The Runaway Nurse. Dianne Drake

care unit. None of it had been enough, though. No matter what she’d done, no matter how hard she’d tried, it had never been enough. Men like Cameron couldn’t be pleased. Not even with her culinary skills, which she knew were good.

      Well, no more thinking about that. No way she wanted those memories ruining the evening, and they would, if she wasn’t careful. They always did when her resolve wore down and her anxieties reared up. But not tonight. Not when Rick was coming to dinner. But only casually, of course.

      “Looks easy enough,” Rick commented, gazing over Summer’s shoulder. He’d watched her though the process of making the pasta, cooking the tomatoes down to a sauce, chopping up the vegetables. He’d even had a hand in chopping the onions, until Summer had called him off because his pieces had been too large. She was very persnickety about those culinary details. Now she was adding green peppers and getting ready to toss in the mushrooms, all in unmistakably smaller pieces than the onions had been until she’d re-chopped them. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do something else … non-vegetable?”

      She pointed to the cheese grater sitting on the counter. “Block of Parmesan cheese is in the refrigerator. I like it fresh on the spaghetti, not from a tub or can.” Smiling, she turned to face him. “Do you know how to grate cheese?”

      He faked rolling up his sleeves. “Let me at it. I’m the best cheese grater you’ll ever come across in the entire state of New York.”

      “I have my doubts,” she teased. “In fact, I’m betting you didn’t even know Parmesan came in a block.”

      “Would you be saying that because I botched the onions?” He arched amused eyebrows.

      “I’m saying that because you’re a man whose idea of a good meal is opening a can of something, or stopping for take-out on his way home from work.”

      He clutched his chest. “You’ve hurt me to the very core.”

      “If you’re hurt to the core, it’s because of the food you’ve been eating. But my home-made pasta is guaranteed to cure you … to the very core.”

      This conversation was getting dangerously close to turning flirtatious, and she was enjoying it way too much. Meaning it was time to stop, take a deep breath, re-group and come back at it from an entirely different angle. “Look, I think it’s way too quiet in the other room. Maybe you should go check on the kids?” In other words, get him out of sight, but quick, then hopefully he’d be out of mind as well.

      Rick gave her a curious look, then backed away.

      “Maybe I should.”

      In a matter of seconds she was alone in the kitchen, feeling a little weak in the knees.

      Which was stupid. But for a minute there she’d started to feel … secure and snug. Part of something she really shouldn’t feel part of. Or maybe the word was happy. In other words, her guard was down, pretty much all the way to the floor. Naturally, it was a mistake she would have to correct, of course, but she enjoyed Rick’s company, his conversation. And living in the moment was nice for a change. Too bad she couldn’t go there again. Or, at least, not as far as she’d almost gone. Her resolve slowly being restored, Summer returned to chopping vegetables.

      Rick stood off to the side of the doorway, unseen to Summer yet watching her. Beautiful, confident in her skills, still trying to stay emotionally detached. She was a puzzle for sure, and while she had a right to be any way she wanted, staying detached didn’t suit her. Wasn’t her natural personality. He’d worked with her at the hospital, and also at the Gracie Foundation. He’d seen her when she wasn’t being so careful or guarded, so he knew what was under that restrained exterior. But that exterior was what she wanted people to see, so he’d respect it. What else could he do?

      “The kids are fine,” he said, keeping himself well away from her when he finally stepped into the kitchen. “They were playing games, and right now Chris is reading a book to Alyssa. It’s about a little bunny that’s afraid to come out of its bunny house.” Like Summer, who was afraid to come out of herself. When it came right down to it, though, so was he. “And I, um … I want to go back and hear how the story turns out, if you don’t mind.” Let her have her space, which was clearly what she wanted.

      “It’s a great ending,” she said, her voice unusually reserved, as if she’d tied up her emotions and put them away for safekeeping. “Go, listen to it.”

      What made Summer tick? He wondered about it as he sat down next to Alyssa on the floor to become part of Chris’s audience. In fact, he thought about it so much he missed the ending to the story and had to pick up the book and read it for himself after the kids scampered off to play in the yard. What got the bunny out of the bunny house? It was a simple answer. Someone the bunny trusted.

      The thing was, he was pretty sure Summer didn’t trust. Same with him, and he knew that. He also knew he shouldn’t get involved. As in no more ice cream, no more spaghetti. No more thoughts. Now all he had to do was find a way to go against that deeper urge to connect because damn if he didn’t like being with her.

      Dinner was casual. They sat on the kitchen floor, balancing plates on their laps. Not because Summer intended to entertain that way, but because the children had ganged up on them about having a picnic. OK, so maybe some people wouldn’t agree that the children should get their way, but this was a simple thing. Since it was drizzling outside, Chris and Alyssa wanted to picnic on the floor, and Rick had jumped right into that line. So they spread out a blanket and picnicked in the kitchen, with salads and bread set out in front of them and precariously perched plates of spaghetti. Had she known this was going to turn into a picnic, she would have made sandwiches. But this was actually nice, and kind of funny, watching Rick trying to juggle his plate and get the spaghetti all the way to his mouth without spilling it.