Chapter Seven

Mai stirred the pan of simmering tomatoes, onions, and black olives as she added fresh thyme. The scent of the herb bloomed as it heated. “The key to herbs is heating them enough to release their flavor but not cooking them to oblivion.”

Noah stood to her left and peered over her shoulder. “How do you know how much heat is too much?”

“Practice. Cooking is about experience and sensory memory. And a willingness to experiment. A good cook keeps track of experiments. Next time you can tweak it, or leave it as is if you were happy with the results.”

Noah jotted notes in a spiral notebook as Mai spoke. “Got it.”

“Fresh herbs are delicate, and you need to use different amounts from dried herbs.”

The scent of lemon verbena overrode the fragrance of the sauce. The unmistakable sound of pumps tap-tapping across the floor made Mai look up from the pan. She turned toward the dining area.

Dale stood at the table sorting through a black clutch. Mai raked her gaze over her, starting at the black strapped pumps on her feet, up over the tanned bare legs, to the hem of the bright-red knee-length shirtwaist short-sleeve dress. Nipped at the waist, with three buttons undone the dress showed off Dale’s stunning cleavage and broad shoulders.

“Wow,” Mai murmured.

“You look great!” Noah’s enthusiastic comment echoed in Mai’s ears.

Dale strode into the kitchen, lifted her chin, and inhaled. “That smells divine.”

Mai’s gaze drifted over Dale’s long graceful neck. Her hair was combed back, and soft honey-brown waves fell about her shoulders. A vision of herself threading her fingers through Dale’s hair, tugging it to arch her neck back and then kissing her way along the smooth skin of her throat until she ended up at the delicate hollow between her collarbones, filled Mai’s mind.

The sharp scent of tomatoes on the edge of burning startled her from her daydream. She forced herself to shift her gaze back to the stove. She turned the burner off and moved the pan off the heat.

Dale sauntered to the door and the fabric of her dress swayed around her ample hips. “Makes me sorry I’m not going to be here for dinner.”

“Me too.” At Dale’s raised eyebrow Mai continued, “I mean, Noah wanted you to try his pasta.”

“Made from scratch.” Noah grinned at his mother.

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Yeah. Mai helped me.”

A brief frown crossed Dale’s face before she smoothed her features. “Don’t take advantage of Mai, Noah. She’s not here to tutor you.”

“I didn’t do anything. He did the work himself.” Mai jumped to Noah’s defense. “And I don’t mind. I wouldn’t do it if I did.”

“It’s not part of our agreement. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” She pulled her phone from her purse and glanced at the screen. “I have to run. Don’t wait up.”

“’Kay.” Noah tilted his head at his mother. “Where ya going?”

“Free concert at the college. Ms. Rice asked me to go.” Dale left in a swirl of red silk.

The scent of her perfume faded. Mai blinked. Her shoulders tightened. A date? Wait. Why should I care? Because I do. Damn that dress. Let it go. Not your business.

Mai moved back to the stove. She chewed her lip as she stirred the cooling sauce to break up the tomatoes into bite-size pieces. She stabbed at a particularly stubborn tomato and a bit of sauce slopped over, sizzling as it ran down the side of the pan. Focus. This a business arrangement. Nothing more.

“How much water for the pasta? Is it different because it’s fresh?” Noah’s voice drew her from her thoughts.

Mai forced a smile and placed the spoon on a small plate before she turned him. “It is. We need a large pot. The most important part is you need at least three times as much water as the amount of pasta you’re cooking. And the water must be as salty as broth. Pasta is made without salt. If you don’t salt the water, it tastes like paste.”

Noah dragged a large pot out from the lower cabinet and lowered it into the sink. Water splashed against the metal of the pot.

Mai fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “So, who is Ms. Rice?”

“One of my granddad’s friends. Her husband died last year. Mom fixes stuff for her all the time for free.”

Mai exhaled sharply. Not a date. “Good. That’s good. Nice of your mom to do that.”

Noah cocked his head at Mai, and a sly smile crossed his face. “You like my mom, don’t you?”

Mai avoided his gaze. “What’s not to like? She’s kind and capable.” And smart and hot as hell and just my type and oh man is this trouble.

Noah straightened and shut the tap off. “I know you like like her. I followed your show. I know you’re lesbian. So’s Mom. It’s cool.”

Mai lifted the box of coarse salt off the counter and stared at Noah. “You followed my show? How old were you? Like when you were ten?”

Noah blushed. “Yeah, Charlene was hot.”

Mai shrugged. “Well, just because your mom and I are into women doesn’t mean I’m interested in your mom.”

Noah peered into her eyes, his gaze intense. “You suck at lying.” He turned away and lifted the pot from the sink and placed it on the stove. With a firm spin of the dial he turned the burner on full. Blue and yellow flames shot up the sides of the pot.

Mai snorted. “I know.”