"Dad has a date," Shane said, unaware of the reaction his resounding revelation engendered.
"The son of a—"
"Chester!" Phyllis snapped.
"Station owners," Melody inserted into the breach. "He's having dinner with at least one of the station's owners." She blew the hair from her brow. "Business." Of the monkey variety, she failed to add.
"You can eat with me and Mel. See," Shane lifted the pumpkin for his grandmother to look inside. "Glop's almost gone. We're cookin' it."
"You're cooking glop for supper?"
Shane giggled. "Nah, we're throwin' that part away. We're putting meat and rice in this pumpkin and baking it, aren't we, Mel?"
How proud he looked. Melody smoothed his cowlick. "Sure are, buddy."
"And we're having pumpkin soup and eyeball eggs and spider cake and blood punch with a cutoff hand."
"Er, er, I'm afraid we're not—"
Logan's mother gave Melody's father a "look," and his bluster came to an abrupt halt. Imagine that.
"We'd love to stay," Phyllis said.
"PARLOR," Melody said. "Drinks!" But to her dismay, Phyllis Kilgarven and her father sat right down at her faded, flea-market table and mismatched kitchen chairs to
"visit," while she and Shane cooked. At least in her living room, her cabbage rose slipcovers gave the illusion that her furniture matched.
Her father picked up his glass of cider and stared at it as if looking for answers.
"Er, Mellie…"
She looked up from browning the meat and rice.
"I've, er, arranged for the Little Treasures division of Goose Creek Furniture to provide cribs to The Keep Me Foundation." He sipped his cider. "Your fault," he said, his gaze slipping from hers.
Melody fumbled her stirring spoon like a football. It bounced off the red-hot burner and sizzled a second, but she caught it and put it aside. She gave her father a tentative smile, blinking away tears. "I got splattered," she said, as an excuse for the tears, and he sighed in relief.
Logan's mother rose, winked, and rubbed Melody's arm on her way to inspect the pots on the stove. "Mmm," Phyllis said. "Smells good."
How could Logan remain so dense to the wonder of life, after having been raised by a mother who sensed a rare and uneasy moment of unspoken love? Not only had Phyllis sensed it, she embraced it without turning it into a weep-fest. No wonder Phyl and Jess were friends. One of these days, Melody thought, she might be moved to hug Phyllis Kilgarven.
Someday, she might even get up the courage to hug her father. For now, she would settle for having him enjoy the dinner she cooked.
When the stuffed pumpkin was almost done, Phyllis and Shane set the table, while Melody's father watched her with a kind of studied concentration. She had never been the recipient of so much of his attention before.
Both alerted and warmed by it, Melody set a bowl of pale creamy orange soup before him, and waited, almost with baited breath, as he dipped his spoon in and took a taste.
"I wanted to call it puke soup," Shane said, "but Mel wouldn't let me."
Her father choked as he swallowed. Phyllis handed him a napkin, and Melody slapped his back.
"Lift up his arms," Shane said. "That's what Dad makes me do."
When her father recovered his breath and a croak of his voice, he squared his shoulders and agreed to taste it again, under Phyl's encouraging eye, but he warned Shane with a look to keep his comments to himself.
"It's good," he pronounced before taking another taste.
Melody allowed herself to breathe. "It's creamy pumpkin," she explained.
"Shane's trying to give everything I cook a spooky name for my Halloween show."
Her father raised a brow and looked down his nose at the boy. "Yeah, well, puke soup sounds spooky, all right."
Shane gave him a half-smile, aware he'd goofed, and Phyl burst into a fit of laughter. She leaned down to kiss Shane's brow. "Love you, pup."
Shane beamed under the reprieve. "Love you, too, Gramma."
"Oh, Melody," Phyllis said with her first bite. "The stuffed pumpkin is delicious.
You're going to have to teach me to make it."
Melody hooted. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"You must have a good teacher; you're really making progress."
"Dad's teaching her."
"Is he?"
"But he didn't teach her this. She made it all by herself."
"We made it, you and me, buddy, and I think we should get a gold star."
"Paint one more for each of us on your door," Shane said.
Phyllis grinned. "So Logan's teaching you to cook… he didn't tell me, the scamp."
Yep
, Mel thought,
he's a real scamp
.
TIFFANY'S father did not attend the dinner gala or the performance of
The
Witchling
in Boston that night, as Logan had been led to expect, so it was just he and Tiffany, until he saw an old school chum and his wife and invited them to make a foursome.
It didn't take ten minutes to realize that in Tiffany's eyes, he'd goofed.
Nevertheless, Tim Henderson had been a good friend, and it turned out that his wife, Sue, had lived down the street. He remembered her from third grade, so dinner conversation flowed smoothly, comfortable and safe. The three of them had gone to public school together, but Tiffany had gone to private schools. They mowed their own lawns, vacuumed their houses; Tiffany had servants. Much to her dismay, they found no middle ground in tennis, yachting, or yoga, either, but when Logan mentioned
The Kitchen Witch
, everyone had plenty to say, all good, except Tiffany.
After dinner, they watched the performance of
The Witchling
in silence, and he and Tiffany drove home the same way.
In her driveway, however, Tiffany must have decided to forgive him, because she tried, with her kiss, to turn him on, while Logan tried to get turned on, if only to forget Melody.
"I knew we'd be good together," Tiffany said a long few minutes later, blind to Logan's hopeless struggle to participate in the seduction… blind whenever it suited her, he sometimes thought.
"Want to come up?" she asked.
"Up?"
"I have my own apartment upstairs. Separate staircase and everything." She ran a finger down his lapel. "No one would know."
"I would know." Logan almost said his son would know, too. Did Tiffany even realize he had a son? He wished he remembered so he could ease her into the knowledge, if need be. Better bide his time, he decided. If she knew about Shane, she'd mention it before long; if not, he would.
"Maybe next time," he said in response to her invitation, thinking he'd knock on Mel's door when he got home, make sure she and Shane didn't need anything. He walked Tiffany to her private entrance and kissed her once more, clearing his mind and giving the kiss his attention. "Night," he said as he left her standing there watching him.
Before he climbed back in the car, he found himself speculating as to what Mel's T-shirt might say tonight, considering her penchant for double meanings.
When he stepped from his garage fifteen minutes later,
Logan met with a sight that stopped him cold—his mother and Melody's father coming down the porch steps. He stepped back into the shadow of the garage when he remembered that he'd invited them to sample Mel's Halloween dinner. Damn.
Because she'd improved so much, he'd wanted her father to see how well she cooked. Give her a sense of accomplishment. Of course, he'd expected to be there to support her.
"Why did you do that?" his mother asked, and it took Logan a minute to realize she was talking to Mel's father, not to her recalcitrant son.
"Do what?" Seabright asked.
"Offer her money to buy decent furniture. You do realize that in doing so, you implied that she could not provide decently for herself. You put her down, Chester, and after that nice meal."
Logan grinned.
Go Mom
.
"I did no such thing. Mel is my daughter. I brought her up in a mansion with servants, and I hate to see her brought so low. I was just trying to be a good father."
"Bull. You don't try. You write checks, instead, because it's easier. You don't know how to be a father, good or otherwise. Money doesn't show love; it shows you're willing to give your daughter what you have in abundance. Try giving her some of your precious time for a change. Some understanding. Did you ever have a conversation with her about what she wants from life? What she enjoys? Do you have any idea?"
"Teach me, Phyl." Mel's father kissed his mother in a way that made Logan fist his hands, firm his spine, and close his eyes, so the sight didn't imprint itself on his brain.
"Fine," his mother said, somewhat breathless. "I'll teach you how to be a good parent, and you can teach me to enjoy life."
"Deal," Mel's father said. "Let's seal it with a kiss."
Jeez, give it a rest, will you
? Logan rolled his eyes, aware that the enjoyment his mother planned probably consisted of more than the sedate retirement-type recreation he'd envisioned for her.
He watched them drive off, wondering if they were sleeping together.
Don't go
there, Kilgarven. It's not your problem
. His problem lived downstairs, drove to work with him mornings, and invaded his sleep at night. And he owed her a big apology for forgetting to tell her he'd invited guests for dinner.
Logan checked his watch by the porch light. "Damn." Ten o'clock and they'd been here since when? Six, he thought he'd told them. Mel must be exhausted, and depressed by her father's ability to pull her down, and she must be ready to kill him.
Logan stood on the star-sprinkled side of her door and shook his head. Once, he'd been put off by those stars. Now he couldn't wait to open the damned thing, even if she threw a pot at his head. The stars seemed inviting, now, in a warm, nurturing sort of way.
He knocked softly and expected the door to drift open. When it held, he tried the knob. Locked… against him. Mel never locked her door.
He knocked again. Louder. Jiggled the knob. Only silence greeted him from the other side, a suspicious silence that included a strip of light flowing into the hall from beneath the door. She had not gone to bed.
Logan grinned and removed the loose plug of corner molding from the bottom left of her doorjamb, found the key, exactly where Shane had found it when he swept the stairs, and used it.
Melody stood leaning against her kitchen counter, all long shapely legs, one bare foot warming the other, eating devil's food cake from a crystal pedestal plate. "Hey, shark bait," she said, barely looking up when he came in.
Logan stifled every emotion, from a wince to a rush of lust. Her scarlet "come fly with me" T-shirt bore a witch on a broom crossing a bright butter moon, and ended pleasantly short of modest. "I'd give Shane hell for eating from a serving dish like that."
Melody narrowed her eyes and held her fork like a weapon as he approached.
"What, are you gonna do, fork me?" Logan grinned.
"I'd give Shane hell for inviting people to dinner, then taking off for a night of sexual frolic without telling anybody they were coming." She shot her golden dagger-eyes his way.
"I can explain," Logan said as he reached over to finger a glob of chocolate icing dangling from the bottom of her fork.
She swooped and licked it off his finger, about knocking him on his ass, and he froze, all systems on alert.
"Go ahead, explain," she said, shoving a fork full of cake into his mouth.
Explain what
? he thought, before ecstasy took over. "Damn, this is the best thing I've tasted all night."
"You're trying to get on my good side," she said. "No fair," but her grin of pleasure derailed Logan's train of thought once more, and he decided to savor both the cake and the sexual energy arcing between them.
"Lousy dinner?" she asked.
He shrugged and remembered where they were in the conversation. "Tasted like sawdust. Where's the punk?"
"Out cold in my bed."
"Your bed? Where will you sleep?"
"Daybed in the parlor. I'll be fine."
"You sure?"
"I want to keep him for the weekend. He's my bud."
"Thanks," Logan said, opening his mouth for the cake coming his way. "Special recipe?" he asked, looking for another bite.
"Yep, Fallen Angel-food Cake. It's Devilicious."
Logan's eyes danced even as he savored.
"Chocolate cake and icing," Melody said. "A spider web piped in white on top, occupied by three licorice spiders, all consumed by one four-year-old, I might add, who let their legs dangle from his lips as he chewed. Grossed my father right out, not for the first time tonight." She told him about the puke soup.
Logan chuckled. "Looks like you aced the meal, without your talented teacher.
What did you choose for the main course?"
Melody listed the menu, even showed him the leftovers, she was so proud. "My father ate almost everything, even the eyeball eggs. I think he was afraid your mother would scold him if he didn't."
Logan scoffed. "She's a woman of untapped talents." He cringed inwardly at the intimacy he'd witnessed. "So you and your father got along okay?"
"He was nearly on good behavior." Her gaze softened as she explained his donation of cribs to The Keep Me Foundation.
Logan thought she never looked more beautiful. "Sounds like his best behavior."