Ready for Marriage?. Anne Marie Winston
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looked for Kris. He’d taken Mollie for a walk through the crowds to buy some caramel corn although his real mission, he could finally allow himself to see, had been to find Kris. But they hadn’t seen Kristin and her date, and later, as his daughter dozed off on the blanket beside him and the sky exploded into bright shards of light, all he could think of was Kris. Why hadn’t he seen her? It was possible he’d simply missed her, but surely she’d have called out to Mollie, even if she didn’t want to talk to him.
Had they decided not to attend? And if not, where were they and what were they doing? He gritted his teeth against the anger that rose once more at the thought of Kristin in another man’s arms. He had no right to be mad, he told himself. He wasn’t ready to declare himself, wasn’t prepared to begin taking her out. He should be glad that she was turning her attentions away from him.
But he wasn’t. He felt as if he’d had a bucket of ice water tossed in his face and he recognized that he probably deserved it. All right, he told himself. If you want her, you’re going to have to let her know.
He felt as if he’d been wrapped in insulation since Deb had died, as if his feelings had been cushioned, his interest in the other sex muted by his loss. But now his insulation had been stripped away and all he could think of was how much he wanted Kristin.
Without a conscious decision, he found himself steering the car toward her town house. He was so deep in thought that he was a little startled when Mollie realized where they were and squealed with excitement.
As he climbed out of the car he was suddenly struck by a bolt of uncertainty. Should he be here? Should he be considering altering the friendship he and Kristin had shared for so many years? She’d altered it first, he reminded himself. She’d made him think, made him aware of her, made him need again. It was too late to turn back.
He unstrapped Mollie from her car seat and went to Kristin’s door. He was just about to ring the bell when he realized the door was open a crack. Cautiously, he poked a finger against it, and when it swung open, he peered into the compact living room beyond.
Kristin lay on the couch, fast asleep.
Good lord. His blood ran cold at the thought of her lying there, completely defenseless with her front door unlocked to any predator that might come along. Anxiety rose. Was she ill? That wasn’t like her, to leave a door ajar.
Setting Mollie down, he crossed the room and knelt at the side of the couch. He cupped her cheek in his palm, relieved to feel the cool silk of her flesh beneath his touch. She wasn’t feverish and he felt his inner tension level ease fractionally.
‘‘Kris,’’ he murmured. ‘‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up.’’
‘‘Tristin?’’ Mollie squirmed in between his knees and leaned over to put her tiny palm on Kristin’s other cheek. ‘‘Time to wate up.’’
Kristin stirred beneath their hands. Her eyelids lazily floated open, and she blinked twice. As she focused on their faces, a luminous smile crossed her face. ‘‘I must be dreaming,’’ she said in a soft, husky voice.
She put a hand to Mollie’s cheek, but her eyes held his. ‘‘Hi.’’
‘‘Hi!’ Tan I read a ’tory?’’ Mollie’s attention was already diverted.
‘‘Sure. You know where they are.’’ As Mollie wriggled free and dashed off, she continued to stare up at him.
Derek slid his thumb forward and gently brushed it over the full line of her lips, still holding her gaze. ‘‘Your door was ajar. I thought something was wrong.’’
Her eyes clouded. ‘‘Heavens. I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted—I must not have closed it properly.’’ As he continued to whisper his thumb over the petal-soft plumpness of her lower lip, she focused on him again. ‘‘Are you sure I’m not dreaming?’’
Five
Derek leaned over Kristin. ‘‘You’re not dreaming.’’ He cast a glance at Mollie, who was already immersed in one of the books Kristin kept in a basket on the floor for her, then looked back at Kristin, his gaze lingering on her lips. They looked soft and warm and he badly wanted to kiss her, to shape and mold and caress until she returned the pressure of his lips.
But not in front of his daughter. ‘‘Have you eaten anything?’’ he asked as he sat back, his hip bumping hers.
She was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head and her eyes were wide and dazed. ‘‘Wha—?’’
‘‘I’m hungry.’’ He cut her off, not ready to deal with a discussion of his feelings yet. ‘‘If you haven’t eaten, we can eat together.’’
‘‘I haven’t,’’ she said absently. ‘‘I came home from work and crashed.’’ Then he could see her brain scramble into high gear. ‘‘I bet you just finished work and haven’t eaten anything, either. Derek, you can’t forget to eat. If you get sick you won’t—’’
He shifted his hand across her mouth, shaking his head. ‘‘Do you have any eggs?’’
She nodded behind his hand, her gaze locked on his.
‘‘Good,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll make us some omelets.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘Go get your pajamas on.’’ He stood and headed for the kitchen. ‘‘Come on, Mollie. You want to help Daddy cook?’’
‘‘Uh-huh!’’ His daughter scrambled to her feet.
He found a skillet, eggs, butter, milk and cheese and with Mollie’s ‘‘help,’’ started the omelets. He couldn’t cook many things but he was competent with the few he could.
By the time he’d set the small table in her kitchen, the first omelet was done and he put it in the oven on a plate to keep it warm until the rest were finished.
Kristin walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, clad in an oversize T-shirt and jogging shorts.
He frowned. ‘‘I thought you were going to put your pajamas on.’’
She rolled her eyes. ‘‘These are my pajamas.’’ She fingered the edge of the bottoms. ‘‘Minus the shorts.’’
Minus the shorts. He turned back to the skillet, doing his best not to think about Kristin in nothing but that T-shirt skimming the tops of her thighs. Thighs he could imagine all too well, thanks to those short skirts she’d taken to wearing recently and the trim little shorts that bared a smooth expanse of creamy legs that looked a mile long.
He flipped the last omelet, then withdrew the plate from the oven, slid the omelet atop the others and set it on the trivet he’d placed in the center of the table.
‘‘How about some salad with that?’’ Kristin retrieved a bag of lettuce and assorted salad ingredients from the refrigerator, added several bottles of dressing and salad bowls, and then they took their seats.
As they always had when they ate together, they clasped hands and let Mollie say the little prayer she’d learned in Sunday school. When Kristin would have withdrawn her hand afterward, he held onto her with a light grip, and she stilled. ‘‘I’ve really missed our meals together,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘Thanks for letting us join you.’’
She sent him an almost shy smile from beneath her lashes. ‘‘You’re welcome. I’m glad you stopped by.’’
‘‘Me, too, or your door might have been open all night.’’ He sent her a mock-frown, and when she grinned, he finally began to feel that they were almost back on a normal footing. As normal as it could get, considering.
Derek cut up some egg for Mollie while Kristin dished out salad. It was quiet but comfortable and they listened to Mollie chatter. He allowed Mollie to leave the table after a short while since she already