The Home Is Where The Heart Is Collection. Maisey Yates
He reached into a small spice jar, pinched something between his fingers and scattered it over the pan, then shook a little salt from a shaker onto his palm before adding it to the contents of the pan.
“You added salt and what else?”
“Just a tiny bit of cinnamon. A quarter teaspoon is all you need. I would tell you that’s the secret ingredient but the real secret to this masterpiece is shaving in the fine chocolate—at least seventy percent cocoa—to the light cream and whole milk.”
“Wow. That sounds...insanely decadent.”
“Pop would sometimes add just a dollop of some Kilbeggan or Baileys to give a little extra kick. Not at the café, of course, just at home. After we were of age, of course. I think it works fine without.”
He poured some of the thick concoction into two mugs, then presented it to her with a dramatic flourish.
He then really impressed her by rinsing out the pan in the sink. A man might cook like a dream, but cleaning up after himself —especially when he paid people to do that for him—kicked everything up a notch or two or ten.
“Shall we go in by the fire?” he asked after he hung the apron up on a hook inside the pantry door.
Oh, this was a mistake of fairly epic proportion. She could see no graceful or polite way to back out now, after he had gone to so much trouble for her. Best to just weather through it and make her escape as soon as she could manage it.
She nodded and headed into the great room. He had turned on the fire and the lights of the tree. The room’s perfectly proportioned elegance struck her again, as it always did. The warm golden timbers, the smooth stones of the fireplace, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and the little touches she had added combined to make it comfortable and cozy, despite its grand size.
When she first came here, the room had felt like the lobby of some old lodge in a national park. Crater Lake or Grand Teton, maybe. Beautiful, certainly, but a little too formal for someone’s home.
Now it was just right.
She settled in the armchair closest to the fire, leaving the sofa for Aidan. When she was finally comfortable, she took a sip of the hot chocolate and just about had a culinary orgasm on the spot. She might have even gasped out his name.
“Oh, my word,” she exclaimed. “That just might be the best thing I have ever tasted.”
He laughed, obviously gratified—as well he should be. “I’m glad you like it. Make sure you tell Pop when he gets here. He’ll be tickled, both that I fixed it for you and that you enjoyed it.”
“Enjoy is a gross understatement.”
She sipped at it again and her taste buds burst into song. It was like an explosion of deliciousness, chocolate and cream with just that hint of cinnamon to add a little bite.
A light snow had begun to fall through the big window and with the flames dancing in the grate and the tree lights twinkling, this seemed the perfect ending to a really good day.
“I wonder what happened to Sue and Jim?” she mused.
“Oh, I meant to tell you. I called her while I was shaving the chocolate. Apparently she twisted her ankle after the parade so they cut the night short.”
She set down her cup on one of the coasters she had set out in all the rooms. “Oh, no. Does she need anything?”
“I doubt it. She said she was heading straight to bed. She figured a good night’s sleep would help.”
“I hope it’s not serious.”
“She didn’t seem to think so. Wouldn’t that be a nightmare? A house filled with twenty people and no cook? The good news is, Pop is something of an expert on feeding a crowd so at least we wouldn’t starve, but I really want him to be able to rest and enjoy the holidays, if he can.”
From the sound of it, Dermot Caine sounded like a man who loved feeding other people. She wasn’t sure an enforced vacation from his passion was exactly what he needed, but it seemed presumptuous to disagree.
“I can certainly pitch in if necessary. I’m not exactly an expert in the kitchen but I take direction well.”
He smiled with a warm look in his eyes that felt as rich and heady as the chocolate sliding down. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but thank you for the offer. I imagine my sisters-in-law and Charlotte would probably be there helping out, too. Usually the Caines suffer from having too many cooks in the kitchen instead of a dearth of them.”
“Your family really does sound wonderful. I can’t wait to meet them all.”
“I hope I haven’t built them up too much. Like any family, we have our issues. My brothers can combine to be a huge pain in the ass, if you want the truth. Between Katherine, Charlotte, Lucy and my sisters-in-law, they’ll all probably take one look at you and want to find you another husband.”
The thick hot chocolate she had been swallowing seemed to clog in her throat. “A...husband?”
“Genevieve, in particular, thinks she’s a matchmaker of some renown.”
“Oh.”
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that so she took one more small sip of hot chocolate. Even without any Irish whiskey, the stuff was rich and just sweet enough to sparkle through her bloodstream, leaving her feeling vaguely tipsy.
“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I’ll tell them to back off, that you’re still grieving for Maddie’s dad.”
She blinked. “Am I?”
“You don’t talk about your late husband. I don’t even know his name. I assumed the loss is still too raw, that you loved him too much. Am I wrong?”
She set her mug down, the flavor a little bittersweet now. Her feelings for Trent were such a mixed-up jumble, the answer to that question was far from simple. “His name was Trent,” she said, her voice low. “Trent Hayward.”
She waited for some spark of recognition, maybe, but he had no reaction other than sympathy. What else did she expect? He had probably never heard of her husband.
“I did love him. He was a...good father. He loved Maddie and wanted the very best life for her he could provide.”
Unfortunately, she could see now that never would have been enough for Trent. Even if he had somehow miraculously managed to strike it rich, he never would have been content. He always would have wanted more and more.
“I’m sorry. If it’s not too painful, can I ask how he died?”
This was it. She had to tell him. He had asked directly and she didn’t feel right about lying to him.
“He was killed in a one-car accident. He had been drinking, something he usually didn’t do, and struck a concrete barrier on the 101.”
“Oh, El. I’m so sorry.”
She pressed her lips together at the way he said her name, like an endearment. Suddenly she wanted to tell him all of it.
“He was out of town on a business trip. San Jose, California.”
He sat back, brow furrowed. “Really? Wow, that’s a coincidence.”
Not at all. She sighed. “It was...a very difficult time. Arranging for his body to be flown back, dealing with the police investigation.”
“Investigation? It was a one-car accident. That couldn’t have been too complicated.”
She felt cold suddenly, even though the fire merrily cranked out heat.
“Not really. Just lingering questions. There was no indication he braked before the accident.”
He watched her in the firelight, that blue-eyed