She flew out of bed, hurtled through drawers to find the appropriate dress-for-success attire-a frayed sweatshirt, old yoga pants. In the bathroom, she did the wash-face, brush-teeth thing, then swiped on two splashes of blush, braided her hair with a long scarf, loose, not tight, and didn’t bother with shoes because there was no time. She hoped she looked like he usually did. Casual. Honest. Natural. Definitely not overly put together.
Molly, Princess and Darling all crowded her in the kitchen. She whipped up eggs, added a dab of cream cheese and cheddar, fresh chives…dropped a fork, then the spatula. Princess leaped on the counter in a cloud of white fur; both pets wanted to be fed and loved; Molly wanted a change in hairstyle right now. She started the toaster, pulled out the marmalade, poured OJ into a glass pitcher…chased outside to wipe down the glass table on the deck…chased back in to find Molly sampling the marmalade with a spoon.
Panic didn’t set in. Not then. At least not totally. It was just that during all that frenzy of activity, a few teensy needling thoughts squeezed into her mind.
Such as…Mike had given her serious reasons why he’d voted for the celibacy route. Her showing up in his shower wasn’t exactly fair.
Such as…last night, it seemed terribly important that she not sit back, not be the kind of princess who needed a man to take charge. But by light of day, courage didn’t look like courage anymore. It sort of looked brazen. It sort of looked like a pushy, brazen woman had shown up in his shower, specifically when he’d said he didn’t want to be involved.
The more she thought…the more she wondered whether it was too late to hide under the nearest bed with heaps of blankets over her head.
She ran silverware and napkins and place settings out to the deck, ran back inside, cracked a nail on the door, shook it, turned the eggs, popped the first round of toast, heard the knock on the door.
Then panic set in.
“I know we’re late,” Mike said.
“That’s okay, we’re running just a tad late here, too.” She smiled brilliantly, hoping he couldn’t see that there was a gulp in her throat bigger than the state of Nevada.
He and Teddy were cleaned up, spiffed up. Teddy had a tucked-in shirt. Mike had a white polo that set off his tanned skin and a totally naked chin. He not only looked handsome beyond belief; he’d shaved. For her. And here she looked scruffier than his dog. He had to think she’d made no effort, where he so clearly had.
Their eyes met, and she almost dropped the eggs. Would have, if he hadn’t swooped in and taken the bowl. “Let’s help, guys,” he told the kids, which was an outstanding idea.
He not only looked jumpable; the look of him brought on more nerves, because she was afraid she would. Jump him. At the earliest opportunity. Apparently now that the Brazen Gene had been let out of her closet, it was going to be tough locking it back in.
Mike and the kids carted everything outside. She brought up the rear with the OJ pitcher and glasses-which Mike took out of her hands before she could drop them. The morning still had a sting of a chill, but the grass was diamond-studded with dew, the sun soaking-bright.
The kids dove in as if no one had ever fed them…but that didn’t last long. They started making faces at each other. Molly, ever the lady, exposed a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Teddy pulled his eyes apart with his fingers. Both of them pulled out their lips.
“It’s hard to believe they’re going to be part of civilized society in another twenty years, isn’t it?” she asked Mike.
He laughed. Not a loud laugh. But a throaty, sexy laugh. Turned her on all over again. “You promise it’ll only take twenty years?”
A forkful of egg arced in the air, landed in the lilies. “Hey, guys. That’s over the top. Who did it?” Amanda demanded.
“Not me,” Molly said.
“Not me,” Teddy said.
She pretended to buy into that bologna, turning a stern expression on Mike. “Mr. Mike, if you throw food again, you’re going to get a time-out, and I’m not kidding.”
That set the kids to giggling again. It was a lot easier, entertaining the four-year-olds than facing Mike alone. But eventually they got too squirmy to sit still, and Amanda gave them permission to go inside and play a game.
Unfortunately, once the kids deserted ship, the insanely messy table was the only thing between her and Mike. She’d felt his eyes on her, his smile on her, all through the picnic breakfast…but it was the first time she could really look back at him. At least in that naked way. That raw-nerves honest way.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked her.
“Slept good. Just not long enough. You?”
“Like a log. Although I wish you hadn’t had to run home. Was Molly all right?”
“Yes. It was just her lizard nightmare. But I still needed to be there.”
“Of course you did.”
Conversation stalled like a dead battery. Mike’s eyes never left hers. Finally he put his elbows on the table, hunching forward. “My guess is the kids’ll interrupt us in two minutes or less. So either we dive into talking about last night. Or let it be. You have a vote?”
“Better talk.”
“Ok. The last thing I expected was a naked woman in my shower last night. Was there maybe something that triggered that happening? That I should know about?”
“Well…” How could she explain something that just all clicked in her head all at once? “It was because of Molly. In the fight yesterday with the second-grader.”
Mike frowned. “I saw the shiner. But somehow it’s hard for me to imagine how the two issues could be connected.”
“Because. When I was talking to Molly-about fighting and violence never being a good answer-she got her back up. Some days she is such a redhead. And even though I’m not condoning her hitting anyone…later, it just kept occurring to me. Molly’s viewpoint was right. Sometimes it’s the girl who has to take charge.”
“Amanda. Try to concentrate. Because I’m getting more lost instead of less.”
Why did she have to be such an incoherent mess this morning? When it mattered? When everybody told her she was articulate in a crisis, how come she had such a hard time with Mike?
She clasped her hands together. “This is the thing. We’ve had this…connection between us. Neither of us want our kids hurt. Neither of us want it to go too far. But I just kept thinking, Mike, we’re friends. We’re both smart. I think there’s a level where we trust each other. So why couldn’t we do something we both want-and maybe need-as long as we’re both careful? But then…I thought…you really couldn’t be the one to take the plunge.”
“And why would that be?”
“For the same reason my daughter hit that little girl. And your son didn’t. Because you’re raising your son to be a gentleman. The same way you are.”
Something cooled in his eyes. A ruler stiffened his spine. “Trust me, Amanda. I’m not.”
“You are. In every way.” Her voice was warm, sincere…but from his expression, she seemed to be hitting him totally the wrong way.
“So.” His voice turned softer than butter. “You made the first move, because you didn’t think I had the guts to?”
“No. Good grief, Mike. No. That wasn’t what I meant at all-”
“I think it’s pretty clear. You and Molly think we’re the kind of guys who can’t do our own fighting.”
Now she was getting confused-as well as palm-cold anxious. “This wasn’t about fighting. Neither of us want our kids to fight. Both of us are teaching our kids that violence is not a way to solve anything-”