Wound Up(53)
Grace’s chin rose so fast she nearly ended up with whiplash. “Really, you don’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” Darcy interjected. “While I appreciate that Justin brought you to the diner and let me feed you, it’s not the same as welcoming you into our home and sharing a meal.”
Her tone was so firm, so full of that mysterious parental power, Grace wasn’t sure how to argue.
“That’s a great idea.” Justin met her gaze, his guileless blue eyes seeming to challenge her to defy his mother.
“What will you make?” From the wide-eyed glances, Grace’s sudden question surprised everyone. Including herself.
Darcy composed herself first. “Well, I suppose that’s up to you.”
Justin glanced between the two of them. “How do you feel about chicken potpie?”
“Homemade?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never had it.” The admission was somehow difficult.
Justin’s chin whipped round, and he considered her with open curiosity. “You’ve never had chicken potpie?”
“Not homemade,” she said mulishly, wondering what in the world had crawled under her skin. It was as if she was experiencing her own version of Alien right here in the diner. Or The Exorcist. “No.”
Justin wordlessly considered her as Darcy commandeered the conversation. “That settles it. Justin can pick you up before dinner and—”
“Would you teach me to make it?” Grace’s quiet question stopped the older woman dead in her conversational tracks.
Darcy gave a gentle smile. “Come about an hour and a half early? Say, five-thirty? The girls will be home by then so it might be a little tight in the kitchen, but I’ve always believed a crowded kitchen is a sign of a happy home. And actually Justin makes a better potpie. He can teach you.”
* * *
JUSTIN COULDN’T HAVE planned that better if he’d tried, getting Darcy to corner Grace into coming to dinner. Granted, dinner with his family wouldn’t be sexy, but it would be undeniably intimate. And it meant he’d gotten Grace to commit to spending more time with him outside the office. He’d teach her to cook and chat her up.
All forward mental momentum stalled at that particular curve. The expression on Grace’s face when she’d asked Darcy to teach her, the way her voice had almost caught in her throat, it was yet more evidence of Grace’s fragility. “Body by Chef Boyardee,” she’d said, right after she’d laughed bitterly when he’d asked if her mother cooked. Clearly the woman was absent, but how? Why? He wanted to protect Grace from anyone who caused her pain, but right now that included him, so he’d have to tread carefully.
“Justin?”
He refocused on her. “Huh?”
A faint smile played around her lips. “If we don’t go, we’re going to be late.”
“Right.” Standing, he dumped some money on the table. “I’m out, people,” he called.
A chorus of goodbyes rang out and he absently waved before catching the expression on Grace’s face. He paused before glancing over his shoulder to see if something was amiss. Nothing. His brow creased. “What? What is it?”