Authors: Sami Lee
“Here,” he said as he handed his father back the tongs and took the spare light beer he carried instead. “You take over before I make a mess of your world famous Hawaiian chicken kebabs.”
“You, the master chef?” Allen Wilcox laughed. “You could barbeque in your sleep, son—although distracted by a woman, I’m not so sure.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t kid a kidder, Mike. You and Eve can barely keep your eyes off each other, and I, for one, think it’s great.”
“We can’t—Wait. … You do?” Mike swore under his breath and took a deep swig of beer. “I used to have a perfectly good command of the English language.”
“Until Eve O’Brien started frying your brain.” His dad turned down the burners on the barbeque and glanced sidelong at him. “It wouldn’t be such a bad idea, would it? You and Eve and Bailey… Maybe you’d be good together.”
“You’re getting way ahead of yourself Dad,” Mike warned. “I’m only staying with her temporarily. We’re not talking about anything permanent here.”
There was a thoughtful pause before Allen said, “If that’s the case, I think you ought to back off from Eve, son. She’s a decent girl and I reckon she’d stand by you through thick and thin if the need arose. Look at the way she took Bailey in, fulfilling her best friend’s wishes even though it completely up-ended her life. She’s a good egg, that one. Try not to break her, okay?”
Not knowing how to respond, Mike looked out across the yard. Bailey had picked up the ball and had toddled several steps with it pressed against his chest, his walking getting better every day. He was growing up so fast, and Mike was really enjoying being a part of it.
And Eve… Eve was watching Bailey make his way across the yard, a wistful smile on her face. It hit him then, so many things about her that had previously mystified him making sense.
Her fierce determination to be the one to make the blasted cake, her unrelenting self-recrimination over what was a perfectly understandable oversight about Bailey’s birthday. Her difficulty in asking for or accepting help. She must not have felt she could rely on anyone, if she couldn’t rely on her own mother. If she appeared unsure of how to conduct her relationship with Bailey, it was no doubt because she had nothing on which to model it.
Eve wasn’t very expressive when it came to having fun with Bailey because she didn’t know
how
to be.
Placing his half-empty drink on the edge of the barbeque, Mike started toward her, pushing his father’s warning words to the back of his mind. He wasn’t going to seduce Eve. He didn’t want to hurt her. All he wanted to do was help her get over her demons so she could truly bond with his nephew. That was what she needed him for, whether she knew it or not.
“Hey, you two,” he called as he approached. “Is this a private game or can anyone join in?”
Somehow Eve had been manoeuvred so she stood in front of a pair of equally spaced potted plants Mike had arranged to represent a soccer goal, resting her hands on her knees as though she were anxiously anticipating the next strike. A strike that was hardly going to beat her reflexes, given the way Bailey kicked the ball. Or rather threw the ball.
But she soon found that wasn’t the point. Mike’s animated calls of encouragement made Bailey beam with excitement, and he soon got the substance of his uncle’s frantic pointing and waving toward the make-shift goal. He began carrying the ball on increasingly hasty steps toward Eve, dropping it triumphantly at her feet.
“Hey, almost, kiddo!” Mike called. “A little more
oomph
next time and you’ve got her. She’s wide open.”
Eve sent him an indignant look. “Wide open? I’m covering my territory exceptionally well, thank you.” Her lips tilted as she picked up the ball, pretending to use all her strength to throw it when in reality she made sure it landed not far beyond Bailey’s reach.
“Are you kidding? With your response time, you couldn’t stop a tortoise.”
“Ha!” She huffed, wishing she still had the soccer ball so she could throw it at his head. Talk about method acting. “I dare you to have another go, Bailey.
I
think I’m unpassable.”
Bailey grinned at her, the picture of mischievousness. He looked at Mike for support, who said, “Don’t listen to her, B. She’s a rookie, she’ll crack under the pressure. Go for it!”
Bailey looked between the both of them several times before turning in Eve’s direction and propelling forward on his remarkably strong legs. Eve leaned to the right, he swerved left. Eve leaned left, Bailey went to the right and darted toward the goal. Eve let him pass, taking an exaggerated dive across the goal line that Bailey had already thrown the ball at. As she lay on the ground feigning injury, the ball rolled between the plant pots. “Oh, no!” she cried. “My chance at the pros, gone!”
Bailey let out a squeal of delight, clapping his hands together above his head before turning to retrieve the ball. Eve was so busy laughing at his antics that she didn’t realise what he was planning until it was too late to block his aim as he threw the ball. It landed right on her stomach, causing her breath to whoosh out of her.
Bailey let out a shout of triumph, but Mike was beside him in seconds, scolding him. “Not at Eve, kiddo. You hear me. No.” He turned toward her, concern furrowing his brow. “Are you okay?”
The knock had barely winded her, but his razzing about her cracking under pressure still rang in her ears, making her want revenge. She grimaced and held her stomach. “I don’t know. You might need to help me up.”
As he reached for her outstretched hand, Eve used her foot to sweep him off balance. He landed with a thump on the soft grass beside her. Bailey grinned and launched toward them, his momentary bewilderment at having been chastised forgotten. Soon they were all three rolling on the grass, Bailey giggling as Mike blew raspberries on his stomach and Eve laughing so hard her stomach actually did start to hurt.
When she grabbed her abdomen and moaned, Mike said, “No way I’m falling for that one again.” He was leaning on his elbow looking down on her with a devilish grin that lit his eyes to a glittering green.
“I didn’t really knock you over, did I?”
“Are you accusing me of taking a fall?”
“Something tells me this fly-weight rookie shouldn’t have toppled the great Mike Wilcox so easily,” Eve said, unable to stop her eyes roaming over him in his dark blue jeans and blue and white striped polo shirt. There was altogether too much solid muscle on that frame to make that fall believable.
“I don’t think you give the fly-weight goalie’s effect on my balance enough credit. You pack quite a punch, sweetheart.” His gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering for long enough to make her breath catch before returning to her eyes. He reached up and plucked a dried leaf from her hair, his fingers stopping to toy with a strand of it where it lay against the grass.
Eve’s heartbeat hammered. Her breathing grew shallow. Her poor abused stomach turned over and did back flips. And he thought
she
packed a punch.
But the moment was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Mike blinked, his eyes clearing as he pulled away, frowning. “I think lunch is about to be served.”
He was on his feet offering her his outstretched hand before Eve could decide if the look he’d given her meant anything at all, let alone what she’d thought it had—that he was thinking about kissing her.
Thank heavens he hadn’t given in to the impulse—if he’d really had one—in his parents’ back yard. Eve spied Denise standing at the outdoor setting looking with speculation in their direction. Allen was cleaning off the barbeque and shaking his head to himself … over what Eve had no idea.
Reluctantly accepting Mike’s hand and the hot sizzle that shot through her at the contact, Eve allowed him to pull her to her feet. Their bodies bumped gently. More sizzle. She was being very slowly sautéed by a master chef.
They both took a step back and Eve turned to make sure Bailey was following them, focussing her attention on him to avoid being caught gazing at Mike like some lovesick puppy.
As they approached the outdoor table laden with food, Mike leaned toward her, just close enough that he couldn’t be over heard. “A word of warning—steer clear of the potato salad.”
Eve had to stifle a laugh, his joke relieving some of the tension. “You are so fussy about your food.”
“Try it at your own peril, and don’t say I didn’t warn you. My mother’s no master cook.”
“Mike, you shouldn’t say things like that about your mother! The poor woman’s probably slaved over a hot stove all these years just to put three square meals on the table and you complain.”
“I’m not sure programming the microwave can be considered slaving over a hot stove. Come to think of it, I probably became a chef out of sheer desperation, not just because I hated the idea of a desk job.”
Trying to picture Mike in an office, in a suit and tie, was impossible. He was an innately physical person.
The thought made her body tremble in delicious ways.
The clouds weaved around the sun, affording only intermittent warmth and light while they lunched on the back patio. Bailey gnawed happily on some chicken meat Allen had cooked especially for him—minus the sharp kebab stick—some pineapple and cubes of cheese. The adults ate the marinated kebabs, greens and crusty bread. The food was delicious, the white wine Allen had poured her crisp and light.
And Denise’s potato salad was awful.
With a deftness she was quite proud of, Eve hid her distaste, smiling as she choked down the last mouthful of the offensive dish. “That was delicious, Denise. Thank you.”
Mike gave her a look that told her he knew the extent of her deception, but Denise smiled with pride. “Thank you Eve. I’d be happy to give you the recipe, but it’s kind of my own creation, a bit different every time. I usually add a touch of chilli sauce but I didn’t have any, so I had to improvise.”
Eve wasn’t sure what was worse—the thought of chilli sauce in potato salad or the mystery of what Denise had used instead. “That’s okay, I don’t get much time to cook anyway. That’s why it’s been really great having Mike around.”
Why had she said that? She didn’t want Denise to think anything was going on between them. The way she had been eyeing them earlier while they frolicked on the grass had held a gleam of suspicion. The last thing she should be doing was singing Mike’s praises to his mother.
“I’ll bet it has been,” Denise agreed, her smile not seeming quite so genuine any more. Her eyes flickered between her son and Eve shrewdly. “I suppose it must be hard, taking up responsibility for Bailey all on your own. It’s a hard slog for a single woman.”
Eve wanted to tell her being single wasn’t a disease, but managed a careful smile instead. “I can handle it.”
Denise gave a sympathetic shake of her head. “Still, it would be much easier if you could share the load. Lord knows Mike won’t be around forever. He’s never one to let the grass grow under his feet.”
“Mum.”
Denise ignored Mike’s attempt to get her to shut up. “I’m just saying, I’m sure Eve doesn’t want to be alone forever. Maybe it’s time she started seriously dating.”
Someone other than her son, was the implication.
“Denise, for Pete’s sake! Can’t you see you’re embarrassing the girl?” Allen interjected gruffly, before suggesting, “Why don’t we get Bailey’s cake organised?”
“Good idea,” Mike agreed, shooting daggers at his mother who complied under obvious sufferance.
Eve wondered why she wasn’t angry about the overzealous protection of both the Wilcox men. After all, she could hold her own, even with Denise, and didn’t need either of them to swoop in and save her. Perhaps it was a simple case of relief that she didn’t have to respond to Denise’s suggestion about her dating someone. The very idea felt like anathema to her at the moment, although the picture of her
being alone forever
didn’t hold a wealth of appeal either.
She supposed that one day, she might be ready to consider the idea of a relationship with a man. Some day, when she was ready.
Ready for what? To date a man without comparing him to Mike?
In frustration, she reminded herself that she and Mike were not an item, and they would not be right for each other if they were. He was unpredictable, impulsive and easy to be around. She was … none of those things. And, as Denise had so unsubtly reminded her, Mike wasn’t likely to stick around. Their situation was only ever meant to be temporary. Soon he would move out.
The thought didn’t make her as happy as she would have expected, given that she had never wanted him to move in to begin with. In fact it didn’t make her happy at all.
Denise brought out the cake, and they all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Bailey, who merely looked at them all with curious blue eyes. When it came time to blow out the candle, Eve and Mike leaned down automatically to help him, their eyes connecting over the single flame. The look in his stopped the breath in Eve’s throat, and Mike had to extinguish the candle on his own.
Sitting back in her chair because her knees felt like they might give out, Eve helped cut and serve the cake. When they had all eaten their fill and Bailey had painted his face with chocolate icing, Eve sighed. “That was exquisite.”
“If you do say so yourself?”
Eve gave Denise a level stare. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed Mike helped me.”
“I didn’t think that at all! Not after you were so determined to do it on your own.”
“Well, it turns out I’m not much of a cook,” Eve admitted. “Mike had to step in.”
“She had trouble with the oven is all,” Mike lied unashamedly. “It’s temperamental.”
This time Eve did feel a flash of anger at his determination to protect her. Couldn’t he see siding with her against his mother only made the situation worse? It was Denise who deserved his loyalty, not her.
From the bitter twist of the other woman’s lips, Eve deduced she was thinking exactly the same thing.
“You don’t need to defend me,” Eve told Mike.
“Yes, Mike,” Denise turned on her son. “You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”
“Perhaps it’s because you seem to always be on the attack where Eve’s concerned.”