Naughty Or Nice. Sherri Browning Erwin

a construction site. Kneading is incredible stress relief.”

      “I can’t believe you actually get home from a long day of building and bake bread,” I said, out loud, then wanted to kick myself for directing my stare to his strong, workingman hands. Thick fingers.

      “Something about punching down dough just takes the edge right off.” He put down his fork and pounded a fist into his other open hand. “You should try it sometime.”

      “Oh, I have. I can see that it might be therapeutic. But you just don’t seem the type.” I sipped my wine to chase away the image of Josh working dough with his hands, sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms.

      “What type do I seem?”

      “The biker bar type.” I laughed, thinking of my earlier image of leather-clad Josh knocking back a beer with a buxom blonde at his side. The wine had relaxed me and loosened my tongue.

      “Ha!” He laughed. “Just call me Easy Rider.”

      His eyes twinkled in the way that made me think of my birthstone, aquamarine. They held me rapt, the way the light refracted from his glistening pupils. Those eyes were dangerous! They should be declared a lethal weapon. It took a minute to break my stare and realize that we were carrying on a conversation as if we were the only two at the table. “So, um, Marc, who do you play Monday night?”

      “Indianapolis. The Colts are also undefeated, so it’s going to be a good one. I wish I could get on the field.”

      “The knee’s still giving you trouble?” Josh asked.

      “Yeah. Every now and then. The coach is good about trusting my instincts. I tell him when it’s good to go and when I need to take it easy.”

      “You’re lucky to be with an understanding coach. A lot of teams might keep putting you out there, testing your limits.”

      “I know it. I do like it here. For so many reasons.” Marc looked at Ellie and then up at Kate, warmth lighting his brown eyes to a golden amber glow.

      Kate smiled, but didn’t seem to pick up on Marc’s meaning. How clueless could she be?

      I tried to throw Kate a look, but Sarah piped in. “Mom, my teacher’s going to call you next week.”

      Aha, that was never a good sign. I noticed she waited for the right time to strike, with friends and family around and Mom building a nice wine buzz. Smart.

      “About what?” I said, keeping it casual. She knew I wouldn’t lose my temper now.

      “Math. I’m having trouble. I kind of failed my last quiz.”

      “Kind of failed?” Josh and I asked in unison.

      She blushed. “Did fail. But the teacher said I can make it up. It’s not that I don’t understand balancing equations. It’s that I go too fast and make stupid little mistakes, so that the answer ends up wrong in the end.”

      “I used to have that problem,” Josh said. “My teacher solved it by teaching me to play cribbage, believe it or not. Playing sharpened my adding skills, but it also helped me to focus, to slow down and see the big picture.”

      “Cribbage?” Sarah asked.

      “It’s a card game. You play with a board.”

      “We have one,” I said. “Patrick and I used to play. He always won. It’s in the game cabinet.”

      “Cool. So, Josh, will you teach me after dinner?”

      “I don’t see why not.”

      As if tired of being neglected in favor of food and conversation, Ellie let out a wail.

      “I’ll get her.” Marc jumped up. “You stay, Kate. Eat.”

      “Oh no. That’s fine. She probably needs mommy time.” Kate stood, but Marc scooped Ellie up in his arms. As if to prove her mother wrong, Ellie stopped crying and let out a delighted coo once in Marc’s arms.

      “You see?” Marc said. “I can handle it. You enjoy your dinner and I’ll have my turn once she’s settled.”

      “Wow, thanks.” Kate seemed pleased. I glanced over at Josh, who was watching the sweet domestic scene play out between Marc, Kate, and Ellie.

      “So, kids,” Josh interrupted the silence that settled over the table as everyone finished eating, “before we have that game of cribbage, we’re going to get your mom settled again in the other room and then the three of us will do the dishes and clean up.”

      “Josh, that’s really nice of you. But I think I’m fine now. It won’t be much for me to get back and forth in the kitchen. You’ve done enough.”

      “Not nearly. You still need to take it easy. I’m good in the kitchen. Trust me.”

      I felt a wave of guilt at playing up my injury. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.” A man who could bake bread and make one of the best Caesar salads I’d ever tasted certainly didn’t need to prove himself in the kitchen. “But I can do it. Really. I would feel better if I could help out.”

      “Sorry, Mom,” Spence said, “Josh is right. We’re going to handle kitchen duty tonight. You get to rest on the couch.”

      “Wow, I think some of that hair dye may have invaded your brain cells. Are you feeling well?” The kids never wanted to help in the kitchen. I could only guess they were on their best behavior because we had company.

      “Or maybe it’s that an alien has taken over his body.” Sarah never passed up an opportunity to razz her brother.

      “Ha-ha,” Spence said. “Seriously, Mom, you deserve a break now and then.”

      Sarah looked at her brother as if he’d grown a third head, never mind the alien takeover. But I agreed to go back to my couch and let them have at the dirty dishes. Who was I to argue?