Waking Up In Charleston. Sherryl Woods

friends, but way too much passion had simmered just below the surface. The depth of it had shaken her. Yet when she’d needed help transporting the armoire today, Caleb was the first person she’d thought of. And he’d agreed readily in fact, with an eagerness that told her he’d missed her during the week as much as she’d missed him.

      Amanda felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down into the too-serious face of her five-year-old daughter.

      “Hey, baby, what’s up?” she asked Susie, relieved by the distraction.

      Susie frowned. “I’m not a baby.”

      Amanda scooped her up and tickled her. “You’re my baby. You always will be.”

      “Even when I’m ten?” Susie asked in a dismayed voice.

      “Even when you’re thirty,” Amanda replied.

      “How old is thirty?”

      “Almost as old as me,” Amanda said.

      “But you’re not a baby,” Susie protested.

      Amanda knew she was in one man’s eyes, or had been, anyway. Sometimes knowing she’d lost that relationship hurt more than she could bear. Knowing that her once-beloved father had willingly tossed it aside hurt even more.

      “No, I suppose not,” she said, biting back a sigh. In fact, she was the only grown-up these children had. Sometimes the pressure of that was overwhelming. It would have meant the world to be able to lean on her father from time to time, to share the joy of her three kids with him. But there was no point in wishing for things that simply couldn’t be.

      “So can he?” Susie asked, apparently completing an entire line of conversation Amanda had missed.

      “Can who do what?”

      “Can Mr. Caleb stay for dinner?” Susie asked impatiently. “We could have pizza, like last time.”

      “You have to stop thinking that we’re going to have pizza every time Caleb comes over,” Amanda told her daughter.

      “Why is that?” Caleb asked, coming back into the living room, wiping away his sweat with a towel, which only drew attention to those fabulous abs again. It was all Amanda could do not to sigh.

      “I love pizza,” he declared. “And who wants to order a large pizza just for one person? You guys give me the perfect excuse.”

      Susie’s eyes glowed with excitement. “See, Mommy. Mr. Caleb likes pizza as much as I do. So can he stay?”

      Amanda gave Caleb a look of mock severity. “Did you put her up to this?”

      He winked at Susie. “Absolutely not,” he swore solemnly. “I just figure that a man who’s risked his back to haul furniture for you ought to get something out of the deal.”

      “And you want to be paid in pizza?” Amanda asked doubtfully.

      “Actually, I’m buying the pizza. Your company is enough payment.”

      Amanda regarded him warily. “You can’t keep doing this,” she said.

      “Doing what?” he asked, his expression all innocence.

      “Dreaming up excuses to feed us.” She set Susie down. “Go get your brothers and tell them to wash up for dinner.”

      As soon as her daughter was gone, she faced Caleb, determined to set some long-needed parameters. “You’ve done enough, Caleb. I won’t let you go on treating us like your pet charity. My budget’s not that tight. I can afford to pay for pizza once in a while. And now that we have this brand-new kitchen, I can even cook a meal for all of us.”

      “But why should you cook after working hard all day or pay for pizza when I can?” he asked reasonably.

      “Because getting back on my feet means being on equal footing with my friends. I need to do things for you once in a while. Otherwise, I’ll start feeling indebted to you. I don’t think that sort of thing is good for a friendship, do you?”

      He nodded slowly at that. “Point taken. You can buy the pizza tonight.”

      “And next time,” she said firmly, knowing there would be a next time, no matter what excuse he—or she—had to dream up to make it happen.

      “We’ll table that discussion till the next time,” he said just as firmly. “We men have our pride, too, you know.”

      Amanda had lived with two males who’d had it in spades. She gave Caleb a wry look. “Believe me, I know. It’s not something I’d brag about, if I were you.”

      He regarded her with understanding. “Lumping me in with Bobby or your father, Amanda? Do you really think there’s any comparison?”

      “Not yet,” she replied. “But you could be standing on the edge of a slippery slope. Now seems like the time to drag you back.”

      He laughed at that. “You go set the table. I’ll call for the pizza,” he said, then added, “Paper plates will do.”

      “Not in my house,” she called back. “Not for guests.”

      She was in the kitchen distributing plates and silverware when Caleb joined her, his expression oddly troubled.

      “Don’t tell me the pizza place is closed,” she joked lightly.

      “No, the pizza’s on the way. I got a salad, too.”

      “Then what’s with the somber look? Bad news?”

      “No, it was something you said.”

      She tried to recall what might have put that look on his face. She couldn’t come up with anything. “What?”

      “You still think of me as a guest,” he said.

      Amanda didn’t see the problem. “Isn’t that what you are?”

      He shrugged. “I guess I was sort of hoping by now you’d start thinking of me as part of the family, or at least as the kind of friend who doesn’t require going to any trouble.”

      There was no mistaking the genuine dismay in his voice, so she guided him toward a chair. “Sit.”

      A grin tugged at his lips. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

      “You have no idea,” she said dryly. She might be out of practice, but she’d once excelled at getting things done to her satisfaction. It was a trait she’d learned at her daddy’s knee.

      “Now, you listen to me, Caleb Webb,” she lectured sternly. “You’ve been the best friend this family has ever had, which is exactly why I want to show you some respect when you come here. Maybe in your world that means eating off paper plates and not going to any trouble, but in mine it means observing some of the niceties.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his eyes twinkling despite the meek tone.

      She frowned at the interruption. “I might not be able to pour fine wine into crystal goblets in my house,” she continued. “I can’t serve you on bone china that came over from England a couple of centuries ago for my great-great-grandmother’s wedding, but I can at least treat mealtime as an occasion.”

      His grin spread as she spoke. “Okay, then. Guess that means I ought to at least put my shirt back on.”

      “You should,” she said, though not without regret. “And wash your hands.”

      He snapped a salute and started toward the bathroom, then came back and dropped another one of those sneaky, sizzling little kisses on her mouth.

      “Have I mentioned how adorable you are when you get up on your high horse?” he asked.

      Her gaze narrowed. “That sounds suspiciously close to telling me I’m cute when I’m angry.”

      He held up his hands. “Not a chance, darlin’. I know better