Silver Fox (Silver Shifters 2)

Doris’s heart leaped. “I’d love to.”

“Come on, then,” he said. “I saw some board games upstairs. I’ll help you in the kitchen, and then let’s get some games set up before the knives come out.”

And Doris laughed from sheer giddiness, and relief, and an overwhelming sense of sweetness. She never had to dread Joey’s reaction to anything her family could throw at him. He wasn’t offended by them. Or intimidated. Or horrified.

Could it be that this impossible whatever-it-is between the two of them might just be possible after all?

Doris had always loved cooking. She’d cooked under all sorts of circumstances, from campfire cooking when she was a girl scout, to cooking with a group at the synagogue, and of course cooking alone.

She had never cooked with someone who made it an act of love. Because that’s what it felt like, cooking with Joey. She’d enjoyed doing dishes with him, but that hadn’t prepared her for standing side by side with him at the prep table, arms touching, sometimes hips bumping, as their hands chopped the carrots she pulled from the fridge and the white radish he’d brought with his camping gear, then the tomato and the sirloin.

It was sexy, cooking with Joey. Every sense came alive, her body tingling at his proximity. At how intimate it was, to be cooking with someone who obviously took the same pleasure she did in assembling their ingredients and blending them.

For spice, she contributed onion, ginger, and star anise, and he brought out two different types of soy in tiny pots, rice wine, a bit of cinnamon stick, and dried orange peel. They started a pot of rice going, warmed up the huge iron pan that he said was closest to the wok he usually cooked in, and they stood together at the stove as the ingredients went in, sizzling and raising delicious aromas.

They held out bits to one another to sniff, and to taste, and they talked about Doris’s new book. She found herself telling him about how her mother had seemed to channel her great-aunt while preparing the knishes, and he told her about the herb garden in his Chinese relatives’ village that was purported to have been planted during the Song dynasty—which dated back to the time Robin Hood was supposed to have lived.

When she exclaimed, “Oh, I’d love to see an herb garden that old,” he turned to her and said softly, “I would love to take you there.”

Every nerve in her body thrilled. It wasn’t just his words. Those were nice, but the elation that ran through her was the idea of cooking like this, next to him, again.

Like . . . every night.

The delicious aromas worked through the house, bringing everyone drifting in to load their plates.

The dinner was pronounced a smashing success. By the time everyone had eaten, Sylvia reported in as promised to tackle the cleanup, with Nicola and Marrit in tow. Doris was physically exhausted but mentally fizzing. She was aware of being happy, and told herself fiercely to enjoy it while it lasted.

After the twins finished their dinner, they drifted through. Vic muttered under his breath, “We’re off.”

“Excellent,” Joey said.

The twins disappeared into the mud room.

“What was that all about?” Doris asked.

Joey looked thoughtful. Then he said softly, “There’s something very important I want to talk to you about. But . . . when we can be private.”

Private? With Joey?

Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she said, “How about now?”

FIFTEEN

JOEY

Joey’s fox leaped about joyfully.

Hand in hand, he and Doris started for the stairs—but they were interrupted again when the door knocker banged loudly.

“Who could that be?” Elva bustled out of the kitchen, everyone else trailing her. “We’re all here!”

Joey’s senses prickled: shifters near.

Doris was following her mother, so Joey fell in step beside her.

Sylvia beat her mother to the door. She opened it, and gazed out at a pair of men who were clearly unfamiliar to her.

The taller, with too-bright eyes and buzzed blonde hair, said, “Excuse me. We’re neighbors. We’ve run out of food, and the snowplow hasn’t come. You have anything to spare?” He flashed a twitchy, mirthless grin that reminded Joey of a neon light on the blink.