It Takes Three

“I live here.”

“You’re Kendra’s father?”

“Scott Matthews,” he introduced himself.

“But you don’t look old enough to have an eighteen-year-old daughter,” she said, obviously surprised.

“Trust me, I am.”

It’s what happened when a guy thought with the brain south of his belt and had the first of two daughters when he was barely out of his teens.

“So you started your family when you were what? Ten?”

“Not quite.” The compliment about his youthful appearance almost made him miss the fact that she hadn’t yet told him who she was. This was his kitchen and he’d be the one asking the questions.

“Who are you?”

“Thea Bell.”

“Why are you here?”

“Kendra didn’t tell you?” Her confidence slipped and she looked uncomfortable.

What did his daughter have to do with anything? Was this woman using his child as an excuse to meet him? That wasn’t ego talking. His wife had walked out on him thirteen years ago and after his divorce, he’d become fair game—fresh meat on the dating market.

At back-to-school night, there was always a divorced mom trying to get his attention. Or kids on his girls’ sports teams had single mothers who invariably honed in on him. But they were barking up the wrong tree, because he had no interest in a relationship except the one he had with his daughters. After putting in a day’s work at his family-owned construction company and then being both father and mother to the girls, dating didn’t make the to-do list. And with Kendra just about to graduate and go on to college, he could see the light at the end of the parenting tunnel. Please, God, let it not be attached to a speeding locomotive.

He had news for Thea Bell. If her pickup approach was based on the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach, she was dealing with the wrong man. He didn’t care whether a woman could boil water or whip up a meal. He wasn’t desperate for companionship. After his train wreck of a marriage, the single life was simple.

“What was Kendra supposed to tell me?” he asked suspiciously.

“She and I have an appointment to discuss her party.”

The woman in front of him reached into the pocket of her tailored jeans and pulled out a card. He walked over to her and took it. Leaning his back against the refrigerator, he tried to ignore the sweet scent of her perfume as he read the name of her company printed in a no-nonsense font.

“For Whom the Bell Toils?” he said.

“Thea Bell toils for thee.” One corner of her full mouth turned up as she shrugged. “I’m a caterer.”

“Catchy.” He set her card on the island in front of him and folded his arms over his chest as he studied her.

“I met Kendra at a birthday party I did for one of her friends.”

“And?”

She frowned, her expression puzzled. “Did you not tell your daughter she could have a graduation party?”

“I did.”

“Then why are you acting as if I’m a cat burglar who’s just broken into your home to steal the fine jewelry?”

“I have no fine jewelry.”

“You also didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out.

“I told her if she wanted a party she could be responsible for the details.”

“She is being responsible for them. She’s talking to a catering professional.”

“When I said details, I meant buying burgers and buns at the grocery store. Not hiring someone to take care of the burgers and buns.”

He hadn’t seen her from the back, but he suspected Thea Bell had some fine buns of her own, because what he could see of her front was pretty fine. The silky white blouse tucked into her tailored jeans accentuated her breasts and a slender waist that flared into the delicate curves of her hips. He might not date much, but he still knew she was the kind of woman who would make any man instantly aware of her.

He drew in a deep breath to control the spike of his pulse. “Didn’t you wonder about dealing with a teenager? Or where her parents were?”

“It’s not unusual. Many parents work. They’re busy and give their teenagers a lot of responsibility, especially when the teen is hosting the party. Not unlike what you said to Kendra about handling everything.”

She was sharp. Using his own words against him. “How do I know you’re a reputable caterer?”

“I have a list of references. You can check with the Better Business Bureau and the Santa Clarita Chamber of Commerce. If a complaint has been registered with either agency, I’ll eat my spatula.” She glanced at it, then back at him. “Your spatula.”

It took several moments before he realized he was staring at her mouth. Her lips were plump and pink and… And giving them enough notice to attach adjectives really whipped up his irritation.

“Where is my daughter?”

“You say that as if you think I’ve done something with her.”

“Have you?”

“Of course not,” she denied. “She went up to her room to find a picture to show me, something for the party’s theme.”

“Graduation isn’t enough?”

“She had something in mind. For the table decorations.”

“She needs decorations?”

“Technically? No.” She sighed. “But it’s a touch that adds an air of festivity to any gathering. It isn’t just about food, it’s about ambience. When guests walk in, you want them in a party mood. Decorations do that.”

“And have you discussed with my daughter how much this is going to cost? And who’s paying for it?”

“Not yet. I can’t estimate until firm decisions are made about food, decorations and the number of guests.”

“I see, so—”

Scott heard the unmistakable sound of his daughter galumphing down the stairs. A five-point-eight on the Richter scale, he estimated.

When Kendra entered the kitchen, she stopped so fast her sneakers squeaked on the tile floor. “Dad. What are you doing here?”