“Who’s the guy?” Liz repeated. “I’ll find out eventually,” she said when Sophie refused to answer. “It’s not like you can keep a secret.”
“Excuse me. I’m an attorney.” She slathered a cookie with frosting. “Keeping secrets is part of my job. And you’re a doctor. Secrets are a part of your job, too.”
“True. But your pheromones are hardly a medical condition.”
Sophie put three gumdrop buttons on her gingerbread man. “I’m stronger and smarter than my pheromones.”
“Of course you are.” Liz’s lips twitched.
Sophie studied her cookie. His smile was crooked, his bowtie askew, and the buttons were too big for his body. She bit off his leg. He tasted better than he looked. “I’m going to kiss Aidan tonight.”
“Oh sweetie.” Liz’s mouth turned down. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not? We’ve been semi-dating for weeks.” She polished off the cookie, licked her fingers, and wiped her hands on a napkin. It didn’t help. She still felt sticky.
“But you’ve been friends for years. Don’t blow that.”
Sophie went to the sink to wash her hands. “Don’t you see? I think that’s the problem. Neither of us is willing to step outside of the friend zone.” She picked up another cookie and coated him in frosting. “I’m going to do it.”
Jamison beamed at her as if this were a very good idea, but Teddy looked up from the TV and sent her a speculative glance as if trying to decide what number she was.
“No, you know what?” A small thrill of determination passed through Sophie. “I’m going to makehimkissme.”
Liz’s smiled returned. “And how are you going to do that?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Sophie winked. “But I’ll let you know how it goes.”
#
Sophie smiled as she pulled her Stromboli from the oven and thanked her Italian grandmother for this edible piece of heaven. She hummed along with Bing Crosby as he crooned about a white Christmas while she slathered garlic butter on sliced French bread. She’d bought a bunch of white daisies and placed them in a vase on the table along with a red and white checked tablecloth and a pair of long black candlesticks.
Jamison pounded on his high chair tray and gurgled at her. She gave him a few green beans and watched as he shoved them into his mouth and gummed them. How would Aidan feel about a ready-made family? They’d known each other since grade school and had been friends in high school. Since they’d both been in the band—he played the clarinet and she the flute—they’d had mutual friends, including Liz and Mark. Chloe had been two grades ahead, as had Matt. Luke three.
But why was she thinking about Luke? She dragged her attention back to Aidan. He was everything she needed. Everything she wanted. After double checking her lipstick in the mirror, she went into the living room. The toys had been picked up and piled into a tidy basket behind the sofa. Atticus’s quilt was folded neatly on the hearth. A glance at her watch told her that she still had another hour until Jamison’s bedtime.
She didn’t know how to woo a guy with a baby underfoot.
She didn’t know how to woo a guy, period. In college, she’d been so busy trying to keep her grades up to maintain her scholarship, to make sure she got into a good law school. And then in law school, she hadn’t had time to take a breath. She couldn’t be one of the starving attorneys who didn’t pass the bar since no one was going to financially bail her out.
A crunch of tires on the gravel driveway and a set of headlight beams told her she needed to learn wooing fast. She was a quick study and she’d done some reading on pheromones and human sexuality. If she wanted him to kiss her, she needed to touch him and stare at his lips while they talked. Seemed simple enough. She peeked out the window.
Luke.
What was he doing here?You’ll meet me for dinner tonight. His words floated back to her. She glanced at the flickering candles in the dining room, horrified because now he’d assume she’d prepared the dinner for him. She tripped over the ottoman in her hurry to snuff out the candles.
Jamison chortled, delighted, thinking she’d intentionally fallen.
She tossed the candles into the kitchen and switched on the dining room light. It still looked romantic. Should she ditch the flowers as well?
The doorbell rang.
She tried to scrub off her lipstick and mussed up her hair on her way to the door. In the hall, she adjusted her blouse, wishing she had time to throw a sweatshirt over it.
“Hey,” she said, trying to smile and act nonchalant.
Luke smiled. “Wow, it smells like heaven in here.”
“My grandmother Morelli’s recipe.”
