Real Men Don't Quit(30)
“Why don’t I cook dinner for you and Chloe tonight?”
She fiddled with the belt, still unsure. “Your agent’s house is so spick and span. I’m afraid Chloe would make a mess there.”
“So I’ll cook here, then.” He shrugged on his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “I’ll come over at five thirty.”
“Okay.”
She seemed pleased by that, and he couldn’t resist reeling her in and giving her one last heavy, hungry kiss. The kiss lasted longer than he’d intended, and by the time they broke apart, they were both flushed and out of breath.
“I’d better go,” Luke muttered, picking up his shoes and heading for the door before the temptation that was Tyler became too much.
When he returned next door, he knew he’d never get back to sleep. Half an hour later, he’d showered, made himself a mug of instant coffee, and was sitting in front of his laptop for the first time in more than a week. At first, the sight of the blinking cursor on an empty page revived all the familiar doubts and frustrations, but he forced them from his mind and concentrated on what he and Tyler had talked about in his mother’s house. Free writing. Write about anything, whatever came to his mind. It didn’t matter what, as long as the words appeared on the screen.
Like coins from a miser, the words dripped out one by one at an excruciatingly slow pace. He was tempted to give up, but he liked the sound of the words he managed to squeeze out, and he persevered. After a few false starts, he found himself writing about two women, one young, one middle-aged, one in the present, one in the past. Gradually, the wheels in his brain that he feared had seized up for good squeaked and squealed into motion, jerky and rusty, but moving all the same. It didn’t take him long to realize his inspiration was coming from two women in his life—Tyler and his mother. They didn’t at all resemble his characters, but they furnished the worlds of his fictional women and teased his imagination, sparking fresh bursts of creativity.
By the afternoon he was surprised to see he’d managed a few thousand words. He shut his laptop and started brooding over his other problem—his father. He called Helen and was relieved to learn she hadn’t had any more surprise visits from him.
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” Helen repeated before pleading, “Is that so wrong of me?”
He assured her that her resentment was only natural, but he couldn’t let go of the image of his father sagging against his decrepit car when Luke had thrust those bank notes at him. For a few moments, his father had seemed so frail and desperate. Desperate not just for money but for companionship. Luke had never seen him so vulnerable, but instead of being glad that his rascal of a father had met his just deserts, he felt guilty, exasperated, and also, somehow, responsible.
“Can you deal with him?” Helen asked. “I don’t know if I could control myself.”
“Sure.” He hadn’t told her that the father she loathed was living not far from her in a rundown motel. Time for that later, if ever. He rang off, feeling drained and in no mood to tackle the problem of his father. Tomorrow would do.
At five thirty he went next door, his mood quickly improving at the prospect of the evening ahead. He hadn’t reached the house when Chloe came pelting out to greet him, a big grin on her face.
“Mumma says you’re making us dinner!” she crowed as she flung herself into his arms.
He swung her up. “That’s right, Little Miss Moppet. Are you going to help me?”
“Yes, but only if you don’t call me little.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s a deal, Big Miss Moppet.”
She dragged him into the kitchen, where Tyler was busy putting away crockery. Pushing the hair from her eyes, she gave him a wide smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. He hadn’t seen her all day, and all he wanted to do was press her up against the refrigerator and take advantage of those luscious, pouty lips of hers. It didn’t help either the way she stared back at him, the luster in her eyes signaling she was suffering the same urges. Battening down his craving, he said casually, “Had a busy day?”
“Yes, but it improved when I heard Chloe’s babysitter is well again. She’ll be able to look after her starting tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s good.”
Chloe tugged at his hand, demanding to know what he was going to cook. Belatedly he realized he should have gone to the grocery store for a few supplies.
“Take whatever you need from the fridge or the pantry. I don’t mind potluck,” Tyler said. “Chloe, why don’t you go play with your pony?”
Her daughter pushed out her lower lip. “I wanna help Luke make dinner. He asked me to.”
Luke tousled her curls. “I couldn’t manage without you.”
“You’re already making dinner,” Tyler said. “You don’t have to entertain Chloe as well.”
Tyler kept her gaze on Luke. She seemed concerned. That he’d run out of patience with her daughter? “It’s fine,” he stressed. “Why don’t you go relax or something?”
She hesitated a few more seconds before lifting her shoulders. “Okay. I do have some soldering to finish. I’ll be in my workshop, so just yell if you need any help.”
“No worries. Chloe and I have everything under control here.”
Chloe seemed to be fascinated by a man in the kitchen. She was determined to help him, confident he couldn’t manage without her. With a lot of discreet assistance from him, she washed lettuce, made vinaigrette, picked off basil leaves, and set the table.
“Look, Mumma, I’m cooking!” she declared, waving her wooden spoon when Tyler poked her head into the kitchen a while later.
“That’s wonderful, baby.” Tyler glanced at Luke. “Everything okay in here?”
“We’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh.” She seemed a bit nonplussed as she inspected the kitchen. “I had these visions of the room covered in spaghetti sauce and Chloe breaking dishes and you tearing your hair out in frustration.”
The kitchen was tidier than when she’d left. He had washed up the dirty glasses in the sink, pinned her bills to the notice board, swept the floor, and emptied the garbage bin. On the stove bubbled a pot of bacon and tomato sauce, while the cleared table was laid for three, complete with placemats.
“My hair’s safe for now,” he said. “Go back and finish your soldering.”
“Okay.” But the doubtful look lingered on her face as she withdrew.
A while later Chloe called her to dinner. Her face flushed from her exertions, the girl danced around her mother with bubbling anticipation.
“You gotta sit here,” she said bossily, steering Tyler to a seat. “I got you the moo-cow glass.”
“Thank you, darling. Wow, everything looks fantastic.” She waved at the pasta, sauce, and salad on the table. “I never knew you were such a good cook, baby.”
Chloe looked set to burst with pride. “Luke helped me,” she mumbled before flinging her arms around Luke’s leg.
At her fervent embrace, Luke’s heart swelled. But as he took in her trusting eyes, unease twitched in his gut. How could he live up to her expectations? He was bound to disappoint her one day—lose his patience, forget something, say the wrong thing. He couldn’t be more to Chloe than just a nice buddy.
“Glad I could help, moppet.” He patted her shoulder and glanced at Tyler.
Tyler’s expression had grown slightly fixed. Had she caught a glimpse of his doubts? Did she worry that her daughter was having too much fun with him? Trying to shrug off his apprehensions, he disentangled Chloe from his legs and helped her into a chair. “Let me serve you,” he said to Tyler. Maybe he’d misinterpreted her, he thought. Maybe she’d been thinking of something else completely.
Throughout dinner, Tyler couldn’t help but notice the rapport between her daughter and Luke. Chloe blossomed under his attention, and Luke’s affection for her appeared quite genuine. She should have been glad. Chloe needed more positive male role models in her life, and she seemed to have connected with their hunky next-door neighbor. But Tyler only felt a growing uneasiness, which spurted each time Luke caught her eye and grinned, making her heart flip over. She was just as enthralled with him as Chloe, but, unlike her three-year-old daughter, she could foresee what would happen in the near future.
Luke would finish his book, or he would decide he needed a change of environment, or his sister would convince him to move back to Goulburn. Whichever way she diced it up, the outcome was the same. Luke was going to leave, and soon.
She didn’t have a problem with that, even though last night with him had been beyond sensational, beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She’d always known theirs was only a short-term hookup. But Chloe didn’t know Luke was just temporary, and here she was beaming and pulling faces at him and having more fun at dinner than she’d ever had. Tyler’s heart twisted. Poor baby.
When dinner was over, Luke insisted on washing up while Tyler supervised Chloe’s bath. She took her time with Chloe, thinking Luke might get bored with waiting, but when Chloe was ready for bed and wanted to say good night to Luke, he was still in the kitchen. The dishes had all been washed and packed away, the table was clean, and all the counters were wiped down and sparkling.