duck or deny a problem.
But then, neither was he.
Once home, the girls—led by Rosemary, of course—threw him out of the kitchen and insisted they were making dinner...and “he’d better not complain.”
A brilliant way to avoid any one-on-one time with him, Whit figured. But it wasn’t as if he minded getting a chance to put his feet up in the recliner, catch some news, and half listen to the clatter of pots and splash of water and nonstop giggling from the kitchen. He’d known, when he pushed this holiday week in the mountains on the girls, that it wouldn’t be easy. They “played” with him. They had fun with him. But it wasn’t the same as having friends or female company around.
He’d fiercely not wanted them to have a grieving, sad Christmas, not have Zoe on their minds all the time, not get swallowed up by that kind of sadness. No matter what issues came up here, he’d been pretty sure anything would be better than staying at home. And it was.
But having Rosemary around brightened up the twins more than a cache of gold. She wasn’t like their mom. She was just...herself. But if he could have bought a present that really mattered for his daughters this holiday, it’d be her. Rosemary.
“Dinner, Dad!” Pepper announced, carrying a platter in from the kitchen. Apparently they weren’t eating at the table. The menu started with raw carrots, cut in curls. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Chips. A plate of cheese, each piece cut in squares or triangles or circles. And, of course, three kinds of cookies.
The biggest plate was the cookies.
The kids ate like vultures. So did Rosemary. The three of them took credit for putting together a totally junk food meal, but Rosemary couldn’t look at him with a straight face when she claimed that. After dinner, the paper plates disappeared, the kitchen got wiped down, and when Rosemary said she really needed to get back home, the girls swooped on her for hugs...after which Pepper claimed she was going to wash her hair and Lilly was disappearing upstairs to check her email and Facebook.
Rosemary said she was getting her jacket, but she was gone for a bit. Whit figured she’d run into the bathroom. Whatever, he crouched down, started building a Boy Scout fire, the laying of the kindling just so, striking the flame, blowing just a little to help it catch. The fruitwood he’d brought in did a perfect burn, adding to the great scents in the house already.
“What a perfect end to a great day...a warm fire. Especially next to the tree that’s almost starting to look like a real Christmas tree,” Rosemary suddenly said, striding in from the back hall with her purple jacket on and already zipped to the throat.
He didn’t need a crystal ball to get the message—she was making a run for the nearest exit. No way she was staying. No way she was risking any more kisses with him today.
Zoe had always told him that he wasn’t the brightest. But when it came to basic communication, Whit always figured he got an A plus. The worry in Rosemary’s eyes told a complete story that started with n and ended with o.
He lurched to his feet, dusted his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I’ll walk you out to your car.”
“No need!”
“That’s okay. I need a second of fresh air.” He kept his hands in his pockets, just so Rosemary could see he was behaving himself. He trailed her out the door, latched it, and then jailed his hands in pockets again. The sky was black and silent as a promise. She dug in her bag for her car key.
“Rosemary, I can’t thank you enough for the day. You don’t need me to tell you how much fun the girls had with you. You’re beyond great with kids.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a grin. “It’s not hard to be great with great kids. Especially when I don’t have to be the disciplinarian.”
“You’d probably be great with that, too.” He scuffed a heel in the gravel drive. “Any plans for kids of your own down the pike?”
The
But then, neither was he.
Once home, the girls—led by Rosemary, of course—threw him out of the kitchen and insisted they were making dinner...and “he’d better not complain.”
A brilliant way to avoid any one-on-one time with him, Whit figured. But it wasn’t as if he minded getting a chance to put his feet up in the recliner, catch some news, and half listen to the clatter of pots and splash of water and nonstop giggling from the kitchen. He’d known, when he pushed this holiday week in the mountains on the girls, that it wouldn’t be easy. They “played” with him. They had fun with him. But it wasn’t the same as having friends or female company around.
He’d fiercely not wanted them to have a grieving, sad Christmas, not have Zoe on their minds all the time, not get swallowed up by that kind of sadness. No matter what issues came up here, he’d been pretty sure anything would be better than staying at home. And it was.
But having Rosemary around brightened up the twins more than a cache of gold. She wasn’t like their mom. She was just...herself. But if he could have bought a present that really mattered for his daughters this holiday, it’d be her. Rosemary.
“Dinner, Dad!” Pepper announced, carrying a platter in from the kitchen. Apparently they weren’t eating at the table. The menu started with raw carrots, cut in curls. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Chips. A plate of cheese, each piece cut in squares or triangles or circles. And, of course, three kinds of cookies.
The biggest plate was the cookies.
The kids ate like vultures. So did Rosemary. The three of them took credit for putting together a totally junk food meal, but Rosemary couldn’t look at him with a straight face when she claimed that. After dinner, the paper plates disappeared, the kitchen got wiped down, and when Rosemary said she really needed to get back home, the girls swooped on her for hugs...after which Pepper claimed she was going to wash her hair and Lilly was disappearing upstairs to check her email and Facebook.
Rosemary said she was getting her jacket, but she was gone for a bit. Whit figured she’d run into the bathroom. Whatever, he crouched down, started building a Boy Scout fire, the laying of the kindling just so, striking the flame, blowing just a little to help it catch. The fruitwood he’d brought in did a perfect burn, adding to the great scents in the house already.
“What a perfect end to a great day...a warm fire. Especially next to the tree that’s almost starting to look like a real Christmas tree,” Rosemary suddenly said, striding in from the back hall with her purple jacket on and already zipped to the throat.
He didn’t need a crystal ball to get the message—she was making a run for the nearest exit. No way she was staying. No way she was risking any more kisses with him today.
Zoe had always told him that he wasn’t the brightest. But when it came to basic communication, Whit always figured he got an A plus. The worry in Rosemary’s eyes told a complete story that started with n and ended with o.
He lurched to his feet, dusted his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I’ll walk you out to your car.”
“No need!”
“That’s okay. I need a second of fresh air.” He kept his hands in his pockets, just so Rosemary could see he was behaving himself. He trailed her out the door, latched it, and then jailed his hands in pockets again. The sky was black and silent as a promise. She dug in her bag for her car key.
“Rosemary, I can’t thank you enough for the day. You don’t need me to tell you how much fun the girls had with you. You’re beyond great with kids.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a grin. “It’s not hard to be great with great kids. Especially when I don’t have to be the disciplinarian.”
“You’d probably be great with that, too.” He scuffed a heel in the gravel drive. “Any plans for kids of your own down the pike?”
The
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