Mac glanced her way and noted, "The batter is really thick."

She hoped the cookies would thin out when they baked.

"Don't forget to grease the cookie sheet." He'd caught her just in time. "I'll preheat the oven."

She breathed a sigh of relief once the batter was evenly divided onto the cookie sheet. She baked the cookies for twelve minutes. She noticed they hadn't flattened when she removed them from the oven. They remained doughy peanut butter balls.

Mac frowned. "Not quite like grandma used to make." He popped one in his mouth. "Chewy." He ate two more.

She managed to make a salad, which consisted of chopped lettuce and diced carrots. Her mashed potatoes were undercooked and had lumps. She set the table while the meat loaf cooked. She laid out linen and crystal. She lighted a single candle, then dimmed the lights.

Mac glanced her way. "Planning to make a move on me?"

She stood with her hands on her hips. "What do you think?"

"Love the one you're with."

She knew he was joking. He was more like a brother than a lover. "This is a special occasion," she said. "I helped cook dinner, a first for me."

He cracked open the oven door. "The meat loaf's almost done." The aroma of garlic and onion escaped along with a little smoke. She was glad Marisole kept a small fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink.

Mac opened the wine and poured himself a glass. She went with iced tea. They sat down to eat. He toasted her. "We did good, Soph."

Good, but not great, she had to admit, although the food was edible. The fact she'd taken part in the preparation delighted her the most. She went so far as to have a second piece of Mac's meat loaf, though it was burned on the top and pink in the middle. She had to admit it was nicely seasoned.

Mac ate her potatoes without complaint.

He gave her a fist bump across the table. "We'll have to do this again. Next time Dune goes out of town."

"Does he travel often?" she asked.

"He sponsors twenty sports camps throughout the country, all geared toward volleyball. The kids love when he makes an appearance. He and hot Willow-damn-" He cut Sophie a guilty look.

"Hot Willow?" Her stomach gave a jolt.

Mac looked uncomfortable. "Will runs the Tampa camp," he said slowly, measuring his words. "She played on the pro tour for many years. She and Dune are old friends."

Sophie set down her fork. Emotion settled in her heart. She felt vulnerable and a little jealous. Her relationship with Dune was precarious and new and not exclusive. She was living for the moment, not the future.

He was Beach Heat, handsome and popular. There'd been women long before her. There'd be women long after. The thought depressed her. She dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin.

"I'm sorry, Sophie," Mac apologized.

"Let's change topics," she suggested.

Mac agreed. His attempt to distract her worked. He ran commentary on his favorite music and video games, then told her about his childhood and family. They talked about everything but volleyball.

"I cook, but I don't clean up," he said with his second glass of wine.

She stared at their mess. "I'm not doing this alone."

"I'm too full to move."

She'd wait him out. Cooking had tired her, too.

"Where are the kids?" he asked.

She craned her neck and located the plastic ball near the refrigerator. Both hamsters were asleep. She pushed to her feet, then settled them in their cage. She rolled her shoulders, suddenly sleepy.

It had been a long day mentally. Her thoughts had lingered on Dune. She was confused and somewhat anxious. He hadn't tried to call. She was too shy to contact him.

The clank of dishes and running water brought her back to the kitchen. She found Mac at the sink, scrubbing the pots and loading the silverware, bowls, plates, and cookie sheets in the dishwasher. He left two pans to soak.

He drank more wine and she yawned. "Am I boring you?" he asked. "I'm usually the life of the party."

"We're a party of two."

He dried his hands on a dish towel and gave her a hug.

"Time to fly," he said. "I'll let myself out."

Sophie headed to bed.

"Your kitchen is a mess." Maya Saunders took one step into the room and stopped. She cut her gaze to Sophie. "Did a bag of flour explode in here?"

There was flour on the counter and cupboards near the sink, Sophie noted in the light of day. Mac had cleared away the dishes, but hadn't wiped down the granite. She'd been too tired to care.

She glanced at her mother, who looked beautiful as always. Maya wore a cream skirt suit with a pale peach blouse and pearls, while Sophie had rolled out of bed in her red cotton nightshirt and baggy boy shorts. She tightened the drawstring.

Her mother was always collected and dauntingly calm, yet this morning she appeared unsettled. She narrowed her gaze and her smooth brow creased. "What's going on, Sophie?"

"I had a friend over and we cooked dinner." She explained the puffs of flour while standing over the stove, attempting to make scrambled eggs. A bit of yolk splattered and ran. She grabbed for a dishcloth and blotted it up.

"Where's Marisole?" Maya sharply asked. "Why isn't she preparing your breakfast?"

"I prefer to do it myself."

"You don't cook."

She hadn't, until last night. "A new venture for me," she said. "I might even take a cooking class."

Her mother moved toward the stove. She hit a sticky spot on the floor and what looked like peanut butter stuck to the bottom of her pumps. She shook her foot, then frowned.

"I came by to invite you to Garden Club."

Sophie cringed. Garden Club was an excuse for eating finger sandwiches and petits fours and exchanging the latest gossip. Flowers and plants were never discussed.

She passed. "I start pedicab tours this morning," she informed her mother. She'd texted Shaye late last night and been given the thumbs-up. She was set to report to the rickshaw hut at ten.

"You don't even know how to ride a bike," Maya pointed out. "You lacked balance as a child."

She was still a klutz. "The pedicabs have three wheels."

"You'll exhaust yourself."

"It's great exercise."

Her mother threw up her hands and paced the length of the counter. She was so upset, she didn't notice the specks of flour that stuck to her sleeve.

"Watch out for the hamsters," Sophie warned. The girls were in their plastic ball, racing in circles around the table.

"Rodents?" Her mother placed one hand over her heart. "We need to call an exterminator."

"They're my pets."

Her mother paled. "Where did you get them?"

"From Dune Cates."

"Shaye's brother." Maya's lips pinched. "The beach bum."

Sophie stiffened. "He's a professional volleyball player. I like him." A lot.

She so seldom stood up to her mother, Maya looked both confused and annoyed. The eggs sizzled in the skillet and Sophie turned off the burner. They looked crispy.

"How serious are you, Sophie?"

"I plan to marry him," she said perversely, speaking the first words she could think of to shock her mother.

Her mother looked faint. "Surely you wouldn't make the same mistake as Trace. Marrying a Cates is beneath you."

"A walk down the aisle?" Sophie heard a male voice say from behind her, deep and amused. Dune. "Will ours be a church wedding or a ceremony on the beach?"

Eleven.

Sophie Saunders jerked so violently, the whisk flew out of her hand and added more splatters to the already speckled cupboards. Dune leaned against the kitchen wall, bemused by what he'd heard.

The lady had mentioned marriage.

That was the last thing he'd expected to hear when he'd loaded up his parents' Tahoe at the crack of dawn and driven down from Tampa.

He'd been anxious to see Sophie.

She'd recently rolled out of bed, he guessed, taking in her loose-fitting nightshirt and oversized shorts. Her hair was mussed. He noticed her toenails were painted purple, which made him smile.

She stood by the stove in a face-off with her mother. He figured her "marriage" comment was meant to get Maya off her back, nothing more. Sophie hadn't planned on him hearing her bold words. Her blush was cute.

"Your front door was unlocked." He pushed off the wall and crossed to her. "I didn't have to use my key," he said, conspiring with her.

"You're not living here, are you?" asked Maya, her eyes widening.

"I'm not fully moved in, but I soon will be." He met Maya's sharp gaze. "Good morning to you, too."

The older woman massaged her temple. "Dune," she said, acknowledging him with a brief nod.

The families had met, but there'd been little bonding. Time had yet to heal the rift between them. Maya had lost Trace to his sister Shaye. The thought of a second pairing obviously gave her a migraine. She stood stiff, silent, and antagonistic.

Dune curved his arm about Sophie's shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "How are the fur balls?" he asked.

She pointed down the hallway past the sliding glass doors. The plastic ball bounced off one wall and banked the other. "They exercise, sleep, and eat. Not always in that order."

"Their names?" he wanted to know.

"Still pending." She glanced at her mother. "Any thoughts?"

Naming the hamsters was beneath Maya, but she couldn't resist one final jab. She moved at the sliders and cut Sophie a hard look. "I like Good-bye and Gone."

The hamsters would stay, and Maya would get on with her day. Dune saw that something brown and sticky traveled with her. It looked like peanut butter on the heel of her right pump. Peanut butter and suede were not a good match.

He bent down and kissed Sophie's brow. "Balls to the wall before breakfast?" he asked.

"I'm strengthening my spine."

"Your mom's a workout."

She covered her face with both hands. "I didn't mean for you to hear-"

"That we're getting married?" He raised a brow.

"I used you as a buffer and I apologize for that."

"You can use me any way you like, Sophie."

He eased her around to face him fully. She lowered her hands. She was fresh-faced, flushed, and uncertain. She hung her head. He sensed something had changed between them; something that went beyond her confrontation with her mother.

Where did her apprehension stem from? He'd been gone only a couple days. He'd left town feeling good about their relationship. He'd wanted her to jump into his arms, excited to see him on his return. Instead she stood stiffly, unable to look at him.

"I missed you," he said.

"Thank you."