He rang the doorbell again, surprised no one had answered yet.
When there was still no response, he opened the screen door and called out, “Hello.”
A burning smell filled the air. From the back of the house, a smoke alarm wailed. Concerned, Jake hurried down the hall, following the sound to its source.
The chaotic scene in the kitchen was nothing like the one he’d imagined only moments ago. Tracy frantically fanned the whining smoke alarm with a newspaper while Emily fed a piece of burned bacon to the black-and-white cat under the table. Hissing steam erupted from the sink as Maggie dumped a sizzling frying pan into some water.
Jake reached up and took the battery out of the smoke alarm.
In the sudden silence, everyone froze.
A moment later, three female heads whipped around to face him. The trepidation in their expressions was unsettling. When that trepidation turned to fear in two pairs of identical brown eyes—the same fear he recalled from that day at his house—he felt like he’d been sucker punched.
Emily abandoned the cat, rushing to her mother’s side. The way she slipped her hand into Maggie’s tugged at his heart. Tracy frowned and crossed her arms, daring him to make a wrong move.
“Mummy didn’t mean to overdo the bacon again.” The quiver in Emily’s voice added insult to injury. “It was an accident.”
What he said next, how he handled the situation, was as crucial as a last-minute face-off in a tied play-off game. He couldn’t afford to get it wrong. That urge to run flashed through him again.
Jake forced a light tone. “An accident that conveniently ended up in Catty’s stomach. I know his game, one flash of those green eyes and he gets my bacon for his breakfast.”
As if playing along, Catty began to wash his whiskers.
Though Maggie’s expression didn’t change, the tension in her body eased. Tracy gave a half nod; he’d hit the right note.
Emily smiled nervously, but watched him warily. “The bacon was burned, Mr. Jake. You couldn’t eat that.”
“Princess, I spend nine months of the year eating hotel food, arena food and plane food. I can handle overcooked, undercooked, bland, underseasoned and overspiced.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I draw the line at gloopy and mushy, though.”
“Me, too.” Emily giggled.
He looked at Maggie. “Do you have enough food to try again, or are we going to IHOP?”
“We have plenty, if you’re willing to risk it.” Maggie smiled softly.
Emily grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the kitchen table. “Mummy makes great Bendy Eggs.”
“What exactly are Bendy Eggs?”
“A poor man’s eggs Benedict, with cream cheese instead of hollandaise. Until today, it was my fail-safe breakfast,” Maggie said wryly. “I’m afraid ovens hate me and microwaves and toasters barely tolerate me. The jury’s out on kettles.”
“You don’t scare me. Bring it on.”
“In that case, have a seat. This won’t take long.”
Relieved to have skated cleanly through that little crisis, Jake dropped into a chair at the kitchen table.
Tracy smiled gratefully. She handed him the sports section of the paper before joining him. “Don’t worry. You won’t starve. Maggie’s being modest. She can cook perfectly well.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t cook.” Maggie put fresh bacon strips into a frying pan. “I just don’t enjoy cooking.”
“Because that jerk you were married to wanted a wife who was Nigella, Martha and the Barefoot Contessa all rolled into one. He expected you to party by night and play chef and housekeeper by day.”
“Sis!” Maggie shot her sister a warning look.
Tracy threw up her hands in mock surrender. “All right, I’ll shut up.” But she muttered under her breath, “Neanderthal.”
“Mr. Jake’s not like that. You don’t care about a little dust and dirt, do you?”
“Uh...no.” Startled by Emily’s cheerful defense, Jake stammered a response. He then focused on the paper and pretended to study an article on the recent defensive woes of the Giants, though he couldn’t concentrate on a word.
What had happened to a cozy breakfast with simple small talk? He’d only been here five minutes and he was already tiptoeing through a conversational minefield.
A timely reminder of why that earlier fantasy had been off base. Why he couldn’t be responsible for Maggie and Emily. He was no damn good at tiptoeing. He was more likely to put his foot squarely where he shouldn’t and blow them all up. His stomach churned, dampening his appetite.
“Here you are.” Maggie slid a heaped plate in front of him. “The infamous Bendy Eggs. I hope you’ll like them.”