Free Black Flame by Ruby Laska Page B

expressions, completely beyond Jimmy’s ability to translate.
    “How did you accomplish the icing designs?” he asked politely as he tucked the tiny frame in his shirt pocket.
    “I brought my tools,” she said. “I love decorating cakes. I’ve been doing it since I was in middle school. Mom doesn’t cook much, and…well, I wanted to make something nice to celebrate Jane’s engagement.”
    “Your diligence has paid off. You are very competent.”
    Deneen shrugged. “It’s not hard. Well, except for turning the cake. That’s hard to do when you’ve got your hands full with the frosting bags and decorative tips. But other than that, anyone could do it.”
    Deneen had done something very nice for him, and now she was brushing off his attempts to compliment her. There was only one explanation: she had given him the cake and gifts because she felt sorry for him. Despite racking his brain, Jimmy was unable to come up with any other logical explanation for her kindness. And while he appreciated the concern—not to mention the way she looked before she’d put her makeup on, when she was still sweetly sleepy and rumpled—he had had about enough pity to last him for his entire life.
    He had let his feelings get out of hand where this female interloper was concerned, and it was time to nip them in the bud. And there was one very good way to make sure that he didn’t foolishly dwell on a woman who was out of reach and uninterested.
    “Don’t worry,” he said desperately, getting to his feet and tucking the gifts and wrappings under his arm. “Zane will be here tonight. He is single, healthy and unencumbered by prior relationship commitments. I’m sure you’ll enjoy his company.”
    “Oh.” Deneen’s face fell. “Well, that’s great, then. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    The ride to the Family Circle Center had been stilted, to say the least. Jimmy drove with his jaw clenched like he expected to have to do battle at any moment, and Deneen was consumed with embarrassment as well as hunger. After Jimmy had practically come out and said he couldn’t stand being alone with her in the house—he was already trying to set her up with his roommate! It had probably been the frame, Deneen decided. Compared to the intricate work he did in his spare time—Deneen had snooped around the workshop a little yesterday, and while she couldn’t tell what he was creating on his workbench or drafting table or the contraption suspended from the ceiling, it certainly did seem to involve a lot of tiny parts—her painted frame probably looked completely amateurish.
    Deneen wasn’t really even sure why she’d given it to him. The frames weren’t a secret, exactly, but she’d never shown anyone—even her sister—the series of frames that she had made over the years. Someday, she meant to hang them from a tree in her very own home, a home that she hoped to share with a man who would love her, and eventually, children who would adore her. This imaginary husband and children would see her for who she really was, and love her for it, too, in a way that her family couldn’t. Oh, Deneen knew that her family loved her, but they saw her through a lens that would never allow her to shine. They wanted her to be useful—to be important. All of Deneen’s work—from the crafts she made to the parties she planned to the meals she cooked—were fine as hobbies , as her mother often reminded her. But in addition to being objectionably gender-typed, they didn’t constitute a career .
    “Just look at your sister,” her mother had said, beaming, as Deneen worked on the Thanksgiving centerpiece last month, a giant bread-dough cornucopia from which a wealth of gilded leaves and vegetables spilled. She had been up at dawn baking the thing and spray-painting the leaves from the yard, and she was pleased with the result. “Not even thirty yet and she’s in line to be a fore woman.”
    In truth, Jayne had