Just for the Summer by Jenna Rutland Page A

fragrance, she headed toward the kitchen. She took in the yellow-and-white
     striped curtains, the rooster wall clock ticking off the minutes, which she prayed
     wouldn’t cock-a-doodle-doo on the hour.
    Elaine stood at the counter, whipping a spoon inside a bowl of creamy milk chocolate
     frosting. She wore a green apron dotted with daises, her gray hair styled in a perfect
     bob, similar to the way Dani’s mother had worn her hair.
    Her mother, who’d never had the chance to be a grandmother, should have been here.
     When Dani had made the decision to place Sam for adoption, her focus had been on him
     alone, on what would be best for her son. She knew how that monumental decision would
     affect her—although she’d had no idea how severely—but had she considered how her
     choices would affect so many other lives?
    Dani glanced from the cake pans back to Matt’s mother and stifled an irritated sigh.
     Chocolate cake had no place in this house. At least, not the kind Elaine would make.
    Diplomacy. Professionalism. Those were key words in dealing with Matt’s mother. Maybe
     a compliment? “Smells delicious.” Dani unloaded her laptop on the kitchen table.
    Elaine cast a glance over her shoulder. “I’m not quite done with the cake,” she said,
     sounding peeved. “Matt assured me we could take shifts in the kitchen.”
    Educating Matt’s mother on how to cook for Sam would be next to impossible if they
     each took their own stint at the stove. Dani reminded herself that she’d invaded this
     woman’s life. She’d cut Matt’s mother a break for now.
    She booted up her computer and attempted a sugarcoated response. “No problem. Dinner
     won’t take me long.” Even to her own ears, she sounded as sickly sweet as the frosting.
     “I don’t have to get started for another hour or so.”
    Mrs. Reagan’s exasperated huff was audible.
    Dani added, “In the future, I’ll stick with my usual routine. I cook late at night
     for the next day. When dinnertime rolls around, everything’s done except for last
     minute things.”
    “I prefer not to serve leftovers.”
    Time to go with the professionalism. “Unfortunately, Sam won’t be able to eat your
     dessert.”
    The spoon dropped out of Elaine’s hand and made a near-silent plop in the bowl. She whirled to face Dani, hands on hips. “Why, because you didn’t make
     it?”
    Dani clasped her hand to her forehead in the hopes it would keep her brain from exploding.
     “No, Mrs. Reagan.” The old counting-to-ten theory was inadequate. Maybe a million
     would work. “The sugar and white flour will spike his blood sugar. The idea is to
     keep it stable without a sharp rise or fall.” Dani picked up a sheaf of papers from
     the table. “Have you read the information on diabetic cooking?”
    Matt’s mother diverted her eyes from Dani’s and sheepishly returned to the frosting.
     “No. Not yet. I haven’t found time.”
    “For Sam, eating the proper foods could mean life or death, Mrs. Reagan. If you love
     your grandson—”
    Spoon in hand, Elaine twirled around so fast that a blob of frosting sailed through
     the air like a discharged missile to land on Dani’s forearm.
    “You don’t have children, Ms. Sullivan. What would you know about loving a child?”
    Dani left the table to snap a paper towel off the roll on the counter. “I know enough
     to put a child’s needs above my own.” She swiped at the frosting on her arm. “It’s
     vital that you read through the information. Especially since you do the majority
     of Sam’s food preparation.” She tossed the paper towel in the garbage under the sink.
     “Unless you’re not planning on staying here much longer.”
    Matt’s mother shot Dani a hostile glare. “So that’s the plan? You move in, then get
     Matt to kick me out?”
    “Never. I’m here on a temporary basis. I have no intentions other than to help this
     family deal with Sam’s health issues.” And maybe atone for