her homework.
“Sure thing,” her uncle replied, giving her ponytail a playful tug as she walked past on her way out of the kitchen.
Annie rose to collect the dishes and almost collided with Mark, who was bent on the same task. “I’ll do the dishes,” she protested.
He shook his head. “Ground rules. Once dinner’s over, you’re off duty. I do dinner dishes.”
She watched him collect Emily’s pale green dishes with exquisite care. “Am I allowed to help?” she asked softly.
“Optional.
Your
call.”
She helped him stack the dishes on the polished granite counter then dried while he washed. He’d explained he didn’t put the green dishes in the dishwasher, to help preserve them. Always the protector, she thought, enjoying the sight of his square, masculine hands covered in suds washing Emily’s dishes with such care.
It gave her the same kind of sensation in the pit of her stomach that she got seeing a big hunky man with a baby. The occupation didn’t make him less rugged or tough—it emphasized his masculinity.
She enjoyed watching soap bubbles gather around his knuckles, the way the water pasted dark hair to his forearms, the way the muscles worked together in such harmony as he methodically washed and rinsed each dish. He washed everything by hand, even the things that could easily have gone in the dishwasher. Annie had no idea whether he did this every night or whether he was enjoying working side by side as much as she was.
“You live in a family home in the suburbs, you own your own business, you even do dishes. How come there’s no woman in your life?” Maybe it was insensitive and prying of her to ask, but the question had been bothering her since the birthday party.
He glanced up from the dishes. “I didn’t always live like this. A year ago I had a condo in Kitsilano.” He mentioned the trendy part of town near the university almost with regret. “I was an RCMP officer and a single guy living in a city famous for beautiful women.”
“Really? Vancouver’s famous for beautiful women?” Darn. She should have checked that out before she moved here.
“I bet more men’s magazine centerfolds come from Vancouver than any other city,” he informed her with obvious pride. “Not that I personally know any,” he hastened to add.
“Naturally.”
“My friend Brodie dated a centerfold once. She was a nice girl.” He shrugged, scraping a glob of egg stuck to the frying pan. “Then Emily came to live with me. Things changed.”
Now that was an understatement. He’d given up his lifestyle and changed to a safer job for the sake of his niece. Wow. A memory of her dad, who’d left his family when the responsibility became too much, flashed across her mind, and she felt a frown develop.
But that was silly. Her dad was a great guy, as fun and adventurous as she was. He hadn’t been cut out for permanence any more than she was. Emily was pretty darned lucky that Mark was cut from a different cloth. “It’s been quite a year for you.”
“Yes. And obviously, I can’t get involved with a woman while Emily is still settling in.”
“She seems pretty settled to me,” Annie said, and then, panicking that he might think she wanted him to get involved with her, she quickly added, “I mean, she’s able to talk about her parents quite naturally and seems like a normal eight-year-old. She’s a little shy, but lots of kids that age are.”
“I’m glad you think so. I don’t know much of anything about kids. I pretty much bought out the bookstore on parenting books and stuff about the grieving process. And there’s some good information on the Internet.”
She stifled a grin. She might have known he’d search out an instruction manual on how to raise a child.
Once all the dishes were put away and the kitchen was spotless, its high-tech patina gleaming, an awkward pause ensued.
Annie had no idea what to do next. She had the sense that whatever she did now
“Sure thing,” her uncle replied, giving her ponytail a playful tug as she walked past on her way out of the kitchen.
Annie rose to collect the dishes and almost collided with Mark, who was bent on the same task. “I’ll do the dishes,” she protested.
He shook his head. “Ground rules. Once dinner’s over, you’re off duty. I do dinner dishes.”
She watched him collect Emily’s pale green dishes with exquisite care. “Am I allowed to help?” she asked softly.
“Optional.
Your
call.”
She helped him stack the dishes on the polished granite counter then dried while he washed. He’d explained he didn’t put the green dishes in the dishwasher, to help preserve them. Always the protector, she thought, enjoying the sight of his square, masculine hands covered in suds washing Emily’s dishes with such care.
It gave her the same kind of sensation in the pit of her stomach that she got seeing a big hunky man with a baby. The occupation didn’t make him less rugged or tough—it emphasized his masculinity.
She enjoyed watching soap bubbles gather around his knuckles, the way the water pasted dark hair to his forearms, the way the muscles worked together in such harmony as he methodically washed and rinsed each dish. He washed everything by hand, even the things that could easily have gone in the dishwasher. Annie had no idea whether he did this every night or whether he was enjoying working side by side as much as she was.
“You live in a family home in the suburbs, you own your own business, you even do dishes. How come there’s no woman in your life?” Maybe it was insensitive and prying of her to ask, but the question had been bothering her since the birthday party.
He glanced up from the dishes. “I didn’t always live like this. A year ago I had a condo in Kitsilano.” He mentioned the trendy part of town near the university almost with regret. “I was an RCMP officer and a single guy living in a city famous for beautiful women.”
“Really? Vancouver’s famous for beautiful women?” Darn. She should have checked that out before she moved here.
“I bet more men’s magazine centerfolds come from Vancouver than any other city,” he informed her with obvious pride. “Not that I personally know any,” he hastened to add.
“Naturally.”
“My friend Brodie dated a centerfold once. She was a nice girl.” He shrugged, scraping a glob of egg stuck to the frying pan. “Then Emily came to live with me. Things changed.”
Now that was an understatement. He’d given up his lifestyle and changed to a safer job for the sake of his niece. Wow. A memory of her dad, who’d left his family when the responsibility became too much, flashed across her mind, and she felt a frown develop.
But that was silly. Her dad was a great guy, as fun and adventurous as she was. He hadn’t been cut out for permanence any more than she was. Emily was pretty darned lucky that Mark was cut from a different cloth. “It’s been quite a year for you.”
“Yes. And obviously, I can’t get involved with a woman while Emily is still settling in.”
“She seems pretty settled to me,” Annie said, and then, panicking that he might think she wanted him to get involved with her, she quickly added, “I mean, she’s able to talk about her parents quite naturally and seems like a normal eight-year-old. She’s a little shy, but lots of kids that age are.”
“I’m glad you think so. I don’t know much of anything about kids. I pretty much bought out the bookstore on parenting books and stuff about the grieving process. And there’s some good information on the Internet.”
She stifled a grin. She might have known he’d search out an instruction manual on how to raise a child.
Once all the dishes were put away and the kitchen was spotless, its high-tech patina gleaming, an awkward pause ensued.
Annie had no idea what to do next. She had the sense that whatever she did now
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