Ridley harrumphs. “I still think she was hiding draw fours in her sleeve to use on me. How many usually come in a pack?”
I snicker and pass him the deck. “You shuffle them to make yourself feel better. I’ll even shake out my sleeves to reassure you that I’m not hiding any secret weapons in them.”
He frowns. “I don’t have time for another game.”
Last I knew, he had nowhere else to be. But I play along, knowing it has more to do with being a sore loser than a busy schedule. “I should get back to the kitchen and see if Bev needs any help anyway. I’ll see you later?”
He nods begrudgingly, making Beth roll her eyes at him. I pat his shoulder in comfort as I walk around him, offering him the friendliest smile I can muster. Despite his trying to be mad, I know he can’t stay that way.
When I walk into the kitchen, I immediately put my hair into a ponytail and ask, “Do you need any—”
My question stops short when I see who’s standing at the oven next to Bev.
Thomas Moskins.
Vinnie comes over and puts a hand around my shoulders. “Look who came back to help! I told him he should have brought his fancy camera crew because I’m having a good hair day.”
My eyebrows go up as I glance over at his balding head, but I choose not to rain on his parade. Instead, I turn my focus back to the man whose house I left days ago. “What are you doing here?”
He stops stirring whatever is in the pot on the burner. “I wanted to help. Bev and Vinnie told me I could come back whenever I wanted.”
Bev bobs her head. “Yes, we did. I told you before, Win. Any friend of yours is welcome here.”
“But we’re not—” I stop myself from finishing that sentence and collect my thoughts. Amusement curls Thomas’s lips, but I do my best not to react. “I wasn’t expecting you. That’s all.”
“Well, we’re glad he’s here,” Vinnie tells me, dropping his arm. “We had a pallet full of canned goods come in this morning that weighed over one hundred pounds. We needed the manpower.”
Shipments usually come on Saturdays, but sometimes the loads are split into two. I suppose an early delivery isn’t uncommon, especially if they’re stocking up for the colder weather coming in a handful of months. It means more mouths to feed and shelter. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come earlier if I’d known you needed help.”
He waves me off. “You have a life, kid. I can’t always call whenever I need something. We have other volunteers.”
“Plus, have you seen these muscles?” Bev chirps in, gesturing toward Thomas’s arms. “If he can’t move ’em, none of us can.”
I swear I see the faintest shade of pink dot Thomas’s cheeks at the attention. Since when is he embarrassed by people complimenting his looks? He usually gets off on it.
“Now that you’re here,” Bev continues, coming over and guiding me to the oven, “you can help him finish with the pastas and sauces while Vinnie and I go set up the serving station. It’s nearly dinner.”
Before I can protest, Vinnie passes me a hairnet and follows his wife out of the kitchen.
“Well, that was…something,” I murmur, securing the net over my hair and studying the pots on the stove. One contains pasta, one has red sauce, and the other has white sauce. “Ah. Italian night.”
I can feel Thomas’s eyes on me as I check the pasta to make sure it’s not overcooking.
“You’re staring,” I state without having to look at him. In fact, I don’t want to. I’d rather dunk my hand in boiling marinara sauce than meet his gaze.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, bemusement in his tone.
I grind my teeth. “No.” It sounds unconvincing even to my ears. “What are you doing here?”
He puts his hand over mine to get me to stop fiddling with the pasta boiling. “I already told you,” he replies, taking the spoon away and setting it onto the counter. “I wanted to help.”
I finally turn to face him. “Why here?”
One of his shoulders lifts. “Because I enjoy cooking and I was hoping you’d be here.”
The admission is so casual, so nonchalant, that I almost think I heard him wrong. “Me,” I repeat slowly.
He dips his head once.
