Placing the plates, some glasses of ice water, and a side of garlic knots on a large bed tray, I took it into the den. Jari was crouched in front of a large shelving unit holding about two-hundred of my favorite movies and shows on DVD. He plucked one out, then rose, turning to face me while wearing a sheepish look.
“This one sounds good.” He waved a worn copy ofField of Dreamsin the air. “I’ve never seen it. I think it might be about baseball?”
I gasped. If I hadn’t been holding a tray of food and drink, I would have clutched imaginary pearls. “You’ve never seen it?” He shook his head. “How is this even possible? Okay, sit down. We are watching it right now.” I placed the tray on a glass coffee table, then plucked the case from his skilled fingers. “Sit, pick a plate.”
Rushing to slip the DVD into the player, I hurried back, flopped down beside Jari, and stole a fast kiss before handing him some silverware.
“Eat. Drink. Be enraptured by the beauty that was late eighties Kevin Costner.”
We wiggled back into the royal blue sofa, plates of lasagna on our laps, and started chowing down. Jari ate like a ravenous beast, forking the food in then smiling softly after every bite. I spent a good part of my time watching him instead of the movie. Not that I couldn’t recite it word for word. Show me a baseball player who didn’t know this movie inside and out.
“I should have thought to get some dessert,” I commented when we’d cleaned our plates. “What kind would you like for next time?”
“I don’t eat a lot of sweets, but if I had to pick a dessert, it would either be pineapple upside-down cake or mustikkapiirakka, which is a pie filled with bilberries and blueberries, then topped with vanilla sauce or ice cream. I love them both.”
I stored that away for a later date before returning my attention to the screen.
“This is pretty cool,” Jari whispered the first time the spectral White Sox took to that homemade diamond in Iowa. “I wonder if there’s a frozen expanse somewhere in Canada where, if you build a rink, the old players will step out of the woods to skate.”
“That would be epic,” I whispered, looping my arm around his shoulders with care. “This okay?” He snuggled into my side, then let his head fall to my shoulder. This was sheer perfection. “Good. So, what are you thinking about Mr. Costner?”
“He’s hot.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Not as hot as you,” he whispered before turning his face upward to press his lips to mine.
We lost the flow of the movie for a while as we kissed languidly. The kisses were sweet, much sweeter than anything I’d tasted in a very long time. I hated to have to say goodnight at the back door, but Jari had to be up early for a flight to LA for a short western road trip, so I handed him a dish of leftoversand then watched like a mama hen as he walked fifty-five feet to the pool house. When he was inside, I closed the door, smiling like a damn loon. Who knew a few kisses and an old movie could create the perfect night?
A week later,the kitchen counter was covered with the makings of a pineapple upside-down cake. I’d tried to find bilberries, but that was a no-go, so I went with pineapple. That was much easier to score in Pennsylvania.
Kirby, who had come over to clear his karma—aka get a break from his manuscript, which had hit a bump—was seated at the island watching me as he drank coffee. His ginger eyebrows were knitted as I tied an apron around my waist.
“Not to be that guy…” he said into his cup of fresh-brewed goodness. Probably the tenth he had knocked back so far. Authors do love their coffee.
I looked up from the recipe on my tablet. “No, I am not going to play the role of a terrified sommelier who is being stabbed to death with a corkscrew by a demented French marionette. The last time I pretended to die at the hand of one of your murderous puppets, I had nightmares for a week. To this day, I can’t watchSesame Streetwith the twins without flashbacks.”
“I’m really stuck on how to off someone in a creative way. That and I’m struggling with the romance.” I glanced up questioningly. “Between two of the puppets.”
“I didn’t realize that puppets could fall in love,” I replied, then returned my attention to the recipe waiting patiently for me.
“If they can come to life to kill people, why not fall in love?”
“Good point. When they say packed brown sugar do they mean packed in the bag or packed into the measuring cup?”
“I have no idea. I can text Joy; she likes to bake. The last time I tried to make cupcakes with the boys, the BCFD had to be called out.”
“Total exaggeration. Joy said the little fire extinguisher in the corner of the kitchen worked well.”
“Does she tell you everything?” I nodded. He sighed into his coffee. “Okay, well, that kind of leads into this whole thing.” I glanced up from my ingredients to him. He waved his mug at the mess before us. “What are you doing here?”
“For a college-educated man, that seems a silly question to ask,” I replied, then cracked open a jar of cherries to begin removing the stems. “I’m baking a cake.”
“I know that smartass.Whyare you making a cake? You don’t cook.”
“Technically, this is baking, not cooking.”
“Aren’t they the same?” I shrugged. “Okay, well, my question stands. Why are you doing this?” I popped a cherry, sans stem, into my mouth.
