Midnight Promises

Frances reached over and touched his arm. “I’m counting on you to make her happy, Elliott. She took a huge leap of faith when she allowed herself to fall in love with you.”

He nodded. “I know that, and I intend to do my best never to let either of you down.”

“Just for that, I’ll see that the kids leave at least a few of these cookies for you,” she promised.

* * *

Karen stood in the doorway as she and Elliott were about to leave for their midweek date, her gaze on Frances, who was on the sofa with Daisy on one side and Mack on the other. As they munched on cookies, they vied for a chance to fill her in on their lives, their words tumbling over each other as Frances chuckled.

“Look how much they adore her,” she whispered to Elliott. “They’re so lucky to have her in their lives.”

“I think she counts herself as the lucky one,” he said. “It’s such a shame that her grandchildren don’t get here to visit very often. She was meant to be surrounded by kids. Her students used to fill that void, but she’s been retired a long time now.”

As they drove into town for a casual dinner at Rosalina’s, Karen voiced the concern that she’d kept to herself for a while now. “How much longer do you suppose we’ll have her?”

“There’s no way of predicting such a thing,” Elliott said. “We just have to be grateful for every minute we do have.”

“I think she’s slowing down, though. I never noticed it before, but tonight she just seemed a little tentative to me.”

Elliott frowned. “Tentative, how?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it. Even though she’s been to the house before, she seemed a little uncertain about where things were. Didn’t you notice that? And just having you pick her up was a change. Usually she drives herself everywhere.”

“She told me she doesn’t like driving after dark anymore. A lot of people her age have vision problems at night. The streetlights and headlights bother them. And let’s face it, our neighborhood isn’t the easiest to navigate.”

“I suppose that’s all it is,” Karen said, then regarded him with a grin. “Enough doom and gloom and trying to anticipate something that’s in God’s hands. You and I are actually having a date night. How amazing is that?”

He gave her a slow once-over that had her blood stirring. “A date night, huh? Does that mean we get to park and make out before I take you home?”

She grinned at him. “Depends on how good this date is,” she said. “Do you still remember how to woo me?”

He winked. “I’ll definitely give it my best shot, especially with that payoff you hinted could be mine.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips even as he kept his eyes squarely on the road. After the kiss, he rested her hand on his thigh, covered by his hand. She felt the involuntary bunching of his muscle, the heat of his skin. It made her feel not only very feminine but powerful, knowing the effect she had on him.

After Elliott pulled into a parking space and cut the engine, he turned to her. His expression stern, he said, “Remember, no trying to figure out the secret ingredients or trying to sneak a peek into the kitchen. This is a date, not an undercover op to check out the competition.”

Karen chuckled. “I figured out all of Rosalina’s secret ingredients years ago. I don’t do any culinary spying here. I can just relax and enjoy my meal.”

“Ah, so it’s only in the restaurants in Charleston and Columbia I have to worry about what you’re up to when you claim to be going to the restroom,” he teased. “And whether you’re more interested in the food than in me.”

“I will always be more interested in you than anything,” she assured him, then added thoughtfully, “Unless somebody happens to have the perfect chocolate soufflé on the menu. I’d love to get a handle on that one.”

“Don’t let Erik ever hear you suggest that his isn’t perfect,” Elliott warned. “The man’s pastry skills are supposedly legendary, at least around South Carolina.”

“Pies, cakes, cobblers, I’ll give him all of those,” Karen said. “But making a soufflé is an art. And if you’ll think about it, Sullivan’s doesn’t have it on the menu, not ever. It’s because Erik knows his isn’t perfection. I’d love to surpass his skill at just one thing someday.”

“Google it,” Elliott suggested. “Find the finest chocolate soufflé maker in the state, and I’ll take you there.”

She regarded him with amazement. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“If it would make you happy, anything,” he said. “Don’t you know that by now?”

She smiled. Mostly she did, but it didn’t hurt being reminded of it every now and then.

* * *

Date night was a huge success all around. Karen felt revived after an entire evening with her husband with no crises. The kids pleaded with Frances to spend the night, so Karen found her a nightgown and settled her into the guest room. Frances promised to make them all French toast for breakfast, before sending everyone off on their busy days.

When Karen crawled out of bed in the morning, she found Frances in the kitchen, already dressed. She’d gathered the ingredients for French toast, something she’d made as a regular treat for the kids when they’d lived next door. Now, though, she was just standing there regarding everything with a vaguely perplexed expression.

“Frances?” Karen said softly, trying not to startle her. “Is everything okay?”

Frances jumped slightly, her expression filled with dismay. “Oh, my goodness, dear, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Karen gave her a hug. “You looked a little distracted.”

“I suppose my mind wandered there for a minute. I’m perfectly fine.”

Though her words were reassuring, something still felt wrong to Karen. Trying to act casual, she slipped past her and started the coffee, then asked, “How about some help? I could whisk the eggs, cinnamon and milk together for you.”

Her offer seemed to trigger something for Frances. “Absolutely not,” she said briskly. “I’ve been making French toast for years. I can handle it.”

But despite her confident words, she seemed to hesitate as she went to work, her movements deliberate as if she was giving extra thought to what she was doing.

In the end, the French toast was perfect, and the kids gobbled it up with noisy exuberance. Elliott, who normally stuck to healthy egg whites or a high-fiber cereal in the morning, ate his share of the breakfast treat, as well.

As soon as the dishes were in the dishwasher, he offered to drop the kids at school. “Frances, why don’t I drop you off, too?”

“I’ll take her,” Karen said, wanting a little more time to see if she could pin down why things seemed so off with Frances on this visit. “I need my fair share of Frances’s attention before we let her get back to her normal routine.” She looked at her friend. “Is that okay? Are you in a rush? I’ll be ready in a half hour.”

“Actually I think I’d better go with Elliott,” Frances said, avoiding Karen’s gaze. “I have things to do this morning.”

Karen saw the lie for exactly what it was, an excuse to evade Karen’s questions.

“Sure, if that works better for you,” she told the older woman. “Next time maybe you can stay with us for the weekend. We’d all love that, wouldn’t we, Daisy and Mack?”

The enthusiastic chorus of responses from the kids brought a smile to Frances’s lips. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” she said readily. “Mack, you can teach me how to play that video game you were telling me about. And, Daisy, I’m going to want to hear all about the father-daughter dance you’re going to with Elliott.”

Elliott urged them all to the door, then cast a last curious look back at Karen. “Everything okay?” he murmured.

“I’m honestly not sure,” she said, not even trying to hide her frustration. “You’d better go, though. We’ll talk about it later.”

He kissed her, his lips lingering against hers. “Great date,” he murmured against her mouth, a wicked sparkle in his eyes.

“Coming home was even better,” she replied, thinking of how tenderly he’d made love to her before they’d fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

He grinned. “Yeah, it was.” He cupped her chin in his hand, held her gaze until heat stirred. “I’ll call Adelia today about the dresses, or would you rather do it?”

She gave him a wry look. “Asking your sister for a favor? We’re not quite there yet. She still hates me.”