out to me.”
“No matter, I owe you both.” Joel released Sylvie’s hand and clapped his own over his heart. “In exchanged, I volunteer to clean and cook the fish tonight.”
Grateful for even a semblance of normalcy, Sylvie smiled. “Now I’m sure you have a concussion. Have you ever cooked bass?”
“Rianne, hear that? Sylvie’s casting aspersions on my cooking. Come vouch for your dad.”
The girl hugged him. “I don’t know what ’spersions are,Daddy. He microwaves fish sticks,” she told Sylvie in all seriousness.
“Well, then,” Sylvie drawled. “How can I refuse?”
Sensing she was moments from bursting into laughter, Joel wrinkled his nose. “At the risk of being tossed back in the lake, I have to ask if those weeds you’re wearing in your hair are this year’s fashion statement?”
A hand flew to her head. Sylvie combed through her straggling hair, and figured she must look a sight.
“Other side,” he said, clambering up to collect the bucket of fish and their poles, and then grasp his daughter’s hand.
It wasn’t until Sylvie and heard his nonchalant whistle that she was able to see the humor in her disheveled appearance. “Hey, what time is dinner?” she hollered up the path.
Turning, Joel shrugged. “Since bass doesn’t come in a freezer package with microwave instructions, I’m not sure. How long does it take to cook these babies?”
Sylvie suddenly conjured up a vision of microwaved bass, heads and all, and tough as boot leather. “Tell you what, Mercer. How about if you clean the fish and I cook as we originally planned?”
“Say yes, Daddy! Maybe Sylvie will let me help.”
It was his daughter’s enthusiasm that cinched the deal for Joel. He’d already begun having second thoughts about inviting Sylvie to his home. Partly because it wasn’t anything he ever did. But more so, he reluctantly admitted, because that unsettling image of her wet, half-naked body rising above him, her long legs hugging his hips, provoked—well, plain lust. Lots of it.
Still, he owed her more than one simple dinner. She’d saved him from drowning. Wasn’t there some old saying about saving someone’s life and then that person—shoot, he couldn’t remember—but weren’t they joined forever?
It wasn’t until after he’d showered, changed and felt halfway human again, that Joel went to clean the bass and realizedthe messy state of his kitchen. Unpacked boxes were piled everywhere. Whenever he or Rianne needed something, he’d ripped open boxes until the article came to light. Most women tended to like neat, tidy houses. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was for his well-meaning neighbor to decide he should have help getting his house in order.
“Rianne, we’re not ready to entertain. We don’t even have three plates unpacked. Nor have I unearthed our frying pan. Will you run next door and tell Sylvie I’ll have to clean and freeze the fish? Ask if she minds postponing?”
Rianne carried Fluffy into the kitchen and set her in front of her water dish. “I know which box the plates are in. And that big box is our pans.”
Joel knew she was right. “Snooks, imagine how this mess will look to Sylvie. I don’t want her telling the whole town we’re slobs.”
“She wouldn’t. Sylvie’s nice. And it’s not nice to un’vite her after you asked her to dinner. That’s what you told me the time I un’vited Corky Blake to our Easter egg hunt.”
Wincing, Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s different, Rianne. You’d sent Corky an invitation, and his mom had already RSVP’d that he could come.”
“It’s not different,” she said stubbornly. “Sylvie RSVP’d, too.”
He started to counter her argument with another, when his daughter marched to the door and said, “I’ll go tell Sylvie we haven’t unpacked all our stuff, so can we cook and eat at her house?” She was out the door, tearing down the driveway before Joel came to the realization that he
“No matter, I owe you both.” Joel released Sylvie’s hand and clapped his own over his heart. “In exchanged, I volunteer to clean and cook the fish tonight.”
Grateful for even a semblance of normalcy, Sylvie smiled. “Now I’m sure you have a concussion. Have you ever cooked bass?”
“Rianne, hear that? Sylvie’s casting aspersions on my cooking. Come vouch for your dad.”
The girl hugged him. “I don’t know what ’spersions are,Daddy. He microwaves fish sticks,” she told Sylvie in all seriousness.
“Well, then,” Sylvie drawled. “How can I refuse?”
Sensing she was moments from bursting into laughter, Joel wrinkled his nose. “At the risk of being tossed back in the lake, I have to ask if those weeds you’re wearing in your hair are this year’s fashion statement?”
A hand flew to her head. Sylvie combed through her straggling hair, and figured she must look a sight.
“Other side,” he said, clambering up to collect the bucket of fish and their poles, and then grasp his daughter’s hand.
It wasn’t until Sylvie and heard his nonchalant whistle that she was able to see the humor in her disheveled appearance. “Hey, what time is dinner?” she hollered up the path.
Turning, Joel shrugged. “Since bass doesn’t come in a freezer package with microwave instructions, I’m not sure. How long does it take to cook these babies?”
Sylvie suddenly conjured up a vision of microwaved bass, heads and all, and tough as boot leather. “Tell you what, Mercer. How about if you clean the fish and I cook as we originally planned?”
“Say yes, Daddy! Maybe Sylvie will let me help.”
It was his daughter’s enthusiasm that cinched the deal for Joel. He’d already begun having second thoughts about inviting Sylvie to his home. Partly because it wasn’t anything he ever did. But more so, he reluctantly admitted, because that unsettling image of her wet, half-naked body rising above him, her long legs hugging his hips, provoked—well, plain lust. Lots of it.
Still, he owed her more than one simple dinner. She’d saved him from drowning. Wasn’t there some old saying about saving someone’s life and then that person—shoot, he couldn’t remember—but weren’t they joined forever?
It wasn’t until after he’d showered, changed and felt halfway human again, that Joel went to clean the bass and realizedthe messy state of his kitchen. Unpacked boxes were piled everywhere. Whenever he or Rianne needed something, he’d ripped open boxes until the article came to light. Most women tended to like neat, tidy houses. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was for his well-meaning neighbor to decide he should have help getting his house in order.
“Rianne, we’re not ready to entertain. We don’t even have three plates unpacked. Nor have I unearthed our frying pan. Will you run next door and tell Sylvie I’ll have to clean and freeze the fish? Ask if she minds postponing?”
Rianne carried Fluffy into the kitchen and set her in front of her water dish. “I know which box the plates are in. And that big box is our pans.”
Joel knew she was right. “Snooks, imagine how this mess will look to Sylvie. I don’t want her telling the whole town we’re slobs.”
“She wouldn’t. Sylvie’s nice. And it’s not nice to un’vite her after you asked her to dinner. That’s what you told me the time I un’vited Corky Blake to our Easter egg hunt.”
Wincing, Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s different, Rianne. You’d sent Corky an invitation, and his mom had already RSVP’d that he could come.”
“It’s not different,” she said stubbornly. “Sylvie RSVP’d, too.”
He started to counter her argument with another, when his daughter marched to the door and said, “I’ll go tell Sylvie we haven’t unpacked all our stuff, so can we cook and eat at her house?” She was out the door, tearing down the driveway before Joel came to the realization that he
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