Touchdown - Leslie North Page 0,13

the menu tonight, chef?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” he said, pushing the door shut behind them. “And let me tell you—I made way too much. These kids eat like birds, so I hope you’re extra hungry.”

“From the way it smells, I think I’ll have no problem helping you out.”

He led the way into the kitchen, where the pasta cooked on the back burner while the oven timer ticked down toward zero. The triplets sat behind the island, away from the cooking action, their toys scattered on the floor. Jill kissed each chubby face in turn while the three of them shrieked “Auntie!” and alternated between showing off the toys they played with and taking each other’s things.

“Oh, and there’s garlic bread,” Maxwell added. “I’m going all out. Don’t tell Coach.”

Her gaze wandered over his bulging calf muscles as he bent in front of the oven, peering through the viewing window. His broad shoulders paired nicely with the black apron slung around his neck. He was as sexy as he was endearing, playing the role of new daddy. And damn, she couldn’t deny how hot it all was.

“I should have brought a bottle of wine,” she said, setting her purse on an open counter along the wall. But she regretted it as soon as she said it. Because wine equated to date in her world. And those lines couldn’t be crossed with Maxwell.

“I have some if you want it,” he offered. “But I’m not drinking this close to playoffs, so it’ll be all yours.”

“No, if you can’t share it with me, then there’s no point,” she said, waving him off. Kevin touched her leg, and she bent down to scoop him up. She carried him on her hip as she wandered back toward the stove to assess the action.

“So on a scale of one to chef, where are you?” she asked.

“I’d say about a four.” He stirred the pasta sauce with a wooden spoon. “But that’s only because of Carmen. We didn’t grow up together full time, but she was always tinkering in the kitchen, especially in our late teen years. She always had something to share.”

“Well, this looks like full-blown chef to me,” she admitted, letting Kevin down when he started wriggling to be free. Cameron toddled up behind, wanting to be held next. As she hoisted him onto her hip, she said, “Especially since I’m somewhere around a one.”

“Ah, so I can fool you into thinking I know more than I do,” Maxwell said.

She snorted. “I doubt that—because even though I can’t cook, I sure have gourmet tastes.”

Maxwell nodded, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder as he looked back at her. “So what you’re saying is I should have asked my personal chef to make this meal tonight.”

They smiled at each other for a little too long, something heavy but not uncomfortable hanging between them.

“You have a personal chef?” she finally asked, breaking the spell of his dark eyes. There was something about the man that was too intoxicating, too attractive. She couldn’t tell if it was just the fact that he was in peak physical condition—a literal paragon of athletic excellence—or if there was something more beneath his dark Italian heritage that made her react on a visceral level.

“I’ve been known to outsource the cooking, yes,” he said with a laugh, returning to the pot of pasta. “Especially during the season when time is tight.”

Jill alternated between carrying kids, soothing sudden toy disputes, and helping plate the food as Maxwell finished dinner. Once the table was set and the kids were in high chairs, it was hard for her not to get the warm fuzzies. Especially with the way Maxwell watched her, as though waiting for her reaction, with more curiosity than a casual Tuesday night dinner really entailed.

“This looks so lovely, Maxwell,” she said, meaning it more than she realized. It wasn’t just the home-cooked meal. It was the trappings of family. The comfort. The warmth. She’d had so little of this, living in the Caribbean over the past couple of years. And even longer than that, if she counted the frigid lie she’d lived in for years with her ex-husband.

“Well, let’s eat.” He gestured toward the open seat at the end of the table, and they both took their places in front of the heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs. The triplets were already hard at work on their meals, wobbly toddler sporks aimed at their mouths as they ate their chopped noodles and sauce. After only