The Family He Didn't Expect. Shirley Jump
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emotion chafed at Dylan. He never knew quite what to do with emotions, his own or other people’s. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, Uncle Ty. Or I’ll be the one heading out to the basketball court.”
“Point taken.” Ty chuckled. He dropped his keys into Dylan’s palm. “Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Dylan squeezed his uncle’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control. See you tomorrow.”
As his uncle walked out of the building, the brunette—Cody’s mother, Abby—emerged from Ty’s office for the second time. Dylan had noticed her standing by the watercooler earlier. He didn’t know how much, if any, she’d overheard of the conversation between him and the teenagers, or if she’d just been standing there to get a drink of water.
Abby and Mavis talked for a moment. Then Abby gave Mavis a nod and headed over to Dylan, with her little boy in tow. He was a younger version of Cody, but with a bright, inquisitive face and a ready smile.
“Mavis asked me to set up the snack for everyone because she has to leave early today. And she suggested I get some help, because there are a whole lot of hungry kids here.”
He grinned. “So you’re asking me to be crowd control?”
“Pretty much, yes. But if you’re busy...”
“No, not at all.” He could have been in the middle of building the Taj Mahal, and he would have told her he had plenty of time. Something about her blue-green eyes drew him in, made him want to know more about her. They were...
Intoxicating.
A tug on the hem of Dylan’s T-shirt drew his attention. He glanced down and saw Abby’s youngest son peering up at him, with eyes a deeper green than his mother’s. He was a cute kid, only three feet tall, wearing a Transformers T-shirt, jeans and sneakers that blinked red lights when he walked. “I wanna snack. Miss Mavis said you’re gonna make me one.”
Abby put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Jake, that isn’t what Miss Mavis said. Mommy’s gonna make the snack.”
Jacob gave his mother a doubtful look. “But you don’t cook very good, Mommy.”
Abby’s cheeks flushed. Dylan liked that. The blush made her seem open, vulnerable. “I’m going to head into the kitchen now before my son spills any more family secrets.”
Dylan chuckled. “That’s okay. I used to do that to my older brother all the time when we were kids. Especially if he had a girlfriend over. I once told Wendy Simmons about the time Sam got a hornet stuck in his shorts. I thought Sam was going to kill me.”
That made Abby smile. She had a nice smile. Warm, friendly. “Sam... Sam Millwright? He’s your brother? I’ve met him a couple times. He sold my boss the property that houses our offices.”
“Yup. Sam’s my brother.” Dylan fell into step beside her as they walked toward the small kitchen at the back of the community center. “Almost five years older, but he thinks he’s twenty years older. Like he’s my father and needs to remind me how to be responsible.”
Okay, so maybe a little more resentment leaked into his voice than he would have liked. No need to spill his own family secrets to a person who was, essentially, a stranger.
“I have a younger sister like that. She’s the one who did it all right. Married the perfect man, works the perfect job at a magazine, lives in the perfect house in Connecticut.” Abby sighed. “According to her, I’m...a mess.” Then she blushed again, as if she wanted to suck the words back inside.
It was another moment of vulnerability, a chink in her armor. He suspected she rarely let anyone see her with her guard down.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are a mess at all. When you walked in, it made me wish I was wearing something a little less...rock-concert-leftover, just so I could impress you. Like a suit or something.” Damn, where had that come from? When was the last time he’d confessed anything like that? Maybe it was because she’d given him a peek inside. Or maybe it was the way Abby carried herself, all poised and confident, that had him feeling like she was, well...a little out of his league. Okay, a lot.
She arched a brow. “A suit?”
“I do own one, contrary to what my current attire suggests. Last time I wore it was at my grandfather’s funeral and I think my mother still has it in a box somewhere. But I was ten, so I’m not so sure it would still fit me.”
She laughed, then pushed on the swinging door. As soon as the three of them entered the kitchen, Jacob scrambled onto one of the stainless steel stools and sat at the counter. He set the picture he’d been working on aside, propped his elbows on the counter and sat up tall. “I’m ready to help, Mommy.”
“That’s great, Jakester. We’re making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” She tossed Dylan a look. The laughter had disappeared from her voice, and she was all business again. “Despite my son’s one-star rating, I can handle those. Really. I’m sure you have other things to do and I hate to put you out. I’ll be fine on my own. Really.”
The teenagers had finished their basketball game and began to file into the building in a hum of conversation and heavy footsteps. As they headed for the couches, they glanced over at the kitchen. “Yo, man, where’s the food?” Matt called out.
“Coming soon,” Dylan said. He turned back to Abby. He got the distinct feeling she was giving him the brush-off. She had, after all, asked for his help, then promptly changed her mind. “I don’t mind helping at all. And, I have the skills. I have, after all, been making my own sandwiches for almost twenty years now. In fact, I even have Expert Sandwich Maker on my résumé.”
“And did you actually get hired somewhere because of that?”
“I think it was my Great Ninja Skills section that impressed the bosses.” He winked at Jacob. “I bet you’re a great ninja, Jake.”
“I am. I scare Mommy all the time cuz I go like this.” He hopped down off the stool, then tiptoed forward, with his hands bent like T. rex arms. “I’m super quiet.”
Abby ruffled his hair. “You’re four, Jake. I don’t think quiet is an adjective for you yet.”
Jake squirmed in his seat, as if proving the point that he was neither stealthy nor quiet. “Did you see my picture I made?”
Abby glanced at the paper. “Very good, Jake. I like your doggy.”
From where Dylan stood, he wasn’t sure how Abby discerned the brown blob on the paper was a dog, but then again, Dylan wasn’t exactly an art critic. Nor could he draw worth a damn. The pot couldn’t exactly pass judgment on the kettle here.
“You know why I drew it?” Jake bounced up and down on his knees. “Cuz I love dogs.”
Abby smiled. “I know. If there’s one thing you talk about more than dinosaurs, my little non-ninja, it’s dogs.”
Jake studied his drawing, his lips thinned in concentration. “Can we get a puppy, Mommy? Mrs. Reynolds next door said her dog had puppies and I can has one if I want.”
“It’s have, and no, we’re not getting a puppy right now. I have my hands full with you guys.” She waved toward the sink. “Go wash your hands, buddy, then sit down again and you can lay out the bread. I’ll put on the peanut butter and jelly.”
“Or, I can do the peanut butter and you can do the jelly,” Dylan said. Somehow, they had ended up inches apart. He could catch the floral notes of her perfume, see the lower lashes that dusted under her eyes. “Assembly-line style.”
Why was he trying so hard? Even though Mavis had the little ones under control, Dylan did need to check on the older kids in the center and keep working on that list of repairs, and making sandwiches wasn’t a job she couldn’t handle.
“I’ve