Bitsy looked more interested by the second. “So it’s just the two of you in the house?” She giggled.

“You can stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. Nothing happened.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Chris slouched against the barrier. “I don’t know. He’s really yummy, but I’ve finally gotten over that stinker, Steven. I don’t want to let another man into my life. My life is calm and orderly, now. It’s comfortable.” Chris screwed up her face for emphasis. “It’s been over seven years since I’ve been really intimate with a man, and I haven’t missed it…until Ken arrived on the scene. Now it’s like an obsession. An enormous all-consuming blot on my life. Three days ago I didn’t know this man existed, and now he’s all I think about. I can’t get near him without coming unglued. I do everything but drool.” She touched her hands to her cheek. “Look at me. I get hot flashes just thinking about him.”

“Wow.”

“And if that isn’t bad enough…I even like him.”

Bitsy looked horrified. “I think you’ve slipped a cog somewhere.”

“My cogs are fine.” Chris bent to adjust one of her skate laces, then straightened with a sigh. “I just don’t want to complicate my life. I have my work and Lucy and Edna; I don’t have the time or the energy for a love affair. And I’m a terrible judge of men-what if he turns out to be another Steven Black?”

Bitsy fixed her with a direct, steady gaze. “There’s only one Steven Black.”

It was true, Chris admitted as she parked the truck in front of her town house that evening. There was only one Steven Black, and it wasn’t fair to judge Ken by Steven’s failings. She sat for a moment watching the promised snow sift down in giant flakes and melt on the hood of the truck. It clung tentatively to the already frozen lawn and cement sidewalk. The front porch light had been turned on to welcome her home, and soft lights glowed behind the drawn living room curtains. A small thrill of happiness fluttered through her stomach at the cozy scene. Her armor was definitely slipping. She’d do better to overlook the homey welcome and conjure images of virile spiders waiting for naive flies instead…

The sharp whine of a siren pierced the stillness, and Chris quirked an eyebrow. The smoke detector! She bolted to her front door and flung it open, only to be met by a cloud of gray smoke that stung her eyes and choked in her throat. “Ken!”

“I’m in the damn kitchen,” he shouted over the din of the smoke detector.

“Are you okay? Should I call the fire department?”

“I can’t figure out how to get this blasted alarm to shut off.”

Chris made her way to the kitchen, climbed up on a chair and pressed the silencer button on the smoke detector. From her elevated position she took a quick survey of the room. Everything seemed to be in order-with the exception of a charred lump of what she assumed used to be meat, sitting in a blackened pot in the sink.

Ken scowled up at her. “Well?” he demanded, feet set wide, hands on hips.

“Well, what?” Chris giggled.

At the sound of her laughter he shifted from his pugnacious stance. An embarrassed grin stole across his mouth. “I burned supper.”

“I noticed.” She stepped down and peered into the sink. “What did it used to be?”

“Rump roast. See,” he pointed out, “those small black lumps are carrots.”

Chris stuck a fork into the meat but couldn’t pry the blackened roast from the bottom of the pot. “What happened?”

“I had some business calls to make. And then I took a shower…”

“You have to make sure there’s always a little liquid in the bottom.”

“The book didn’t tell me that.”

Chris wiped a smudge of soot from his cheek. His eyes locked into hers at the touch of her fingertip. A silent message passed between them with tender ferocity. “Damn,” Chris swore under her breath.

“Mindless mush?”

“Something like that.”

“If it’s any consolation, you don’t do much for my powers of concentration, either.”

Chris retreated, putting some physical distance between them. “I don’t think it’s salvageable,” she said, turning her attention to the roast.

“I’ll take you out to dinner.”

She considered the idea for a moment, wondering how to remind him tactfully that he had no job and probably shouldn’t be squandering his money. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we stay home, and I’ll teach you how to make macaroni and cheese?”

His face brightened. “I love macaroni and cheese.”

Chris couldn’t help smiling with him. “I know.” This is hopeless, she thought, how could anybody resist a man who made you feel like a million dollars just because you offered to make macaroni and cheese? Sighing in resignation, Chris shrugged out of her coat. Ken took it from her and headed toward the front hall closet as she began pulling things from the refrigerator. “Milk, butter, cheddar cheese,” she mumbled as she set the food on the countertop. As Ken walked back into the kitchen, she handed him the block of cheese. “You can grate this in the food processor.”

His face looked blank. “Food processor?”

Chris moved the machine to the front of the counter. “Cut the cheese into chunks…like this. Drop them into the attachment…here. Press the proper button-this one-and presto!” The machine whirred.

“I think I can handle that.”

Chris melted butter in a small saucepan and added a little flour, stirring with a wire whisk. “You see,” she said, “two tablespoons melted butter and two tablespoons of flour.”

“Hmmmm,” he hummed into her hair as he watched over her shoulder.

“Then, after you’ve cooked this together for a minute or two, you add a cup of milk.”

“Cup of milk,” he repeated, the husky words vibrating along the edge of Chris’ ear.

Chris closed her eyes and swallowed. “Have you grated that cheese, yet?”

“I was watching you.”

“Well, you don’t have to watch me anymore. That’s all there is to the sauce. Now it just gets cooked until it thickens a little.” Chris set a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“Grated cheese and elbow macaroni,” Ken said, placing them next to the stove. “I feel like I’m assisting at surgery.”

“This is nothing. Wait until I teach you how to make soup, and you have to cut up a billion vegetables.”

“I’m good at vegetables. I made a salad,” he said proudly. He took a large plastic wrapped bowl from the refrigerator for her inspection.

Chris looked at his handiwork with genuine admiration. He definitely had a flair for salad.

“I noticed a hambone in here,” he called over his shoulder as he rummaged in the refrigerator. “Maybe we could slice some ham off it and add it to the macaroni and cheese.”

They worked together in companionable silence, setting the table, then adding cheese to the white sauce before combining it with the cooked macaroni and slivers of ham. Chris sprinkled extra cheese over the top and slid the dish into the oven to brown. They stood at the stove in hushed expectancy, waiting for their supper.

Ken grinned down at her. “I guess it’s kind of dumb, but I really am enjoying myself. It’s nice to work in the kitchen with you.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “I like to cook, but I almost never get the chance. I never get home before six, and Lucy can’t wait much longer than that to eat.” She stole a slice of radish from the salad and carried the bowl into the dining room. “Besides, when Aunt Edna’s here, she really isn’t too crazy about me invading her kitchen.” Chris took the steaming casserole from the oven and set it on the table.

Ken waved his fork at the heaping portion of macaroni he had doled out onto his plate. “I can make this, now: two tablespoons butter, two tablespoons flour, one cup of milk, and a bunch of cheese.”

“Is it okay?”

“It’s great.”

Chris stared across the table at him. “I see you’ve decided to grow a beard.”