* * *
The sound of her door chime yanked Katie from a thought so lost and deep that she hadn’t even realized she’d watered the amaryllis plant and the patio and the bottoms of her shoes.
Lost. That was the only way to describe herself lately.
“Hang on,” she called, kicking off the sneakers and padding to the front door in her socks. Halfway there, she saw the tall figure, black hair, and broad shoulders of one of her favorite people on earth. “Alex,” she whispered with a smile, opening the door. “What are you doing here on a Friday morning?”
“Trying to catch you between, uh, clients.” He reached down and gave her a hug with one arm and held out a foil-covered paper plate with his other hand. “Something to make you say ‘opa!’”
She inched back, giving him a look. “You know I don’t say ‘opa’ or anything Greek. Every time I tried, Yiayia reminded me of how bad my accent is.”
He lifted one broad shoulder and shook back some long, black hair. “Yiayia accepts you, and that is the most you could expect.” He leaned closer. “More than your mother ever did.”
“So true.” She brought him in and closed the door, taking a sniff of the plate. “Butter crescents?” she guessed.
“Kourabiedes.” Of course, he pronounced it perfectly, matching the way Nico had said it. “Which I happen to know are your favorite, because on his deathbed, Dad told me to give them to you whenever I wanted to butter you up for something. Get it?”
She smiled at him. “Or you could just ask. What do you need, Alex?”
He didn’t answer yet, moving through the undersized entry and living room with grace and familiarity, his long, lanky frame filling the small space along with the faint scent of the kitchen that seemed to cling to him.
“Coffee,” he said.
“Is that why you came bearing butter-me-up cookies?”
“No, it’s a process, you know? Food, coffee, small talk, and then the request. Humor me.”
Intrigued and delighted by this complicated male, as she always had been for the past thirty-six years, she followed him into the kitchen and went straight to the Keurig. “Regular or flavored?”
He lifted a dark brow.
“Of course. Regular. Strong. Black. I can pull out the espresso maker, if you like.”
Shaking his head, he took a seat at the kitchen table and put the cookies down. “Not necessary, thanks. So how was the Heroes & Hoagies place?”
“You know that I went there?”
“Cassie Santorini dot-com, all the family news that’s fit to share.”
Not all of it, she hoped. “It was nice, actually. A little small, needs some investment, but the location is incredible. Right in the heart of town.”
“Sounds good.”
“It is.” She poured more water into the coffeemaker and glanced over her shoulder, still thinking about Cassie. On one hand, she totally trusted her daughter. On the other, she had never been good at keeping a secret. “What else did Cassie say?” she asked.
“That we’ve all been summoned for some kind of Irish wake after we meet with the owners on Sunday.”
“Irish wake?” She snapped the top of the coffee machine closed with a little force. “Alex, that’s not the right attitude. Is that what you wanted to ask me?” She turned to meet his gaze. “You want to skip it?” Disappointment squeezed, mostly because she knew Daniel would be disappointed. “I really want you to go, but if—”
“Mom. Coffee. Cookies. Then the request, remember?”
She nodded in agreement, walking his cup of steaming coffee to the table to join him. “There’s the coffee. Gimme a cookie. Then hit me with what you need.”
He gave her a wry grin, his smile bright white surrounded by the dark facial hair that somehow looked poetic on him and professorial on his identical twin. “You really aren’t a drop of Greek, are you?”
Heat crawled up her cheeks at the statement, which never would have bothered her before. Her non-Greekness had gone from a source of contention with her in-laws to a family joke with her kids and husband. But now, with Nick…somehow it was anything but funny.
Except, if Nick had inherited all of her genes, then—
“It’s a joke, Mom,” he said, taking the foil off the cookies to reveal his latest masterpiece. “Here. Comfort food the way Dad taught me to make it.”
She smiled and grabbed a napkin from a basket on the table and picked up the delicate pastry, tapping off some excess sugar. “He was good at comfort food,” she agreed.
“At all food,” Alex said, taking one for himself.
“It killed him not to be able to cook those last few years.”
“Killed him?” He smiled. “Ironic on purpose, or just a questionable choice of words?”
She managed a soft laugh. “I wasn’t thinking. But he hated when he couldn’t go to the kitchen anymore. He hated it so much.”
“I remember.”
She took a bite, closing her eyes at the sweet, soft deliciousness. “God, you’re talented.”
“Ehh.” He polished off the cookie and the compliment, frowning as he finished chewing, his thick lashes brushing together as he narrowed his eyes in critical thought.
“If you think this is less than the best kourabiedes ever made, Alex Santorini, then Cassie is right and you really do have a hang-up with perfectionism.”
He snorted. “Now our reporter is the family shrink. I have hang-ups with pistachio. I should have stuck with walnut.”
“It’s perfect.”
Leaning forward, he shook his head. “There’s no such thing as perfect, Ma.” He grinned as he always did when he used the nickname she didn’t love, except it was his secret name that for some reason only he could get away with. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying to achieve it in all aspects of my life, which brings us to my request.”
She eyed him, curious, but a little scared. What exactly had Cassie been telling her brothers? “Am I going to need another bite of this comfort cookie?”
“No. All you need is to slide out that sweet and wonderful heart of yours and forgive me.”
She inched back, totally lost. “For what?”
“For what I said the other day when you were at the office.”
“I don’t even remember what you said.” At his one lifted brow, she dug deep enough to recall the words. “You mean something about selling me to a lecherous guy?” The very words made her smile. “That was…you being passionate, opinionated Alex.”
“That was me being a…jerk.” His eyes flickered with the fact that they both knew he probably had a much worse word in his head than jerk. He’d picked up his father’s penchant for swearing in the kitchen when he was about fifteen and had never lost it, except around her.
“Well, you’re sweet to apologize, but it wasn’t cookie-worthy.” She picked up another. “But since they’re here…”
He locked his inky dark gaze on her. “I think you should go for it, Mom.”
She stared at him. “The cookie or…”
“The man. Who probably isn’t lecherous.”
Not at all. “There’s nothing to ‘go for,’ honey.”
“That’s not what Cassie says.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” She pushed back, dropped the cookie, and gave in to a punch of irritation and worry. “What does Cassie say?”
“Just enough, you know, between the lines, for me to guess this isn’t casual.”
She searched his face, not seeing him, but the sister who had the same distractingly dark eyes, trying to imagine what Cassie could have said. “She’s implying that, what? There’s more to this than friendship?” Because there was, but not like he was guessing.
“She says you have a ‘history,’ and I assume that means your relationship was…” He lifted a shoulder as if he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—say what that meant.
“Sexual?” she supplied.
Behind his dark whiskers, he paled. “Whatever you guys called it b
ack in those days.”
“Oh, we called it sex,” she said. “Just like today. And it’s still none of your damn business.”
He flinched at her rare curse, knowing exactly what it meant. “Sorry, line crossed,” he said. “But, Mom, I know that comments like the one I made—which was stupid and thoughtless—could keep you from being…fulfilled.”
“Fulfilled?” She almost laughed, except that he was so sincere.
“What I mean is that you shouldn’t let your kids stop you from doing anything. Staying overnight, going on a trip, even, you know, letting him come here.”
She leaned back again, trying to wrap her head around the conversation and failing spectacularly. “You’re giving me your permission to have sex.”
He angled his head. “I know you, Mom.”
“It would seem you think you know me a little too well.”
“I mean that you probably think it’s a crime or a sin or some kind of shocking scandal if you want to, you know…” He leaned forward and put his hands over hers. “What I’m saying is you don’t have to marry the guy. That, we don’t need. Just…” He shrugged. “Live like most people do. I mean, don’t advertise it, but feel free to be. You know?”
She dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry or throw her hands up and tell him the truth.
“Are you saying,” she asked, looking up, “that you would prefer I sleep with a man than marry him?”
“Passion is a good thing, Mom. It drives me.”
“Well, it doesn’t drive…” Daniel. “Me.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. Not of anything.” She folded the paper napkin in front of her, thinking. “And what does John think? Or do I really want to know that you two actually converse about my private life?”
“John is a numbers guy. He wants to be sure the dude isn’t after your fortune.”
“My…” She choked a laugh at the idea of Daniel on a money-hunt. “For one thing, Daniel Kilcannon is about the most straight-up ‘dude’ you’ll ever meet.” She added air-quotes and a teasing smile. “For another, he doesn’t need money. One of his sons sold a company to FriendGroup, and they all owned stock. Plus, Daniel’s a successful veterinarian in his own right. He’s invested wisely and has no interest in my little savings account.”
“I told John you were too smart for anything like that. The guy’s interested in you because you’re smart, talented, and very attractive, Mom.”
“No one is ‘interested’ in anyone,” she said. “We are merely friends, Alex. Friends getting through something that…” She closed her mouth and cursed herself mentally.
“What?”
She stared at him, blanking out for a moment. “Widowhood,” she finally said, relieved that it was true enough to make perfect sense. “We’re getting through the deaths of our spouses.”
“It’s been two years, Mom.”
“And four for him. We’re both still grieving.”
“Well, if that’s all it is, but Cassie said…” He shook his head.
“Cassie said what?”
“Cassie said we should be ready for change in the family. Big change.”
Oh, that girl. “She likes drama.”
“True, but she’s also closer to you than anyone else, and she’s met the guy and his family.”
“And she’s…” Not supposed to breathe a word of this. “Seeing things that may or may not be there.”
He looked intrigued. “So tell me the truth. Do you like the guy?”
So much. Too much.
“I do,” she admitted, unwilling to lie any more than the situation had forced her to. “We have a lot in common, and he’s a good man. Solid. Smart. Caring.” And every time he touched her, something went haywire. Hormones she hadn’t thought she had anymore decided to dance around. Body parts melted in ways she hadn’t dreamed possible again. And every night, she went to bed taut and tense and remembering…sex.
“Holy cow, you do,” he said. “That’s a serious blush, Mom.”
“Stop it.”
He dipped his head to force her to look at him. “Just remember you’re a big girl, and if you want to act like one, then no one’s judging. That’s all.”
“And if I happen to…rock the family boat?”
He looked at her for a long, long time and finally gave a tight smile. “Then we’ll get a little seasick and survive.”
She stood as he did, both of them stepping into a long, warm hug. “Thank you, Alexander the Great,” she whispered, using her own nickname for him.
“You bet, Ma.” He gave her a squeeze, and when he left a few minutes later, Katie had a low-grade sense of hope she hadn’t felt in a long time, and a whole lot to think about.
Chapter Fifteen
Daniel stood in front of the wall of fame and stared at a picture of his late wife holding a baby wrapped in pink. Molly? Darcy? God, no. That was—
“Grandpa?”
“Pru.” He turned to greet his first grandchild, always a little taken aback at how tall and grown-up she seemed lately, and eons from the baby in the picture. “I was just looking at you as an infant.”
“The picture with Grannie Annie?” She came to stand next to him and smiled at the framed shot. “I always love that because she looks so much like my mom.”
“Well, your mom looks like her. That’s the way genetics works, kid.” He put an arm around her. “What has you here on a Friday night? No big date or party?”
“A date? Hah.” She dropped to her knees to love on Rusty. “My dad told me I can’t date until I’m thirty-five. Or at least until my braces come off.”
He chuckled at that. “Isn’t that soon?”
“March sixteenth at three thirty in the afternoon,” she said. “The day before Saint Patrick’s Day. We should have a party.”
His smile disappeared at the thought. They’d tried to keep every tradition alive since Annie died, but no one had seemed to have the spirit or desire to pull together the Kilcannon Saint Paddy’s Day party without her.
“Maybe,” he said, turning back to the pictures.
“I’d really like it,” Pru said. “I remember the ones we used to have when Grannie Annie made me green Sprite and Gramma Finnie told everyone about her big brother, Paddy.”
Who looked like Nick. Well, Nick looked like him. Hadn’t he just explained genetics to his granddaughter?
“Weren’t they fun parties, Grandpa?”
Saint Patrick’s Day had lost its luster for him. It was one of those days…like Meeting Day, First Time Day, and Blue Stick Day when two college kids’ lives changed forever. All those “Annieversaries,” as he used to call them, all those secret celebrations exclusively for the two of them.
Saint Patrick’s Day was the first I love you, and while the rest of the clan was pounding down green Sprite—and beer—and celebrating their heritage, he and Annie were remembering that night they said those words for the first of a million times.
“And I’d get to show off my new teeth to everyone,” Pru continued, taking out her phone. “Oh, it’s a Sunday. Perfect, right?”
“Could be,” he said vaguely. But his gaze shifted to a picture from one of those parties, and his heart—
“I have a month to plan it,” she said. “You won’t have to do a thing.”
At the same time her words landed in his brain, Shane’s big footfall hit the hallway. “How many Kilcannons does it take to move furniture from the living room?”
“I think almost everyone is coming to help,” Pru said. “Except my two pregnant aunts, and Andi’s at home getting ready to go out with Liam, because I’m babysitting, so that makes ten? I think.”
“Ten.” Shane strode into the room without missing a beat. “Nine to move the furniture and one to take care of the Jameson’s.” He lifted a bottle from a glass-topped server. “Please tell me you’re not giving away this rolling bar thing. It’s been part of my life since I was five. G
arrett used to think I couldn’t see him under it when we played hide-and-seek.”
The bar cart? “Katie said it’s got a real 1970s vibe,” Daniel said.
“So do you, Dad.” Shane put the bottle back. “And the wingbacks?”
“Donating them to an assisted-living home in Chestnut Creek.”
“Really?” Pru threw herself into one. “I love these chairs. Remember that time you hired Santa to come to the house because I had strep throat? I sat in his lap right here. Best Christmas memory ever.”
“Not true.” Daniel’s youngest son, Aidan, blew in next, his broad shoulders and big personality taking up a good bit of room space, his lovely fiancée, Beck, at his side. “The best Christmas memory was when I got leave from Afghanistan and surprised you.”
“Oh, that was good,” Pru agreed. “I’ll never forget the look on Grandpa’s face when you came in holding that little Jack Frost.”
“Hey, guys,” Molly said, right behind him, with Trace’s arm draped over her shoulders, both of them still wearing the glow of their recent winter wedding. Darcy and Josh weren’t far behind.
“Trace and I have a hot date, so can we do this furniture thing fast?” Molly asked. “I mean, you’re not moving everything out, are you, Dad? Just that hideous whiskey-on-wheels eyesore?”
“Ugh.” Shane grunted and punched his chest. “You kill me, Molly.”
“Everything goes.” Daniel took the kiss and hug hello that Molly offered, smiling as Rusty trotted over to greet her and show some love to his favorite Kilcannon offspring. “Liam’s coming, and Garrett, if everything went okay at the doctor today.”
“She’s two centimeters dilated,” Molly said, reminding Daniel that Jessie and Molly were childhood friends and still very close. “But we’ll stay, because I’d never miss the dismantling of Mom’s…” Molly caught herself. “Of the living room.”
Daniel shook his head. “I’m not dismantling anything.” Except, he really was. And he could tell by the looks on their faces that they thought he was destroying a room their mother loved, and doing it for another woman. “I’m just…”
“Doing exactly what needs to be done.” Darcy shot forward, away from Josh and her brothers, to stand next to Daniel in a show of solidarity. “He’s…living.”
Old Dog New Tricks Page 18
