“Why, thank you, Frank.” Grinning, she flipped the last pancake onto a plate. “I’m certainly outnumbered here, guys to girls. Even Quincy is a boy.” She set the platter of remaining pancakes in the middle of the circular oak table and tickled Matty on the ear.
The boy squealed and wiggled in his chair.
“Me, too! Me, too!” Jamey insisted. Those seemed to be his favorite two words lately.
Stephanie chuckled and moved around the table, leaning over Drew’s shoulder so she could tickle both boys at once. “It’s a good thing I have two hands.”
Drew closed his eyes, trying not to breathe, because if he did, the warm, spicy fragrance of her perfume was going to get to him. He’d always been a sucker for orchids and jasmine. Maybe it was the appeal of the foreign scent to his down-home-country nose.
Whatever it was, he didn’t need the distraction, and he was relieved when she moved away and went back to the stove to remove the last few pieces of bacon she’d been frying.
“How do you know which boy is which?” he asked, desperately trying to stay cool and collected, at least on the outside. “Most people have difficulty telling the twins apart. Did Pop help you figure it out?”
“Didn’t need to,” his father replied, before Stephanie could say a word. “She had it right from the get-go.”
“I’ve never had a problem with twins,” she answered, leaning her hip against the counter. “Matty has a little dimple on his chin,” she said, gesturing toward the boy in question, “and Jamey here has just the hint of a cowlick on his forehead.” She leaned forward and ruffled Jamey’s hair.
“Incredible,” Drew murmured under his breath. He was impressed. Stephanie certainly had a keen eye for children. His children.
“So for lunch, I was thinking we could take in a burger at Cup O’ Jo as a special treat to the boys.”
In truth, this wasn’t so much about the boys. This was about getting over the hurdle of Stephanie meeting Jo Murphy, who owned the café. His strategy was to get to Jo first and try to convince her not to play matchmaker.
Which probably wouldn’t work, but he had to try, anyway.
“Cup O’ Jo?” Stephanie queried. “Is that a coffee house?”
Drew chuckled. “It’s the coffee house. You’ve never had coffee until you’ve tried a Cup O’ Jo.” He chuckled at his own joke. “They have hot coffee, iced-coffee and everything in between.”
Not that he’d had many fancy gourmet coffees in his lifetime to compare it to. He wasn’t very adventurous when it came to trying new foods and drinks. He preferred the tried and true. Steak and potatoes. Black and bold. It suited him.
“My mouth is watering already,” Stephanie assured him. “Caramel frappés are my favorite.”
“And Jo’s niece-in-law Phoebe makes the best cherry pie in Texas,” his father added, smacking his lips. “Maybe in the whole U.S. of A. We’ve got us a world-class pastry chef right here in Serendipity.”
For once, his father wasn’t exaggerating. Phoebe really was a world-class pastry chef. How she’d ended up in Serendipity and married to Jo’s nephew Chance was beyond Drew’s comprehension.
Strangers seldom came to the small town, and even more infrequently stayed. Family roots in Serendipity grew as long and thick as an old cottonwood tree. Few were pulled up, and even fewer were planted. As in Stephanie’s case, visitors usually had a specific reason for visiting and left soon afterward.
“It’s Saturday, so we aren’t going to see the usual lunch crowd,” he continued. “But there’s still bound to be a few regulars catching a meal there. And, of course, you’ll meet many of the town folk at church tomorrow.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say a word.
He hesitated and cleared his throat, realizing he hadn’t even asked her about her religious preferences before blurting out that last statement. Now he’d put her on the spot.
“Er—I mean, if you’d like to go to church, that is. I didn’t mean to presume. What I intended to say was that most of our neighbors attend services on Sunday. It would be a good chance for you to meet everyone, and for people to get to know you, as well.”
“Of course,” Stephanie agreed, with a smile that put him at ease and stirred him up at the same time. “I’d like to go with you tomorrow. Thank you for asking.”
* * *
Feeling more on edge than she cared to admit, Stephanie reached for the nearest breakfast plates, all of which were satisfyingly empty, and began stacking them into a sink full of warm, soapy water. The Spencer family seemed to have liked the meal as much as she’d enjoyed cooking it.
The one thing she’d been worried about was how Drew would react to her taking over his kitchen, but so far he hadn’t said anything negative about it. In fact, he was as vocal as Frank and the twins in praising her cooking skills and appreciating her efforts.
She didn’t even want to think about how things might have gone if for some reason Drew had taken offense to her actions, if he’d become angry at her poking around his pantry without her asking him first.
She’d always been that way—caring what other people thought of her, wanting to keep the peace. Her desire to please others came from a deep-rooted need in her childhood. Foster children—especially older ones—were easily overlooked, even in the best-meaning of families. Many of her peers in the juvenile system had acted out as a way to get attention—taken drugs, joined gangs, got in fights, committed crimes.
Stephanie had taken another route to getting noticed—trying to please everyone all the time. Getting straight A’s in high school when she was really a B student at heart. Keeping her bedroom immaculate when her nature was to be more cluttered and disorganized.
Being the perfect girlfriend long after all of the signs pointed to a disaster-ridden relationship.
What had she been thinking? It was thoroughly humiliating, that she’d been so desperate for a family of her own that she’d only seen Ryan’s charm and the wealth. She’d convinced herself to overlook the glaring inconsistencies in Ryan’s words versus his actions, blinded herself to who he really was just because he was a handsome, rich man who could have his choice of women.
He’d chosen her, and she’d thought it meant something. She thought he would propose to her. She thought they were in love, so she’d made excuses for him when he lashed out in anger, when he bruised her body as well as her pride.
But she was a victim no longer. Ryan couldn’t hurt her anymore. She just had to ignore the cloud of trepidation still hanging over her head until it went away on its own.
“I didn’t hire you to cook and clean for us, you know.” Drew’s warm voice came from behind her, disturbingly close to her left ear, and she jumped in surprise. “You’re a nanny, not a maid.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Stephanie assured him. “I don’t mind at all. I enjoy doing a few tasks around the house while I work. I can keep a steady eye on the boys and tidy up a bit at the same time. Multitasking is my specialty.”
“Then let me help you, at least,” he said, slipping in next to her by the sink and taking the plate she was rinsing out of her hands. “You gather the dishes from the table, and I’ll rinse them and stack them in the dishwasher.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She was glad to be able to move away from him to scoop the silverware from the table. Everything about Drew oozed masculinity, from the strength of his hands to the way his biceps pulled against the sleeve of his T-shirt. Her shoulder would fit right under his, were he to reach out to her. When he’d stepped up next to her, she’d immediately inhaled his brisk scent—an intoxicating combination