A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [46]
It finally came home to Melissa that Steven wasn’t going to sit down until she was seated. She moved toward the middle chair, oddly embarrassed, waited for Steven to pull it out for her and sat.
She noticed a sparkle in the man’s eyes as he joined her and Matt.
“I don’t think those are really chickens,” Matt said, in a tone of good-natured skepticism, peering into the casserole dish in the center of the table.
Melissa began to wish she’d served something little-boy friendly, like pizza or hamburgers or hot dogs.
Steven, perhaps hoping to put her at ease, speared one of the game hens with the serving fork, dropped it onto his plate, and began cutting it into bite-size pieces. His movements were quick and deft, with a subtle elegance about them.
Don’t think about his hands.
Melissa blinked, snapping out of yet another mini-daze.
Steven switched plates with Matt, who nibbled at a bite, then began to eat in earnest.
“Slow down,” Steven said, helping himself when Melissa didn’t move to dish up a portion of her own.
Matt nodded, chewing and swallowing. “You’re a good cook,” he told Melissa.
Melissa felt heat pulse under her cheeks, longing to fib and take all the credit—and completely unable to do so. She was terminally honest; it was her personal cross to bear.
“My sister Ashley is,” she clarified. “I—well—sort of borrowed supper from her.”
Steven’s eyes danced with blue mischief, but he didn’t offer a comment. He did seem to be enjoying Ashley’s culinary expertise, though.
Everybody did.
“Oh,” Matt said. Having taken the edge off his appetite, he paused, looking across the table at Steven. “Do you think Zeke is okay?” he asked.
Zeke? Then Melissa remembered the dog.
“Zeke,” Steven said easily, “is just fine.”
“I wanted to bring him with us,” Matt confided to Melissa, who, by then, had begun to eat, however tentatively. “But Dad wouldn’t let me. He said it wouldn’t be polite to do that.”
Melissa smiled, willing herself to relax. Steven Creed, with his broad shoulders and his quiet confidence and his mere presence, seemed to fill that small kitchen, breathing all the air, absorbing the light.
Absorbing her. The experience, though disquieting, had a certain zip to it, too.
“Zeke,” Steven repeated, his eyes smiling as he looked at Matt, “is just fine.”
“You could bring him next time,” Melissa said.
Next time? Who said there was going to be a “next time”?
Matt cheered at the news.
“Bring it down a few decibels,” Steven instructed.
Matt grinned. “I’m too loud sometimes,” he said to Melissa, in a stage whisper.
She laughed and stopped just short of ruffling his hair. “That’s okay,” she whispered back.
After that, a companionable silence fell.
It wasn’t until the meal was over, and they were contemplating dessert, that Matt got down to brass tacks.
“Are you married?” he asked Melissa bluntly. “Do you have any kids?”
Steven, so far unflappable, it seemed to Melissa, reddened slightly. Narrowed his eyes at Matt and started to speak.
Melissa cut him off before he could say a word. “No,” she told Matt. “I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids.”
Matt’s smile was glorious, like dawn breaking after a cold and moonless night. “Good!” he said. “Then you could marry my dad and be my mom. We’d help with the cooking, so you wouldn’t have to keep borrowing supper from your sister, and even do the laundry.”
“Matt,” Steven said, fighting a smile.
Without thinking about it first—if she had, she would surely have stopped herself—Melissa rested a hand on Steven’s forearm. Felt the muscles tighten and then ease again under her fingertips.
“It’s okay,” she said, very softly.
Matt looked from Steven to Melissa, and his small shoulders stooped a little. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that stuff about marrying Dad and me,” he admitted.
“Ya think?” Steven asked.
Melissa smiled, anxious to reassure the child. “Know what?” she said, addressing Matt, finally removing her hand from Steven’s arm.
“What?” Matt asked.
“If I’m ever lucky