He put the wrench back into his toolbox on the counter, turned around... and almost jumped out of his skin.
“Hi.” Anita gave him a little wave. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She peered around him to the sink, then looked at him again. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, sure.” He leaned against the counter, trying to act casual and as if he hadn’t soaked himself right before she arrived. “Just a leaky pipe. No big deal.”
“That must have been some leak.”
Was she blushing? Her cheeks were the color of fresh-picked apples, and he had no idea why they would be. “Not really. I forgot to turn off the shutoff valves.” He picked up his wet shirt and tried to find the armholes.
“I wanted to thank you for taking my class today,” she said, moving away a few steps until she was standing behind one of the kitchen chairs. She stared at the table in front of her. “I hope they weren’t too much trouble.”
“They weren’t. That Hunter is a pistol, though.”
She laughed. “That he is. His older brother was too. He was in my class two years ago.”
“They’re all pretty cute, though.” Unable to make heads or tails of his shirt, he rolled it up into a ball.
His mother entered the kitchen with a bright smile onher face.Uh-oh.He liked seeing his mother happy, but notthishappy. “We were just about to have lunch, Anita.”
Riiiight. On Sundays he and his mother usually grabbed a sandwich and went their separate ways—her to nap in the recliner and him to tend to a few neglected chores around the house.
“We’dlovefor you to join us,” Mom said, sounding as subtle as a moose crashing a ballet.
Anita hesitated, and for a second he thought she would refuse. Then she said, “Thank you for inviting me.”
His mother turned to him, barely able to contain her giddiness. “Go change your clothes,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, then smiled back at Anita.
“Be right back.” He hurried out of the kitchen and ran upstairs, stripped off his pants, and searched for clean clothes in the disaster that was his bedroom. He finally found a gray T-shirt and black shorts, jamming them on and hoping his mother and Anita weren’t talking about him. Or worse, about last night.
He ran back downstairs in his bare feet and rushed into the kitchen, almost sliding into the table where his mother and Anita were sitting. Geez, now he was breathless. “What do you two want for lunch?” Smoothing down his damp hair so he didn’t look like he’d electrocuted himself, he started for the pantry. “Sandwiches? Soup? I can whip up some tuna or chicken salad—”
“I’m making lunch today.” Mom rose from the table and walked over to him. “You cook all week. Have a seat and relax.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. Nopoint in arguing with her, as usual. He sat down across from Anita. “Yeah, I was glad to take over your class today,” he said, making sure Mom knew that Anita was here to thank him and not for any other reason. “The kids and I had a good time.”
“Tanner’s always been wonderful with children,” Mom said, her smile spreading from ear to ear.
When had his mother seen him with children? Unless she was talking about Lonzo when he was little. Otherwise he’d never been around kids.
“Do you like sweet tea, Anita?” Mom asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I help you with anything?”
Mom poured two glasses of tea from the pitcher she’d made when they arrived home from church. “That’s lovely of you to offer, but no thank you.” She walked to the table and handed each of them a glass. “Why don’t you two go into the living room and visit while I finish up lunch? I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
Anita faced him, a questioning look in her eyes.
He didn’t like the tension between them, and he definitely didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable in his home. “Sure, Mom, thanks.” He got up from the chair and motioned for Anita to follow him to the living room.
“I didn’t expect to stay for lunch,” she said as soon as she sat on the couch. “I hope I’m not imposing.”
“Believe me, you’re not.” He parked himself on the chair opposite the sofa and set the tea glass on the coffee table. “Mom likes company. We don’t have people over too often because she works so much.” Hard to admit, but it was true. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a guest over.
She nodded, then stared at her tea glass, showing no signs of having a hangover. She was wearing an outfit more typical of her style—slim jeans, an apricot-colored sweater, and gray slip-on tennis shoes. “She’s not the only one, is she?” she said.
If Anita was noticing his overloaded work schedule, that wasn’t good. “Things will slow down soon.” Not all that soon, but eventually, and then he could chill. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now. Kingston came over this morning.”
