quickly, the thin white fabric of her T-shirt moving up and down, reminding him of the soft curves beneath.
“You’re… something else,” he whispered. He touched her chin with his bent knuckle. “Beautiful.”
She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and tilting her head sideways. “Please. I’m not even wearing makeup.”
He tipped her chin toward him again. “I like you best like this. The real you. Naturally perfect.” And she was. Her skin was like satin or velvet or silk, her lips plump and inviting. He bent his head closer, lower, already tasting her in his imagination.
“Isaac?”
He leaped backward. “Mark,” he said. “You’re up. How are you feeling, buddy?”
Deirdre brushed the hair away from her face, a flush staining her cheeks. “Did you have a nice nap, Marco?”
Mark looked back and forth between them, then focused on the candy on the table. His eyes brightened. “Can we finish making my magic chocolate now?”
Chapter Fifteen
“He kissed you?” Maddie lifted her hand for a high-five, almost knocking over the wine bottle between them on the coffee table. “See? I knew there was something there.”
Clementine jumped on Maddie’s lap, ready to defend her.
“Yeah, yeah. Maddie knows best.” DeeDee rolled her eyes, halfheartedly slapped her twin’s hand, then chucked the little dog under the chin. “And there was no kiss. It was an incomplete pass. Mark intercepted us before we made contact.”
To DeeDee’s eternal regret. Her lips were still sizzling with Isaac’s nearness, the warmth that had so nearly touched her. Something had combusted between her and Isaac at that moment, something that had been brewing and simmering for weeks, something she hadn’t quite recognized until it snapped into sharp focus and now, she couldn’t stop imagining it. Fantasizing about it. Picturing in her head.
Isaac’s lips on hers. Isaac’s hand on the back of her neck. Isaac’s fingers in her hair. His breath on her throat, his teeth nipping gently at her skin…
“Then we have to engineer another opportunity.” Maddie tapped her fingers together. “That shouldn’t be difficult.”
DeeDee took a sip of wine. Her hand was shaking. “Not your business. Stay out of it.”
“Look. I don’t charge you rent. The least you can do is give me an outlet for my natural-born talents. Cynthia never listens to me anymore now that she’s got Chad.”
Maddie made a face. DeeDee knew that under the bravado, they were equally relieved that their stepsister was doing well. Their little niece or nephew was quietly and obediently incubating according to plan, and Cynthia had been upgraded to light activity. DeeDee, however, refused to let her take back any responsibilities. The show was nearly ready anyway.
“I can pay rent,” she said. She’d rather do that than get her own place, as finding an apartment of her own seemed so… permanent. She hadn’t thought that far yet.
Though what she was waiting for, she couldn’t say.
“Have you talked to him since then?” Maddie asked.
DeeDee glanced at her watch. “In the thirty minutes since I’ve been home? No.”
They’d spent another hour together, finishing Mark’s white chocolate Easter bark, and there’d been no kissing or talk of kissing. They gave Mark all their attention. And it had been torture.
“You guys haven’t even had your first date yet,” Maddie said with a sigh. “It’s so romantic. You’ve got so much ahead of you.”
“Quit talking like an
old married woman. You and Mick have only been together for three months.”
But those were two more months than Maddie had ever been with a guy, and DeeDee would bet money this was the real thing. Anyone who’d seen them together could tell they had something special. Maddie’s bush pilot had renovated the fishing lodge he’d been planning to sell and intended to reopen it for business come spring. DeeDee suspected Maddie would move out there with him.
Her sister, with her froufrou little dog, living on the edge of a lake in a cabin.
It had to be love.
“I think,” Maddie began, but DeeDee’s cell phone rang before she could finish.
DeeDee looked at the caller ID.
Jon.
She froze.
“Who is it?” Maddie asked.
“My… um… my agent.” DeeDee got up, took her phone and her wineglass, and went to her bedroom. She let it ring a few more times, preparing herself.
“Jon,” she said, cupping her hand around the device. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“Bygones,” Jon said, as if it were nothing. “Got a deal for you.”
All professional. Nothing personal. Exactly how it should have stayed between them. DeeDee sank onto the bed, forcing herself to listen to Jon’s words.
“Branding for a new tanning product. They like your look, want to run some test shots. It’s a company out of Bridgeport, Connecticut. Imagine, your face on every cosmetic counter in the country. How does that sound?”
DeeDee’s heart caught in her throat. Her face, everywhere. Two months ago, she’d have given her eye teeth for a chance like this. It was the sort of exposure that could reinvent her as a model and lead to bigger, better things. Not to mention, the residuals could carry over for years if Jon negotiated favorable terms.
“Are you listening?” Jon exhaled loudly.
“Yeah… yes,” DeeDee said, feeling faint.
“There’s only one catch. I told them you’re on hiatus right now. They think you’re recovering from a nose job.”
“They think… what? Why?”
“They’re not crazy about the original, so I did not correct their assumption.” His fake French accent, once so delightful to her, now struck her as Bronx with an unidentifiable pan-offensive pseudo-European overlay. DeeDee could almost smell the smoke from the tiny imported cigarettes he insisted on smoking. “There’s still time to have the procedure and recover, with no one the wiser. I’ll locate a surgeon and text you the appointment details. Where are you again? Mongolia? Do they have doctors there?”
The Chocolate Comeback (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 7) Page 14
