and George would never be able to keep up. "He copped a feel this morning."
"Of what?"
Kera's large blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "My butt."
"He didn't!" George looked like the quintessential computer nerd. Glasses. Tall, lanky body. Mussed brown hair that always blocked his vision. The only difference was, George knew nothing about computers. He was an actor for the local community theatre:
Go figure.
"He most certainly did," Kera said, smiling. "He took a squeeze, too. I knew he'd cave in and go for it sooner or later. I feel his gaze on me every time I walk by him."
"We're talking about the guy who hasn't taken off his sweater vest since the great heat wave four years ago, right?"
"That's the one."
"He squeezed your ass? Really?" I still couldn't picture it.
"Well, maybe I turned around and asked him to do it," Kera said with a smile.
I chuckled again. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"Absolutely." Kera's grin widened. "Mel must be rubbing off on me." She sighed, losing a little of her humor. "If George doesn't ask me out soon, I'll have to ask him out."
"You're that interested?"
"Well, yeah. I like the way he looks at me. More than that, I realized that I like the way I feel when he looks at me."
I knew her, knew what she was really saying. She wanted a man who made her feel worshipped. She deserved it; so did every woman, for that matter. Was something like that possible, though? I didn't think so. I'd never seen it. Even the most passionate of marriages usually ended in divorce. The hotter the spark, the quicker it died, right?
With that cheerful thought, I decided it was time to get down to business. "How's your schedule looking for the third weekend in September?" I asked.
"Open, why?"
"I want you to cater Linda Powell's party. I already have Royce's approval."
"Cool." Thoughtful, she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "You know, in the last six months, I've had more business than my parents ever did. And they ran this place for twenty years."
"It's because you're the best caterer in town." When she wasn't trying new, exotic recipes, that is.
"No." She shook her head. "It's because you send all your customers my way."
"And they love me for it. You've never disappointed." I reached into my briefcase, withdrew three sheets of paper, saw that one was the application packet for Royce's bride, and hurriedly shoved it back inside. Cheeks heating, I handed the correct papers to Kera. "Here's a list of possible themes, as well as a list of acceptable food items. You'll notice the Powells are very adamant in their desire for plain fare," I added quickly.
Her features fell, giving her expression a cute little pout. "Are you sure? I've got a new recipe-"
"I'm sure!"
She shrugged her shoulders daintily. "There's no accounting for taste," she said, her gaze traveling over the list. "You and Royce are considering going with a jewelry-box theme?"
"Considering, yes. Royce says it's the one thing his mother loves." I paused, hesitant. "Do you like it?"
"No, I don't like it. I love it," she said, making me smile in relief. Her features brightened, illuminating the angelic roundness of her face. "Perhaps I can make hors d'oeuvres that look like necklaces and earrings."
I nodded my approval. "That's the spirit, though we're not one-hundred-percent settled on that theme yet. Give me a couple of days to firm it up."
Kera folded the papers and stuffed them in her apron pocket. "I hate to change the subject back to the one you want to avoid, but I'm dying to ask. Have you filled out an application to become Mrs. Royce Powell yet?"
"No." I glanced away from her. "Of course not."
"Do you plan to?"
"What kind of question is that? Absolutely not."
"Then why do you have one in your bag?"
My cheeks heated so much I might have set off a fire alarm had one been nearby. Damn it, I hadn't wanted anyone to see the application Elvira had given me-but I hadn't had the strength to throw it away. "Royce's assistant gave it to me by mistake, that's all."
Watchful, searching, she made a tsking sound under her tongue. "You kept it when you could have thrown it away. Why did you keep it, Naomi?"
As if I wanted to analyze myself that deeply. I didn't know why I was having trouble parting with the stupid thing, and I didn't want to know. The answer might scare me. Perhaps that meant I was the kind of person