The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess Read online

  She glanced at the clock hanging above the industrial-sized kitchen sink. Since she hadn’t planned on staying for the movie, she’d put a pie in the oven before she’d left for the community center. She’d thrown it together, using frozen crusts, while she’d made Steven a quick dinner. “But we’ll have to do that another time.”

  “I like the idea,” Theresa said. “But I really doubt I’ll be able to get Wally to join. He’d have to actually leave his old easy chair.”

  Some of Millie’s excitement dimmed. What if Steven refused to participate in classes? Mitchell was her baby; she’d be able to talk him into it. Maybe he could goad Steven. He had certainly done enough of that while they were growing up.

  “I’m not so sure Steven will go for it either,” Millie admitted. “Otherwise, he would have let Audrey or Brigitte teach him.” She leaned toward the counter and grabbed another handful of M&Ms, munching on them as she mused aloud, “But there’s got to be a way…”

  “Do what you do best, ladies,” Kim snorted, nothing ladylike about it. “Manipulate them.”

  “Manipulate?” Millie asked, getting a little nervous from the intensity of Kim’s brown-eyed stare.

  “Yeah, you know how. Manipulate them like you did me.” She batted her lashes. “Oh, Kim, you’d be helping us, truly you would, if you taught an exercise class at the community center. You’d be helping us get in shape and stay healthy. Do it for us, Kim, for our health,” she imitated the argument that had precipitated her starting up the aerobics classes. Then she dissolved into laughter.

  “You knew?” Theresa asked, a wide smile spreading across her face.

  “Neither of you are exactly Mata Hari.”

  Millie laughed, too. “Then how will we manipulate the men?”

  “They’re men. They won’t realize what you’re up to,” Kim said with a derisive laugh. “Play them the same way you did me. Then we’ll have at least a few students for our class.”

  Our class.

  The problem was really Millie’s: trying to get Steven and his wife back together and trying to get Mitchell trained so that someday he’d stop scaring women away and get married. But just like that, Kim and Theresa had made her problem theirs.

  “I don’t know if Wally will fall for it,” Theresa cautioned.

  “Try.”

  Because maybe the solution to Millie’s problem would also fix the one Theresa wouldn’t admit she had, the frustration of dealing with a husband who Millie suspected was more depressed over selling his business than he was messy.

  “Can we think of anyone else to join?” Theresa asked.

  Bright blue eyes came immediately to Millie’s mind. He’d been a bachelor before and survived. He would again. Isn’t that what he’d said? Maybe he’d like a little help this time. Her face heated up just thinking about bringing it up to him. He would probably assume she was making another pass.

  Maybe she should. If she could teach some old dogs new tricks, she should be able to learn some herself, like how to flirt. She wasn’t as old-fashioned as she’d once thought. She wrapped a wayward curl around her finger to admire the color. She really loved cinnamon.

  “We can put up a sign-up sheet on the bulletin board.” And maybe he’d see it and sign up. Or she could mention it to him… if she could keep her foot out of her mouth.

  “We can also bring it up at our next Red Hat luncheon,” Theresa said. “I’m sure some of our friends have domestically inept men in their lives, too.”

  “If we get a good turnout, maybe we can keep it going,” Kim said.

  “I thought men weren’t worth the effort,” Theresa reminded her.

  Kim shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be doing it alone. I’d only be helping you two.”

  “Be warned,” Theresa said to Millie. “If she thinks about getting married again, she’s going to want us at the altar with her, saying some vows.”

  Kim shuddered now. “The only vow I’m making is to never get married. Teaching is entirely different…”

  It was in Kim’s blood. It wasn’t in Millie’s. She’d never taught anyone anything; she’d always figured it was easier to just do it herself. But that was probably what had gotten her sons into this mess, literally.

  “So what are we going to call this class?” Kim asked, she and Theresa both turning to Millie.

  Millie laughed at her friends’ expectant faces. They turned to her just like her granddaughter had.

  “We’ll call it…” She paused, thinking of those blue eyes again as the perfect name came to her. “A Bachelor’s Survival Course.”

  You didn’t have to rush back home,” Steven said as he lifted a spoonful of steaming apple pie and vanilla ice cream into his mouth, dribbling some across the usually sparkling white surface of the Corian countertop as he did so. A few other drops landed on the white v-neck T-shirt he wore with gray sweatpants.

  Millie had popped the pie into the oven before heading to the center. And thank goodness she had; it had saved her from any more humiliation with Charles Moelker. Just as she’d been leaving the center, he’d stepped out of the TV room and into her path.

  “Going to run me over again?” he’d asked, deep voice vibrating with amusement.

  “I am in a hurry again,” she’d said, willing the blush from her face. “I have a pie in the oven.” She’d talked longer to Kim and Theresa than she’d planned, so she’d been worried it was about to burn.

  “Pie? What flavor?” he’d asked, leaning against the wall of the wide corridor and folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t need Kim’s class; there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his trim body. He wasn’t as tall as her sons, or as her husband had been. Leaning like that, his face had been quite close to hers.

  “Apple,” she’d said, a bit breathlessly.

  “My favorite.”

  “Mine, too…”

  She’d almost invited him back for a slice. If not for her houseguest, she might have. But Steven had been through enough for one day; he didn’t need to be subjected to his mother’s first attempts at flirting. No doubt she’d be as clumsy as a toddler first trying to walk, so she did not want an audience.

  “No,” she said to Steven, blinking the image from her mind of Charles’s face so close to hers. “I didn’t plan on staying. I just dropped by to tell my friends.”

  “It’s good you came back when you did,” he said, sounding eager for company.

  She hoped he was ready to talk; then she could convince him to fight for his marriage, to help his wife out like she wanted. To be there for the poor, overworked woman.

  “I was afraid the pie was going to burn,” he explained, nodding toward the double ovens built into the polished hickory cabinets of the kitchen.

  “You don’t know how to take a pie out of the oven?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know when it’s done.”

  “But if it were burning?” Would he have let the house catch fire before he opened the oven door? That little hammer started pounding at Millie’s temple again. The situation was much worse than she imagined; she and her friends definitely had their work cut out for them.

  “I wouldn’t know it was burning till it was too late,” he said, around a mouthful of pie. Some juice dribbled down his chin and onto the front of his already stained T-shirt.

  For a moment, Millie felt like running, like Kim had from her weddings, but then she remembered her granddaughter’s tear-streaked face, her dark eyes wide and hopeful that Grandma could fix her family for her. Obviously there were other things, besides burning pies, that her son didn’t notice until it was too late.

  “Have you talked to Brigitte yet?” she asked softly.

  Steven jerked as if she’d jabbed a fork in his arm. “Mom—”

  “Have you?”

  “She called,” he admitted, his voice raspy with emotion. “She’s upset her mother threw me out. She wants me to come home.”

  Millie wished it was that simple, but after talking to Audrey, she
knew it wasn’t. “Brigitte doesn’t understand.”

  He sighed. “She’s not the only one.”

  “Did you talk to Audrey?”

  He shook his head, then passed a hand, probably sticky from the pie, through his thinning hair. “She’s made up her mind.”

  Millie tsked her disapproval of his defeated attitude. “So get her to change it.”

  “Mom…”

  “Or better yet, you change.”

  “Change what? I’m the same guy Audrey married. She’s the one who’s changed, who doesn’t love me anymore,” he pointed out, his dark eyes dull with misery.

  “I’m sure she still loves you,” Millie insisted. “She’s just exhausted. She needs some help around the house.”

  He nodded. “I know. I offered to bring someone in, to hire a maid service to come a couple times a week.”

  Pride warmed her heart. Her son wasn’t entirely clueless then. “You did?”

  “Yeah, this afternoon, when she was throwing boxes of my stuff into the garage,” he shared, staring at the design he was making on his plate by dragging the fork tines through the pie filling. “She called me lazy.”

  “She wants you to make more effort,” Millie said, drawing in a quick breath before pitching the Bachelor Survival Course. “I could help you—”

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t matter what I did or how I changed,” he argued. “She doesn’t want me anymore. I can’t make her love me, Mom.”

  Knowing how stubborn her oldest could be, Millie resorted to Plan B, the idea she’d first considered at the center when Kim had urged her and Theresa to manipulate the men into joining the class. Sibling rivalry. Nonchalantly she asked, “You know whose favorite pie this is?”

  “Mitch’s,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pie. Even talking about his marriage problems hadn’t curbed his appetite.

  Besides household skills, Millie also had to teach her children some manners. But first things first. “Yes, he loves it,” she agreed. “Too bad he wasn’t here, too.”

  “That’s what he said,” Steven said, a devilish gleam flitting through his red-rimmed eyes.

  “You talked to him?”

  “He called from Mexico. I made sure to let him know what was in the oven.”

  Oh, yes, her sons still loved to goad each other. It didn’t matter that they were grown men in their thirties; they were still as competitive as they’d been as kids seeing who could raise the most BB welts on the other one. Plan B relied heavily on that rivalry. Millie counted on them challenging each other to join the class, then competitively try to outperform each other.

  When the phone rang, Steven jumped, and hope brightened his dark eyes. Obviously he wasn’t entirely certain Audrey wouldn’t change her mind. Then he glanced at the caller ID.

  “It’s Mitch again,” he said, disappointment heavy in his voice as he handed the cordless phone to her. “I’ll take my pie downstairs, so you two can talk about me.”

  Her gaze followed his path from the kitchen, his shoulders stooped like those of a man much older than thirty-six. She let out a shaky breath before hitting the talk button on the receiver.

  “You’re going to save me a piece of pie, right?” Mitchell asked before Millie even said hello.

  She laughed. “I can’t make any guarantees. You didn’t tell me how long you’re going to be gone.”

  “It was supposed to be a few days, but I’m cutting it short.”

  “For the pie?” She knew why. He’d talked to Steven; he knew his brother was having problems. Despite their good-natured rivalry, they still looked out for each other. She was counting on that, too.

  “Well, it is my favorite.” Then he sighed and let his concern show when he asked, “Is he okay?”

  She’d never lied to her children. “No.”

  “How about you?”

  Her dear, sweet boy. Mitchell had always been so sensitive. Yes, he would have already been married if he weren’t such a slob.

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “Mom, I know you. You’ve got to be upset, too. And you’re going to try to ‘fix’ this.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Well…”

  “Mom…” Mitchell drew in an audible breath, as if bracing himself. “You have a plan already?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Why do I have a feeling that I’m not going to like it?”

  Learning to clean, shop, cook, and do laundry? She was pretty sure he was going to hate it. “I’m going to need your help.”

  He sighed. “Of course.”

  “So you’ll help me?”

  He sighed louder, his breath rattling the phone. “Of course.”

  She laughed. “Mitchell…”

  “I’ll be home day after tomorrow. Save me a piece of pie. Or better yet, make me a whole one.”

  Maybe she’d have him make it himself.

  She hung up smiling and was still smiling when the doorbell rang a short time later. Since it was eleven, it had to be Kim or Theresa. They’d stayed for the movie and clean-up. She owed them for filling in for her, especially as it had been a three-hour movie.

  If she hadn’t suspected it was her friends, she might have hesitated to open her door after dark. She might have reached for the feather duster again… or called Kim and had her look across and down the street to see who was at Millie’s door. Like Steven had surmised, Kim looked out for her. Not that she needed anyone looking out for her.

  She wasn’t alone now, though. Selfishly she had to admit it had been nice to come home to a house aglow with lights and alive with sound. As she crossed the foyer to the front door, she heard the blare of the TV drifting up from the basement. Her heart eased. She was comforted to know that she could call out to Steven, not that he would hear her above the nightly newscast, but it was nice all the same.

  To not be alone.

  She drew open the door, then stopped. It wasn’t Kim or Theresa. As she glanced at her watch, she realized the movie probably wasn’t over yet. But apparently Charles Moelker had left, maybe when she had. He and his little dog now stood on her front walk right beside the welcome sign she’d posted among her flowers.

  Her heart rate accelerated… as if she had opened the door to a dangerous stranger. Maybe Charles was. She didn’t know him well despite the years they’d lived in the same complex, just a street apart. So he was a stranger, and the way he made her heart race and infiltrated her mind, he was certainly dangerous.

  “Returning another bowl?” she asked, inwardly cringing about the amount of casseroles she had left with him. She truly hadn’t realized what she’d been doing, that she’d been using her food to flirt with him.

  He shook his head. “No. I feel bad about that.”

  “About my cooking?” She lifted her chin, perversely insulted. She took great pride in her culinary skills; she was definitely a goddess in the kitchen.

  “No, no. I really enjoyed your cooking. I hope you didn’t think otherwise this afternoon.” He chuckled. “I still can’t believe you thought Ellen had died… although I guess she is hanging out with a stiff now. That guy she married…”

  He dragged in a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. They’re happy together—that’s the important thing.”

  “What about you?” The question slipped out before she could censor it.

  “Am I happy?” he asked, dark brows lifting about the eyes that were so bright they even glowed in the faint illumination of her porch light.

  It was too personal a question, something strangers or even neighbors wouldn’t ask each other. Maybe her sons got their lack of manners from her. Because she still wanted to know. “Yes.”

  He chuckled with more nerves than humor this time. “Define happy.”

  That was the most personal question, someone’s definition of happiness. She knew hers. Family. She’d do anything for her boys, Audrey, and Brigitte.

  Since Charles had confessed to being a long-time bachelor before his ma
rriage to Ellen, she suspected he didn’t have any children. The two of them really had nothing in common.

  She shrugged. “Happiness is something different for everyone, I guess.”

  “You’re not going to tell me what your happiness is,” he concluded with a smile.

  “You’re going to tell me yours?”

  “I’m a simple man. I can be happy with a slice of fresh apple pie.”

  Her heart tripped over itself, seeming to stumble inside her chest. “You came by for a slice of pie?”

  “I was hoping…” he admitted, his bearded face creasing into a hopeful smile… like a little boy wishing his mother would let him keep the turtle he’d found.

  Her nerves increased, causing her fingers to tremble, so she knotted them together. She hadn’t had a man in her house who wasn’t a blood relative since Bruce had died. Inviting him inside seemed too intimate. But it wasn’t like they were alone; Steven was just downstairs.

  But if he came up, he’d have a lot of questions. He’d want to know who Charles was… and more than that, what he was to Millie. She wasn’t prepared to answer any of those questions.

  She glanced down at his little dog; he had fallen asleep at Charles’s feet. “Don’t disturb him. I’ll just put a slice in a container for you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was just teasing.” His blue eyes twinkled at her.

  Millie’s heart beat harder now than it did during Kim’s exercise class. “I won’t be but a minute,” she said, her voice breathless even to her own ears. Then she rushed toward the kitchen, needing distance from him more than she needed to give him any pie. The slice she cut was almost too large for the plastic container she shakily dropped it in. Her fingers trembled as she placed warm apple slices over the pie and popped the cover onto the container.

  After she handed it to him, she licked her fingers, removing the sticky cinnamon filling. When she glanced up, she caught him staring at her.

  “See, it was no trouble,” she said, fighting the nerves that had her hands shaking again.

  “No… no trouble,” he said, but his deep voice suggested otherwise. “This was probably a bad idea.”