Paper Thin

“Fabulous actually.” I stretched out the arm holding the bulk of the heavy bags to him.

“You’re welcome.” He winked.

“Thank you.” I flashed him a smile, ignoring the sensation in my stomach his wink caused, and started up the ramp to the porch. Emma was in the living room when I walked in, watching something on TV. “Hey, whatcha watching?”

“Some movie. It’s a comedy.”

“Really? I would have never known from the absence of your laughter.” I adjusted the bags on my arms, evenly distributing their weight. “Must not be that good.”

“It’s okay.” She eyed the bags in my arms. “What’s all that?”

“I told you. I have a surprise for you tonight,” I said in a singsong voice, hoping to get at least a flicker of excitement shooting through her. I wanted to see her alive, but the deadness that seemed to overtake her more each day was the only thing reflected back at me.

She brought her fingers up to rub her right temple, and a sigh escaped her. “Char, I already told you, I’m not in the mood for any surprises.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” I continued toward the kitchen, ready to drop off the heavy bags, but also not willing to argue with Emma about tonight again. “I want you showered and dressed to impress by five tonight. I mean it!” The sound of her grumbling something made its way to my ears, but it was too low for me to make out the words, which was probably a good thing, because I knew it wouldn’t be anything nice.

I set the bags on the countertop and began putting things away. I had spent the majority of last night browsing recipes for various appetizers, entrees, and desserts I could make for entertaining Emma’s friends tonight. Hopefully something turned out edible. I also prayed I didn’t pull a Mom moment and nearly burn down the kitchen.

“Here are the rest.” Dawson set the remaining bags on the counter beside the ones I’d brought in. “Need any help putting them away?”

I frowned at him. Things with Emma must not have gone so well, because he seemed to be doing everything he could to avoid spending more time with her. “No. I am perfectly capable of putting groceries away. Thanks for the offer though.” Heavy sarcasm dripped from my words.

He held up his hands in surrender and walked backward out of the room. “Okay, sure.”

I fought the desire to reach inside the bag of lemons I was holding, and chuck one at him. Why did he think I was incapable of doing things on my own? Maybe there was still a bit of the little Charlotte he had grown up with fresh in his mind. My lips twisted into a frown at the thought.

After I put all the groceries up, I pulled out my cell and read through the recipes I had bookmarked for tonight, trying to decide on what to attempt first. I’d bought double the ingredients for nearly every recipe, hoping for a fifty-fifty chance one of each would be okay. If not, I might be making a mad dash to the local BBQ place around the corner before everyone arrived.

Deciding I would start with the desserts, because they seemed to be the easiest and needed some time to chill in the fridge before being served, I gathered all the ingredients. Laughter from the living room floated to my ears. A smile twisted my lips at the sound. Dawson had the best laugh. It was deep and rich, smooth sounding even. It was the type of laugh that was contagious, and forced everyone within earshot to smile. Something fu

Focusing my attention on the recipe, I hoped I wouldn’t forget a step or screw something up. I needed this night to be perfect. It was too important for it not to be.

AN HOUR LATER, I was drowning in sweet potato slices, freaking out over the creamy cilantro-serrano dip that was supposed to go with them because it was nowhere near as creamy as it was supposed to be, and praying the chocolate cream pie turned out okay, because the double-chocolate macaroons looked like brown turds instead of the perfect balls of goodness the recipe claimed they would be.

Cooking was not my forte, I knew this, and I had no idea what the hell I had been thinking when I decided I could handle catering for tonight’s event. Clearly, I had suffered from temporary insanity.

“Something smells good.” Dawson strolled into the kitchen. He headed straight for the fridge, causing icicles of panic to stab through me.

“No! Please don’t open that!” I envisioned the blobs that were supposed to be perfect balls of macaroons falling to the floor with a disgusting splat the second he swung the door open.

“Why not? What sort of concoction have you got chilling in here?” He gripped the handle, and eyed me.

“I’m trying to let something set, or at least I’m hoping it sets,” I admitted while pushing the sleeves up on my sweater. I reached for the whisk I’d been using to stir the dip for the sweet potatoes and tried one last time to whip it into something creamy and delicious, like what the picture showed. It seemed to be clumping more by the second, and I wasn’t sure why.

“Okay. So I won’t open the fridge.” He backed away and moved closer to me, checking out what I had cooking. I was positive nothing looked appetizing. “What’s all this?”

I wiped at my forehead. Exhaustion was getting the best of me, along with frustration. Nothing had turned out to be as easy as the recipes claimed. Nothing. “It’s supposed to be a creamy dip for the sweet potato chips, but as you can see.” I lifted the whisk showing him the texture. “There is nothing creamy about it.”

“I can see that.” He picked up one of the sweet potatoes and waved it back and forth. “Aren’t you supposed to cook these in order to make them chips? I don’t know about you, but any chip I’ve ever eaten has been crisp.”

“Oh shit!” I’d forgotten to put them in the oven. “They were supposed to bake for thirty minutes! I can’t believe I did that.” I set the whisk down, but missed the counter and it fell to the floor, hitting my capris and leg on its way. Chunky whiteness slid down my shin. I froze, unable to believe the mess I was making. I was completely botching this di

Dawson laughed as he bent to retrieve the whisk. “You look like you could use a little help.” He rinsed the whisk in the sink, struggling to gain control over his laughter.

“Ya think?” I reached for the dish towel as he was. Our hands touched, sending shockwaves through my core. I pulled away and let him have the rag first.

“I can help, if you want.” He cleared his throat and handed me the rag after he’d dried the whisk. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

Every part of me wanted to say yes to him, because God knew I could use the help, but thoughts of Emma crushed the idea. “Where’s Emma? Is your movie over?”

“Yeah, she went to shower and get ready for tonight. I was supposed to be on my way out the door, but I wanted to grab a few of the beers I left here the other night first.” An amused grin twisted his lips as he glanced around the kitchen once more. “I can see you might need my help though. So what do you say? Wa

Gratitude paraded through me as every muscle in my body released from the tension I’d been straining them with. I needed the help, and if Emma was getting ready for the party, that meant I wasn’t pulling Dawson away and ruining time they could have had together. He had already said goodnight to her.

“Sure. As you can see, I could use it.” I wiped my shin off and searched for my cell. It was buried beneath a pile of sweet potato peelings. I pulled up the recipe for them and checked to see what the oven needed to be preheated to before handing it to him so he could read it. “Okay, I’m putting you in charge of the sweet potato chips.”