Grace greeted them at the door wearing black pants and a red sweater set. Kate felt underdressed in a jean skirt and her long-sleeve Banana Republic silk T-shirt. She handed Grace the hors d'oeuvre plate she'd made, and her gaze scanned the living room.
No Rob. She felt her shoulders relax and the tension in her back loosen. She wished she didn't care one way or the other, but for some reason he made her uptight and nervous. And again, not in a good way.
"Thank you, Kate," Grace said as she took the plate from her. "This was so thoughtful of you."
Kate pointed to each section of the plate. "Those are Italian olives, and I stuffed those mushrooms." Grace set the plate on a coffee table. "That's jalapeflo jelly," Kate continued, "over cream cheese. You spread it on the wafers. It's wonderful."
"I'm going to take your word on that jelly," her grandfather said as he popped an olive in his mouth.
Grace picked up the Delilah cheese knife and spread some of the cream cheese and jalapefio jelly on a cracker. She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "That's quite good," she announced.
Kate smiled and looked at her grandfather. "Thank you."
"I still don't think it's right for people to make vegetable jelly," Stanley maintained and refused to even try it. He'd dressed for the dinner party in his gray permanent press pants, a blue dress shirt, and a gray sweater. Which was quite dressed up for him. Kate wasn't certain, but she thought her grandfather was acting kind of nervous. He kept folding and u
nfolding his arms and twisting the tip of his handlebar mustache. And he was wearing so much Brut that she'd practically had to ride all the way over with her head sticking out the car window like an Irish setter.
Grace showed them her collection of Swarovski crystal, and she gave Stanley three crystal penguins on a chunk of crystal ice to hold up to the light. The two of them looked at the prism of color spilling across Stanley's old, gnarled palm, and then they looked at each other. For one brief moment their eyes held before he lowered his hand, as well as his gaze. His cheek turned a slight pink, and he cleared his throat.
Her grandfather liked Grace. More than just a friend. More than he liked the other widows in town. When had that happened?
Kate snagged a few olives, then she moved to the shelves filled with photos. What did she think about her grandfather dating Rob's mother? She'd always thought she'd be happy that he was moving on with his life. Living again. Was she? She honestly didn't know.
The photographs on the shelves were three and four deep, and in the front sat a picture of a naked baby on a white lambskin. Another was faded and yellow, of the same baby sitting on a man's lap, whom Kate assumed was Rob's father. She popped an olive in her mouth and looked at Rob in a grade school photo, his hair in a crew cut, with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. A prom picture of him in a powder blue tux and his date in silver lame with enormous shoulder pads up to her ears. This time his hair was in some sort of spiked Duran Duran do with long bangs. But most of the photos of Rob were taken of him in different hockey jerseys.
In quite a few of the pictures, he was so young that his hockey jersey hung over his hands. In all of them his big green eyes were bright with excitement. There were action photos of him taking a shot or skating with the puck at the end of his stick. Others with his helmet low on his forehead, this time his eyes menacing as he delivered hits to opposing players. A magazine cover of him with his arms in the air, holding a stick over his head, his smile enormous. Testosterone practically oozed from the Kodak paper, a startling contrast to the lace curtains and pink wicker sofa.
Kate reached for a more recent photograph of Rob. He held a naked baby to his chest, his lips pressed to the top of her dark head. His daughter's delicate features against his raw masculinity.
The front door opened and Kate replaced the photo. She turned as Rob walked in and shut the door behind him. He wore a long-sleeved dress shirt, white, tucked into a pair of khakis with a razor crease. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand. The last time she'd been in the same room with him, he'd kissed her and put her hand on his crotch. She felt a wary little jump in her nerves, which disturbed her since she thought she should feel a lot more angry and indignant than she actually did.
Grace moved across the room toward him. "You're late."
"Store closed late." Rob gave his mother a hug. "Hello Stanley," he said, then he looked over the top of his mother's head, and his green gaze met Kate's. "Hello, Kate."
"Hello," she said, and she was pleased that her voice did not reflect the spike in her nerves.
"Dinner will be ready soon." Grace took the bottle of wine and looked at it. "I told you to get a Merot. This is a Chardonnay."
He shrugged. "You know I'm a beer drinker. I don't know squat about wine. I just bought the most expensive, figuring it had to be the best."
Grace shoved it back at him. "Take it in the kitchen and open it. Maybe Kate can show you how use a corkscrew."
She could, but she didn't want to. "Sure." She followed Rob through the dining room, her gaze skimming down the pleat in the back of his white shirt to where it tucked into his tailored pants. The khaki fabric hugged his behind, and two brown buttons closed the back pockets. The pant legs fell in perfect, straight lines to the hem, breaking at the heels of his soft leather loafers. He might not know wine, but he did know a thing or two about expensive clothes.
He set the bottle on the white countertop and opened a drawer. "The glasses are in the cupboard above the refrigerator," he said and pointed with the corkscrew.
The kitchen was as feminine as the rest of the house. The walls were peach, with tulip-and-white-rose-wallpaper borders. With his wide shoulders and height, Rob looked a little out of place in the ultrafeminine surroundings. A lot like a bull in a china shop.
Kate opened the cupboard doors and reached inside to grab four glasses. An extremely good-looking, well-groomed bull who seemed perfectly at ease. "I think my grandfather likes your mother," she said as she set the glasses on the counter next to Rob's hip. "I think they're becoming friends."
"Good, my mother likes your grandfather." He held the bottle in one big hand and twisted the corkscrew with the other. "I can't remember her ever inviting a man over for dinner." With little effort, he pulled the cork out with a pop and poured Chardonnay into the first glass. "Of course, my mother and I haven't lived in the same town until recently. So she could have had lots of men in her life and just never told me." He filled a second glass, then handed it to Kate.
"When did you leave home?" she asked and took it from him. His fingers touched hers, warm against the cool glass.
"I got drafted into the NHL when I was nineteen." He pulled his hand away and reached for his own glass. "Between you and me," he said and raised it to his mouth, "I know what a Merlot is, but I like white wine better."
"You lied to your mother."