The Parent Trap(30)

“Jonathan? Hi.” That was a familiar voice.

“Sarah, hi.” Her silky pink shirt, almost an exact match to the blush on her cheeks, and the slim navy skirt were as runway perfect as they’d been that morning. She’d shed the jacket, though, and a small cream handbag dangled from her shoulder on a gold chain.

“How was your first day?”

“Good. It was good. I think it’s a great school.”

“It is, isn’t it? How was soccer practice?”

“It went very well. There are some excellent players on the team, and your daughter is one of them.”

She smiled as only a mom could. “I’m very proud of her.”

“Are you picking up things for dinner?” he asked, changing the subject before it segued from her daughter to his. He wanted to talk to Kate and hear firsthand about her day before he had to answer questions about her or discuss how she was settling in.

“We’re going out for burgers tonight, but I needed a few things for breakfast this week.”

He glanced into the basket she had on her arm. Frozen waffles and a box of breakfast cereal that promised very few calories while delivering a boatload of vitamins and minerals. A quart of skim milk.

“What are you making?” she asked. “Whatever it is, it looks healthy.”

“Spaghetti with marinara sauce, salad, garlic bread. It’s one of Kate’s favorites.”

“I can see why. It sounds delicious.”

She was a great mom who had an enviable relationship with her teenager but didn’t know how to cook. Give him a handful of ingredients and he could whip up a meal, but he couldn’t figure out how to connect with his daughter. The irony didn’t escape him, but he had a feeling it was going to haunt him, especially given Sarah’s cool demeanor. Since this wasn’t the place to launch into an apology, he decided to use the marinara sauce as way to open the door. He would make extra, and after dinner he would run a container of it next door. Would she think he was being pushy? Desperate? He hoped not.

Sarah’s phone went off and she pulled it out of her handbag and read the screen. “We’re out of microwave popcorn so I need to pick that up. Good to see you, and I’m glad everything went well today.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk briskly down the aisle. At the far end, she stopped to chat with someone. He realized he was still staring at her legs and pulled himself back to the task at hand. Dinner. He surveyed the contents of his cart and set off for the dairy and bakery sections for Parmesan and French bread. He liked to start from scratch whenever he could, but there was no time to bake bread. A whole loaf would make a lot of garlic bread, so he’d wrap up some of that and take it over to Sarah’s with the sauce.

Seriously? You need to get a life and stop worrying about feeding the family next door.

Twenty minutes later he had made it through the checkout and driven home and was in the kitchen unpacking the groceries. Back in the city, the rush-hour commute alone would have taken way more time than that.

Kate wandered downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Fine.”

He grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, took out a pair of tumblers and filled them, adding a lime wedge to each.

“Here you go.” He leaned across the island and set hers in front of a stool, a silent invitation for her to join him. To his surprise, she accepted.

He set out a cutting board and knife and went to work on the vegetables for the sauce.

“I hope your classes went well,” he said, deciding it best to avoid questions if possible.

“Yeah, they’re okay. Mr. Balcarres, my art teacher, is really awesome. Our first project’s going to be a mixed media collage. I’ve already started sketching out my ideas for that.”

Huh. More words in one stretch than he sometimes heard in a whole day.

“Good for you. I’ll look forward to seeing that when it’s done.”

“He said everyone’s piece will be on display because he’s set up an exhibit wall near the main office. All through the term he’ll be choosing everyone’s best pieces for a show at the art gallery. Isn’t that cool?”

“That’s very cool.” He’d met Emile Balcarres in the staff room at lunchtime and immediately liked the man’s calm and thoughtful demeanor. Now that it sounded as though he was the kind of teacher who went the extra mile for his students, Jon liked him even more.

He pulled a couple of saucepans from the pot drawer next to the stove, set one on an element and poured in a generous glug of olive oil to start the sauce, then filled the other with water for the pasta.