"Jeremy," he replied, shaking it firmly and meeting her eyes. "Pleased to meet you."

“Sarah's the cook in the family," Alex put in from his spot near the dining room table, one arm around his girlfriend Maria's waist. "There isn't much she doesn't know how to make."

“So did I make a mistake?" Jeremy asked, still holding her hand. She fought an urge to caress his knuckles suggestively. He cocked his head toward the counter, where a tub of potato salad and a blackberry pie was sitting. "I'd hate to take this back home and eat it all myself," he said sadly, but she caught a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“No," Sarah smiled. She swooped in and put the items in question into the fridge. "There," she said with a grin.

“Now they have a happy home.

At least until we eat.”

“Terrible girl you have there, Miss Wainwright," Jeremy said mournfully, looking at his former boss.

“A man goes to the trouble to bring in food for everyone, and she hides it away.”

"You'll get your chance later," she said with a twinkle. God, she hadn't had a man flirt with her in weeks. "Dad, let me know when you and Alex are ready to fire up the grill. Jeremy, can I get you something to drink?"

“Soda would be okay, as long as it's diet,” he said, slapping his middle. Despite his words, his stomach was flat as a washboard. "Beer would be better."

She pulled three Amstels out of the fridge, handing one to her brother and one to Jeremy.

“One for you, Dad?"

“Alcohol and propane don't mix, Pumpkin,” her father said with a smile.

“I'LL wait until we eat." He picked up the tray with the brats and hot dogs and walked out of the kitchen with his wife. "Bring me the burgers when they're ready, okay?" he called.

“Maria?”

“No, thank you, Sarah," said her brother's...what? She knew Alex had gone to bed with Maria the day before. It was difficult, though, to think of the maid as her brother's girlfriend. She held herself back, her pose strangely deferential. Sarah's lips tightened in disapproval as she took in the clothes she was wearing; shorts barely long enough to cover her ass-cheeks and a t-shirt cut so low over her chest it was a wonder her tits didn't fall right out.

Don't be jealous, she told herself. You should be happy for Alex. Happy for them both, really. Look at him. He's actually smiling. And he Looks so relaxed. He's been so tense the last few months. And Maria's practically glowing.

She popped the top of her beer and handed the opener to Jeremy.

"Cheers," she said, when his bottle was uncapped, clinking hers against it with a muted chime. She took a healthy swig, the beer pleasantly cold in the warm kitchen.

"So," Jeremy said, his eyes crinkling with mischief. "I hear you're a cook." He leaned against the counter island and Looked her over, his face openly appreciative.

“My dad told me you should never trust a skinny chef."

She raised her eyebrows, taking the bait.

“Your father is wrong," she grinned. "To the contrary, you should never trust a fat chef."

“Why's that?"

“Because a fat chef obviously doesn't trust his own skill. He is always tasting his dishes, to make sure he has the recipe right, and gains weight." She made a dismissive gesture.