Free Where Angels Tread by Clare Kenna Page B

explain.” Jaime opened the door wider and Shane stepped past her and into her tidy two-bedroom apartment, smiling to himself as he glanced around the pin-neat living room. Jaime was a stickler for cleanliness and order; even as a child, she used to wash her dolls’ hands and faces after each tea party. “Remind me again why you still live here?” he asked as she snapped the door closed behind him.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Your book editing company is hugely successful. You could live in a beach house, take lavish vacations, but here you are in the same apartment you’ve been living in since you took out that first loan to start your business.”
    Jaime shrugged. “I guess I’m not as impulsive as the rest of the Kensington children. I like to take my time with decisions, think things through. Right now I’m just hoarding all of my money until I decide what I want to do with it.” She motioned for Shane to sit down on the couch, then set her book down on the table, but not before giving it a look of longing.
    Noticing this, Shane said, “I won’t be here long. I just know that you like to make a bunch of dinners ahead of time and freeze them, and I was hoping you’d be willing to share some with me.”
    Jaime frowned. “Of course I’ll share, but what’s going on, Shane? You’re scaring me a little. Are you out on the street or something? You said you’re not the one who’s hurt…then who is?”
    Shane dropped his head into his hands and shook it back and forth miserably. “I’m such a dunce,” he moaned, and began explaining last night’s disastrous basketball lesson to Jaime. When he finished, her face was twisted into a sympathetic smile. “How badly did I screw this up with her?” he asked, dreading her response. “I want to bring over some dinner so that she doesn’t have to cook for a few days, but you know that I’m a hopeless chef. I might as well dig around for something from the dumpster next to the station. It would probably taste better than anything I could whip up.”
    “I think bringing her dinner is an incredibly sweet gesture that she’ll really appreciate,” Jaime said, her voice muffled as she dug around in the freezer. “How about lasagna?”
    “Lasagna sounds great,” Shane said, following her into the kitchen. She handed him a heavy ceramic pan lined with tinfoil. “Defrost it in the fridge overnight, the bake it at 350 degrees for about an hour.”
    “Thanks.” Shane held the lasagna up to his nose and took a whiff. “This smells amazing. You’re a lifesaver.”
    “You’re making me blush,” Jaime teased, sliding her reading glasses back onto her nose. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of a tantalizing mystery novel that I’d like to finish before bed.” She glanced at the clock pointedly, then winked at him.
    “Sounds intriguing,” Shane said, showing himself to the door. “Keep your fingers crossed that my lasagna—or should I say your lasagna—makes me look like a hero instead of a fool.”
    Jaime gave him an appraising look. “Why can’t you be both? A girl likes a man who can keep her on her toes. Just don’t go breaking one of them.”
    *
    Shane ground the heel of his shoe against Heidi’s front step, peering impatiently through the tiny windows on the front door to see if anyone was coming. He could only see shadows through the thick frosted panes. Perhaps, he thought in horror, Heidi had seen his car pulling into the driveway and was so angry about her finger that she was choosing to ignore him. He pressed the doorbell more insistently.
    “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he heard a voice on the other side of the door call. Shane puffed into the palm of his hand to test his breath, straightened his jacket, and held the pan of lasagna out in front of him like a peace offering. “Shane!” Heidi exclaimed when she opened the door, tightening the belt of her fluffy purple robe self-consciously. “This is a surprise.” She