Another fast shake of Ivy's head sent her hair swishing. "We should finish this first. I like cooking with you."
Of course she did, but then any female mother-figure would have fit the bill. Poor kid.
"Me too, sweetie. This was fun."
Julia swirled the grapefruit knife through the unmelted blobs of marshmallow cream.
Okay, not too bad, even appetizing with all those unmixed marshmallow swirls marbleizing the effect.
Ivy chewed her lip. "Maybe if we keep it in the refrigerator."
A snort sounded from Shelby in the family room. "More like the freezer."
Julia glanced over her shoulder at Shelby strolling to a stop in the doorway. The teen pitched pretzels into her mouth. Aggie trailed, pitiful puppy eyes tracking every bite.
Shelby plastered an expression of boredom across her face with more masking perfection than an Estee Lauder makeover. Except Estee Lauder ladies didn't usually have a silver stud through an eyebrow.
Stifling a groan, Julia scratched her own brow. As if things weren't already going to be awkward enough when Zach walked through the door.
When he saw what Shelby had done...
Julia's rebellious eyes snuck another peek at the driveway. His truck still wasn't there, but the lean lines of his Harley offered too potent a reminder of the man anyway. She wanted to see him, had been lonely for his towering presence and brooding smile for the past six weeks.
Too much so.
She needed some of that chocolate. Now.
Julia whipped open a drawer and scooped out a handful of spoons. "Let's just eat it as is, kinda like raw cookie dough."
"Cool!" Ivy squealed, bouncing on her toes. "I hardly ever get to lick the bowl since Mom always scrapes it clean like the recipe says."
Julia padded barefoot across the kitchen, passing a spoon to Ivy and pitching one to Shelby. "Well, hon, I've never been one for following the recipe since it usually doesn't work out anyhow. I'm a make-it-up-as-I-go type."
Kathleen placed the sleeping infant in his car seat and extended a hand. "Don't I get one?"
Grinning wickedly, Julia dangled the spoon just out of reach. "You told me not to eat junk food when I was pregnant."
I told you to limit junk food, and believe me, Tanner's limiting my junk food just fine. I swear, I'm going to burn all those pregnancy books he's reading," she said, her grumbling completely negated by a smile. "You'd think he would know I have the darn things memorized. Now, give me a spoon."
"Yes, ma'am!" Julia passed the spoon over Patrick still snoozing away in his car seat. She brushed a quick kiss across his brow, savoring her last days with him before her maternity leave ended. He might be six weeks old, but she recalled those pregnancy cravings well.
Six weeks since she'd seen Zach.
Or he'd seen her.
The sitter had been the one to bring the girls over to meet Patrick. Never Zach.
What would he think of her trimmed-down body? Not that he could even see it in her baggy clothes. The khaki overalls had seemed logical when she'd packed. Practical, comfy. Safe. And they were her favorites even if they made her look like a blob. She didn't want to change herself for a man ever again.>"Reach one-two-two here, requesting landing weather for 2300 Zulu time at Charleston Air Force Base."
"Roger that, Reach one-two-two." Low static buzzed until the voice returned. "Charleston weather for 2300 Zulu. Ceiling, one hundred feet. Visibility, a quarter mile.
Thunderstorms in the area for at least five hours."
Thunderstorms. The homestretch lengthened. He wouldn't see home today. Or Julia.
His hand itched on the stick, trying to convince him to press on. He'd managed to fly through worse in battle conditions.
Too bad he recognized the itch well. It originated from the deadly disease flyers called get-home-itis. It made pilots do stupid things, like fly through mud-soup thunderstorms just to hug a wife or kid goodnight.