Debbie scowled and shook her head.
Three little boys raced into the kitchen with hands over their ears as Austin hopped up the counter again.
Debbie tossed him the dish towel, and he waved it like the head flag twirler in his high school color guard.
Once the house quieted again, Savannah finished cleaning her brushes and shooed the boys back to the playroom.
Austin stifled a few chuckles and helped Debbie clean up the mess in the oven. They decided to finish cooking what was left of the lasagna tomorrow.
A few minutes later, Debbie dug through her freezer. “I know I have ground beef in here somewhere.”
“Listen, I can just take my kids home and fix them something.”
She pulled her head from the freezer. “No. I promised to feed your family dinner, and I’m going to do exactly that.” She pulled out a package. “Aha. See. All I need to do is defrost this and boil some noodles. I’ve got canned spaghetti sauce—don’t tell my mom—that will make this go fast, I promise.”
Austin should remind her it was almost his boys’ bath time already, but they’d be mad if he made them miss out on spaghetti—their favorite—to go home and have a sandwich. Not to mention the cookies.
“Fine, what can I do to help?” He took off his dirty work shirt and draped it over a chair, leaving him wearing a snug white t-shirt.
Debbie stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words.
Warmth flooded through Austin as he took a minute to appreciate her skinny jeans and green blouse. Her eye color really did change with her shirt color. Today the Caribbean blue eyes looked more like velvety moss; moody and dramatic.
Was she as attracted to him as he was to her?
Debbie sucked in a sharp breath and turned away. Standing on tiptoe, she pulled open the cupboard above the microwave. “Can you reach the olive oil for me, please?”
Austin stepped closer and leaned into her space.
She took a small step back.
Locating the olive oil, he pulled it down and handed the almost full bottle to her. Remembering the electric shock he’d experienced when she hugged him, he jerked his hand back to avoid touching her fingers. But Debbie didn’t have a firm grip on the oil yet.
The plastic bottle fell to the floor, bounced the cap off, and launched oil six feet into the air before landing on its side and spilling its contents at their feet.
Debbie gasped, her face registering shock. Streaks of olive oil ran down her cheeks.
Austin stammered. “Wha— I’m so sorry. I thought you—” Olive oil ran down the side of his nose onto his lips. He fought the urge to gag.
He bent to pick up the bottle.
Debbie spun around and grabbed the roll of paper towels. “I should buy stock in this stuff.”
She threw a handful of squares at him, grabbed more to wipe her face, then dropped to the floor and began swiping with frantic motions. “I can’t believe this!”
He knelt to help her clean up the mess that was all his fault.
Debbie’s pace slowed, her shoulders slumped, and she made a strange gurgling sound.
Oh no. She’s been pushed past her breaking point.
He hated comforting women when they cried. He never knew the right things to say. His mom always told him he didn’t need to fix everything, sometimes women just needed a man to listen, but that was hard to do when all they did was cry.
He placed a gentle hand on her back. “Hey, it’s okay.”
She looked up at him with tears streaming down her face. She made a strange hiccupping sound before finding her voice. “My sisters…” she gasped for air, “always complained about days like this.” Another hiccup-snort sound escaped her. “And I envied them.” Her breathing shifted, and she dissolved into full-bodied laughter.
The rich musical sound made his heart hammer against his ribcage.
