Alex winced, prodding it with a fork. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t cook.”
Yup, I’d definitely impressed him with my incompetence. “I swear I set a timer. I don’t know what happened.”
“We can fix this,” Alex said.
I nodded to the baking dish. “You can fix that?”
“No. That’s beyond help. But we can still save the dinner party. I’ll be right back.” He clapped his hands together and sprinted from the condo.
“He’s come to your rescue, Aunt Jo,” Kitty said.
“How romantic,” Mia added.
I turned to where the girls sat at the dining room table and looked from one mischievous face to another, realization dawning on me. “I did set the timer, didn’t I? Did you two do this?”
“No,” Mia and Kitty said at the same time. Mia held my stare, revealing nothing, but guilt twitched at Kitty’s lips.
I closed my eyes, unable to look at either of them. The skinny-dipping was one thing, but this was out of hand. They could have burned my condo down, and for what? So Alex could come to my rescue? When I opened my eyes again, even Mia looked a little frightened. But Nina, Captain Xav, Ollie, and Belva would be here in fifty minutes. A brief lecture would have to do.
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you were trying to help me. Help I have zero need for, by the way. Whatever fantasy you’ve cooked up about me and Alex needs to fall out of your heads. The only thing you’ve managed to do is make me look completely incompetent.”
Kitty’s face fell, and tears sprang to her eyes. I sighed, holding back everything else I wanted to say. I already had one mess on my hands; I didn’t need another.
“Let’s get ready at Greyson’s,” Mia said, bumping shoulders with her sister.
“I think that’s a great idea.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and watched them leave. These girls, whom I loved more than anything in the world, could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.
Alex returned a few minutes after Mia and Kitty left, and I did a double take when he walked in the door. He’d changed out of his usual shorts and T-shirt and into a tux that fit him perfectly. His hair was combed back, the tousled waves neat for once, and his face smooth, as if he’d shaved that morning.
“That definitely didn’t come from a thrift store,” I said.
Alex followed me to the kitchen. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“No,” I said. I pulled at the hem of my T-shirt. Nina had bought it for me from a clearance rack in a Bonaire tourist shop a few years ago. On it was a shark in a Santa hat eating a scuba diver. A word bubble coming from its mouth read,It’s Beginning to taste a lot like Christmas! Bonaire, Dutch Antilles.“But I feel a little scrubby now. Maybe I ought to change too.”
“That’s not what you’re wearing tonight?” Alex said. “I’m a little disappointed. You’d make an excellent novelty T-shirt model.” He flashed a grin and set a reusable shopping bag on the counter. Between the tux and the smoke, I could hardly breathe and considered fanning myself with one of the takeout menus.
“I won’t have time to change,” he explained. “Where’s your apron?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well I know what I’m getting you for your birthday now. I’ll just have to be extra careful not to spill anything.” He pulled items from the bag and lined them up along the counter: salmon, pistachios, a lemon, spices, Parmesan, a box of orzo, a mound of asparagus.
I stared at the ingredients. This was already looking fancier than my failed chicken, and he’d come up with it on the spot. “What are we making?”
“I’mmaking pistachio-crusted salmon with Parmesan asparagus and lemon orzo.You’remaking deviled eggs and a salad.”
“Fair.”
He winked and set to work in the kitchen, fluttering through my cabinets and locating pans, bowls, and utensils. I’d seen him move around kitchens before—at his place, at work—but this was different, and not only because my kitchen was tiny, but because it wasmykitchen, and he was here, in a tux, saving my dinner party. We worked together in silence, our arms grazing when we reached for an ingredient at the same time or swapped places: him to the stove, me to the sink. It was all very distracting, but somehow, I finished the deviled eggs and the salad.
I stood at the edge of the kitchen and watched Alex work, trying to be upset with Mia and Kitty. What was sexier than a man in a tux cooking a fancy dinner with you in a sardine can–sized kitchen?
“Jo?” Alex said, and I blinked.
