Family: The Secret Ingredient. Leandra Logan

not,” he slowly relented. “But I was graduating college and you were still too young to vote. There must be some events worth a report.”

      She deadpanned him. “I am voting now.”

      He laughed richly. “Still quick with the wit. But seriously, fill me in.”

      “What do you want to know?”

      “Anything that will help me get my balance round here, help me belong again.”

      SHE SIGHED CONTENTEDLY. “Well, Michael and I have shared this duplex since my senior year at St. Catherine’s. I have a degree in theater arts, but my first love is fashion design. Did a lot of work for the plays there, discovered I was more comfortable offstage creating the costumes.”

      “Far away from the North accounting empire.”

      “Oh, yes. That’s exclusively Michael’s forte.”

      “Wondered which way he would fall. When we were roommates, he seemed more interested in juggling girls’ phone numbers than any other kind of numbers.”

      “He works way too hard now. You’ll be good for him, Kyle. Maybe you can rediscover his playful side.”

      “What do you do for fun these days? Still pal around with Heather Crain?”

      “Definitely. Though she’s Heather Basset now. Married a very nice guy from our old crowd, a real estate agent.”

      “That scrawny blonde with the blue eye shadow and inline skates is married?” He wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow. “Look out!”

      She huffed in frustration. “You always end up impossible, Kyle.”

      “Okay, I’ll back off. Just one last thing. All the instances that I’ve thought of you over the years, believed you were perfectly happy, breaking boys’ hearts, was I on the right track?”

      He’d thought of her over the years? The news made her melt into the hard wooden chair. “You were close. But I’m still sorting things out.”

      “Guess a fair amount of confusion goes with the territory.” He sobered, raking a hand through his jet hair. “I too am still sorting.”

      Her face crinkled tenderly. “I’m so sorry about Libby.”

      “Yeah.”

      “It must be hard, raising Button on your own.”

      “Amelia will be helpful.”

      “How old is she now?”

      “Late sixties, I think.”

      “Wow.”

      He shook a finger at her. “Gotta warn you, she wouldn’t care for your doubtful look. Button’s given her a new lease on life. She is a challenge Amelia intends to conquer.”

      Grace conjured up a picture of the tall, broad-shouldered woman with deep lines around her eyes, her hair in a long salt and pepper ponytail. “She did seem like the invincible kind,” she heartily assured.

      “Perfectly said.”

      “Would I be prying too much if I asked you how you ever connected with Amelia again? It must have been terribly hard.”

      “The initial call with the news of Libby’s death, the existence of a secret great-granddaughter was very difficult.” He paused, wincing. “Amelia was stunned, then harsh over our defection—as was her right. But amazingly she showed up in Chicago for the funeral. After that, her visits became a regular thing. Eventually I must’ve passed some kind of benchmark, for she made me a proposition—move in with her, reopen the bistro and try to make a go of it.” He marveled over the memory. “She put it in such a way as to make it sound like a favor to her, a second chance at family. I’m not the smartest man around, but I did see a hell of a deal there for all three of us.”

      She patted his hand. “A terrible twist of fate for you, losing Libby.”

      “Maybe I could’ve averted the disaster. Looking back, there are things I’d have done differently. But hey, no one can turn back the clock.”

      He clapped his hands together then, as if to break the mood. “Hey, this is way offtrack. Part of my reason for coming is to firm up our deal, decide my weekly hours. You dashed out so fast today, we never settled things.”

      “Well, demands of the job.” She bit her lip self-consciously. Bailing out in a panic was kind of embarrassing now.

      “I would prefer to come Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, from nine to whatever,” he said, unaware of her discomfort. “Probably work sometime after the noon hour, depending on the meal prep. I promise not to be too big a pest,” he added jokingly.

      “Hah! You’ve already rearranged my kitchen.”

      He was disgustingly gleeful. “For your own good, trust me.”

      She smacked the table hard. “You think I’m going to fall for that old line all over again? You and Michael always had me running in circles, washing your car, running your errands—to learn!”

      “This time you will benefit, princess, I swear.”

      She smiled lamely as he waved a white paper napkin in truce. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

      “For the record,” he went on huskily, “if you don’t know it yet, Grace, I am so thrilled to have this job. I need to make the money somehow, and a sweet distraction like you is an unusual bonus.”

      “Glad to help,” she said haltingly. “Anything I can…” Her mouth went dry as cotton.

      His blue eyes brightened. “Anything?”

      Her heart tripped alarmingly. “What have you in mind?”

      “I wasn’t going to impose this soon, but if you know something about wallpaper…”

      “What about wallpaper, Kyle?”

      “The bistro needs some and I am a dunce when it comes to decorating.”

      “Oh.” She was sinking in quicksand, pure and simple. “Well, I guess I could help with that.”

      “Busy tomorrow?”

      “I can spare some time,” she stumbled.

      “Super. You’re the best.” He shifted in his chair. “Suppose I should be going. Unless you’d like to share this cake first.”

      “I’d love to,” she retorted, “if I could find my knife set.”

      “It might have been a knife set once, Gracie. Now, it’s a pile of ragged steel blades with dried wooden handles.” He eyed her knowingly. “You aren’t supposed to put them in the dishwasher.”

      “Oh, never mind.” With a crooked grin she dragged a manicured finger into the thick fudgy frosting.

      He was aghast. “Hey, you didn’t learn that at home.”

      “Did it at summer camp. Have you ever tried it?”

      He opened his mouth to protest, only to find her finger full of frosting smack dab on his lower lip. With artist’s flair she began to frost his mouth. “There now. No cleanup.”

      Kyle snagged her wrist, aghast. “You did that to the boys at camp?”

      “Never you mind.” With a squeal she tried to wrench from his firm grasp. Shaking with laughter they stood up and began to tangle for control. In their struggle Kyle pulled her against his chest. Then the laughter died off.

      This was her chance. To steal the kiss that had eluded her over and over, as recent as today when Michael stormed in here. Tired of fretting over her every move, she stood on tiptoe to lock lips.

      Clasping a hand to her head, meshing the frosting between their lips, Kyle savored the taste of Grace. Her lips were so warm and soft.