the oven door. The cookies looked exactly like the picture online, which she took as a good sign. Now if they only tasted good. “Come here, my little darlings.” She transferred the cookie sheet to the stove top and closed the oven.
“That smells like heaven,” Spencer said, creeping up behind her to look over her shoulder. “You’re going to need a taste-tester to make sure they pass muster. Lucky for you, I’m willing to offer my services.”
Lorelei spun around with a spatula in her hand. “Touch these cookies and you die.”
Instead of stepping back as she’d expected, Spencer stayed where he was, one brow dancing precariously close to his hairline and his body entirely too close to hers.
“What are you gonna do with that?” he asked, his eyes darting to the utensil then back to her face. More precisely, her mouth.
“I’d say use it on you, but I doubt that will get the desired reaction.” Her voice sounded breathy instead of stern. Dammit.
“Interesting choice of words.” Spencer slid a finger inside each of the apron’s pockets and tugged her forward. “What kind of reaction do you desire?”
Before Lorelei could answer, Champ started barking up a storm in the front yard, breaking the spell Spencer had cast around her.
“That dog better be dying or I’m going to kill him,” Spencer growled, releasing Lorelei’s pockets and exiting the kitchen.
Lorelei closed her eyes and leaned back on the stove, only to jump forward when the heat hit her bottom. A car door slammed outside, and she glanced out the window over the sink to see if it was Granny, though Champ didn’t usually bark like that for someone he knew.
A man she didn’t recognize was walking across the yard. From this distance, he looked like one of those men who aged well. His dark hair was dotted with bits of silver that caught the sunlight. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he looked fit and wore a pair of jeans almost as well as Spencer did.
Curiosity carried her onto the porch as the two men shook hands. And as the pair drew closer to the steps, the stranger looked her way and stared as if he were looking at a ghost.
“Mike Lowry,” Spencer said, “meet Lorelei Pratchett.”
“I . . .” he started, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry, you just look a lot like your mom.”
“You knew my mom?” she asked. How did someone she’d never even heard of know her mother?
“Yeah,” the man nodded. “Donna and I went to high school together.”
Lorelei never thought of her mother aging beyond the point when she’d died, but this slightly graying man brought the reality to mind. Her mother would be pushing fifty right now, if she’d lived. But she hadn’t lived. Lorelei did some quick math and realized her mother had been thirty when a drunk driver had run a stop sign and killed her on impact.
The same age Lorelei was now. For the first time ever, she truly understood how short her mother’s life had been cut. The revelation sent her swaying on her feet.
Spencer charged up the stairs to steady her. “Lorelei?” he said. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t,” she said, shaking him off. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
She wasn’t sure of anything except the fact that every day she woke up was one more than her mother had been given.
“Yes, I’m good,” Lorelei said. “I haven’t eaten is all.” Which was true. She’d been so nervous about the baking, she’d skipped breakfast.
“From the looks of things, I’d have thought you were making breakfast right now.” Mr. Lowry nodded toward the spatula Lorelei had forgotten she was holding.
“Oh.” She stared at the secret-revealing utensil. “No. Um . . . I was emptying the dishwasher.” Lame, but plausible.
“No, you—” Spencer started, but Lorelei cut him off with a swat on the arm.
“Can I see you inside for a second?” she said, dragging him by the sleeve toward the door. She’d forgotten to tell
“That smells like heaven,” Spencer said, creeping up behind her to look over her shoulder. “You’re going to need a taste-tester to make sure they pass muster. Lucky for you, I’m willing to offer my services.”
Lorelei spun around with a spatula in her hand. “Touch these cookies and you die.”
Instead of stepping back as she’d expected, Spencer stayed where he was, one brow dancing precariously close to his hairline and his body entirely too close to hers.
“What are you gonna do with that?” he asked, his eyes darting to the utensil then back to her face. More precisely, her mouth.
“I’d say use it on you, but I doubt that will get the desired reaction.” Her voice sounded breathy instead of stern. Dammit.
“Interesting choice of words.” Spencer slid a finger inside each of the apron’s pockets and tugged her forward. “What kind of reaction do you desire?”
Before Lorelei could answer, Champ started barking up a storm in the front yard, breaking the spell Spencer had cast around her.
“That dog better be dying or I’m going to kill him,” Spencer growled, releasing Lorelei’s pockets and exiting the kitchen.
Lorelei closed her eyes and leaned back on the stove, only to jump forward when the heat hit her bottom. A car door slammed outside, and she glanced out the window over the sink to see if it was Granny, though Champ didn’t usually bark like that for someone he knew.
A man she didn’t recognize was walking across the yard. From this distance, he looked like one of those men who aged well. His dark hair was dotted with bits of silver that caught the sunlight. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he looked fit and wore a pair of jeans almost as well as Spencer did.
Curiosity carried her onto the porch as the two men shook hands. And as the pair drew closer to the steps, the stranger looked her way and stared as if he were looking at a ghost.
“Mike Lowry,” Spencer said, “meet Lorelei Pratchett.”
“I . . .” he started, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry, you just look a lot like your mom.”
“You knew my mom?” she asked. How did someone she’d never even heard of know her mother?
“Yeah,” the man nodded. “Donna and I went to high school together.”
Lorelei never thought of her mother aging beyond the point when she’d died, but this slightly graying man brought the reality to mind. Her mother would be pushing fifty right now, if she’d lived. But she hadn’t lived. Lorelei did some quick math and realized her mother had been thirty when a drunk driver had run a stop sign and killed her on impact.
The same age Lorelei was now. For the first time ever, she truly understood how short her mother’s life had been cut. The revelation sent her swaying on her feet.
Spencer charged up the stairs to steady her. “Lorelei?” he said. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t,” she said, shaking him off. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
She wasn’t sure of anything except the fact that every day she woke up was one more than her mother had been given.
“Yes, I’m good,” Lorelei said. “I haven’t eaten is all.” Which was true. She’d been so nervous about the baking, she’d skipped breakfast.
“From the looks of things, I’d have thought you were making breakfast right now.” Mr. Lowry nodded toward the spatula Lorelei had forgotten she was holding.
“Oh.” She stared at the secret-revealing utensil. “No. Um . . . I was emptying the dishwasher.” Lame, but plausible.
“No, you—” Spencer started, but Lorelei cut him off with a swat on the arm.
“Can I see you inside for a second?” she said, dragging him by the sleeve toward the door. She’d forgotten to tell
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