Page 39 of Recipe for Temptation

Marcus heaved a sigh. “You know Mom and Asha don’t get along. It’s like they’re in competition with each other to see who can be the best grandmother. They’re always one-upping each other with gifts for the twins, and Mom thinks Asha purposely scheduled the grand opening of her boutique to coincide with Mom’s summer visit so she could steal the spotlight.”

Michael rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Women and their drama.”

“Tell me about it,” Marcus agreed with a wry chuckle. “Needless to say, Samara and I didn’t think having them under the same roof was such a good idea. So since Asha arrived first, she got first dibs on accommodations.”

Michael grinned. “Given the way she and Dad are always at each other’s throats, staying with him was out of the question.”

Marcus laughed. “You got that right. They’d probably kill each other before the week was over.” A low murmur of voices could be heard in the background. “Listen, Mike, I gotta run. My client just arrived. Thanks for picking up Mom and Grant for me on such short notice. I owe you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Michael hung up and returned the phone to the center console, then glanced over at Reese. “We have to make a detour to the airport to pick up my mother.”

She looked stricken. “You’re taking me with you?”

“I don’t have time to turn around and drive you back home. We’d never make it to the airport in time. Not in this traffic.”

Biting her lip, she glanced down at her snug T-shirt, denim capri pants and pink flip-flops.

Interpreting her thoughts, Michael said impatiently, “Relax. You look fine. And even if you didn’t, so what? It’s not like you’re being introduced as her future daughter-in-law.”

Reese bristled. “You should be so lucky.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll let you figure it out.” Fuming, she turned away to glare out the passenger window, adding under her breath, “Jerk.”

Michael scowled.

So much for their truce.

Chapter Thirteen

Every time Celeste Rutherford came for a visit, she behaved as if it had been years since she’d last seen her children, when in this instance, it had only been four months. She’d flown to Atlanta earlier that year to spend Easter with the family, and before that she’d stayed for two weeks following Christmas. She would have remained longer if her husband—after enduring one too many winter nights alone—hadn’t begged her to return home to Minnesota.

When Michael saw his mother standing alone in the bustling airport terminal, he wondered if she’d left Grant behind again. At the sight of Michael, she beamed with such radiant joy he couldn’t help asking himself how he’d ever doubted her love for him.

“Darling!” she cried warmly, rushing forward and wrapping him up in one of her rib-crushing embraces.

Michael smiled, holding her close. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better, now that you’re here.” She clung a moment longer, then drew back and cradled his face between her soft hands, cinnamon-brown eyes shining with tender adoration. “I swear you get handsomer every time I see you. How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know.” Michael grinned crookedly. “Are you still refusing to wear your bifocals?”

She laughed, lovingly stroking his cheek. “You look just like your father. It’s like stepping back in time.”

Michael smiled. “And speaking of that, you look really good, Mom. All your friends must hate you.”

“Oh, go on with you, boy,” she guffawed, blushing prettily.

In her early sixties, Celeste’s café-au-lait skin glowed with an age-defying radiance. Her hair was woven with silver and cut in short, sleek layers. Since becoming a frequent flyer in recent years, she’d learned to dress for comfort rather than style, though she still managed to epitomize casual elegance in a breezy summer top and linen slacks.

Michael glanced around curiously. “Where’s Grant?”

“In the restroom. He’ll be right out.” Celeste’s gaze suddenly landed on Reese, who’d hung back a little to give mother and son privacy. With a discreet glance at Reese’s hourglass body poured into snug denim, Celeste undoubtedly reached the conclusion that she was one of her son’s latest conquests.

“Hello,” Celeste murmured politely.

Michael turned as Reese stepped shyly forward. “Mom, I’d like you to meet Reese St. James. Reese, this is my mother, Celeste Rutherford.”

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