Page 30 of Patio Lanterns

“Sounds great,” he said, as the group moved toward the kitchen. Rick lightly tugged on Robin’s arm to separate her from the rest of the pack.

She spun around to face him. “You’re Rick Hunter?” she hissed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Because at the time, I didn’t know you were Robin Pelletier,” he whispered hoarsely. “And let’s face it, exchanging last names wasn’t exactly on our minds last night.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re Aidan’s dad.” Robin’s eyes darted around, making sure the coast was still clear. “And by that, I mean oh my God, I can’t believe I fucked Aidan’s dad!”

His lips were so tightly pressed together, they formed a straight line. “Look, no one has to know about this but us. As far as anyone else is concerned, we’ve only just met. So, let’s calm down, and do whatever we can to get through this evening.”

Get through this evening? Christ on a cracker, man, have you forgotten that you came inside me only hours ago? Her brain scrambled and her tongue tangled. She was completely tied up in knots. While she’d hoped to run into Rick again, never in a million years did she picture it happening in her own fucking cottage in front of her sisters. Making matters worse, even now knowing he and Aidan shared DNA, she still felt like a moth to a flame, finding herself having to tamp down the urge to kiss him right then and there. It was all so fucked up.

Turning on her heel, Robin took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and traipsed down the hallway, leading Rick to the kitchen where Dove was having a ball playing bartender.

“Geez, you two get lost?” she joked, handing them the last two glasses. Both were filled to the brim with the tangy red concoction, artfully garnished with a celery stalk and a skewer of olives and pickled pearl onions. “All right, who wants to make a toast?”

Aidan raised his glass first and highest. “To lasting friendships and happy reunions.”

Lark clinked her glass to his. “To the Hunters and Pelletiers, together again.”

Wearing an uneasy grin, Rick lightly tapped his drink to Robin’s. “Together again.”

12

Rick

He blamed it on his wayward dick. Whenever a man let his little head lead him astray and take over all rational thinking, it inevitably came back to bite him in the ass. Face it, a sexy young thing like Robin Pelletier doesn’t just show up at your door, take off her clothes, and then screw your brains out like some fantasy come true without there being consequences.

Surely, there’d be hell to pay if anyone around that table, especially Aidan, found out that he’d slept with Robin.

She was friends with Aidan. And yet, Rick knew every inch of her intimately. That made it terribly awkward to sit across from her now, pretending as if they hadn’t explored one another, touching, tasting, rousing immense carnal pleasure. As if he hadn’t been thinking about her all day, blinded by erotic flashbacks of their intense encounter.

While she’d clearly been trying to avoid looking at him since they’d sat down to dinner, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He admired Robin’s loveliness, her reddish-brown hair cascading in waves around her heart-shaped face, the shapely allure of her lips, the feminine curve of her neck, the smoothness of her silky, bare shoulders, the modest shadow of cleavage that hinted at her full, rounded breasts. His eyes traced over places of her that his mouth and hands had memorized mere hours before.

“So, Rick,” Lark said, breaking the spell. “I seem to recall from my dad that you played for the Lions. You even won the Grey Cup one year?”

“Not singlehandedly, but yes, that’s true,” he said, laughing. “Back in ‘94.”

“He caught three passes for eighty yards and a touchdown that game,” Aidan boasted. “Didn’t you, Dad?”

Rick was caught off guard by his question. Aidan had never displayed much interest in football or in Rick’s playing days, perhaps for obvious reasons, so he was both surprised and more than a little touched to hear him humblebrag about his old man’s game stats.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“He’s being far too modest,” Aidan told them. “He was named a Western Division All-Star three times, plus he was nominated the CFL’s Most Outstanding Canadian in 1997.”

“Hey, that’s the year I was born,” Robin declared, finally meeting his eyes.

That made her, what… twenty-eight? Christ. She smiled, seeming to take delight in watching him squirm as he calculated their age difference.

“You should see Dad’s championship ring, it’s massive,” Aidan continued.

Rick was eager to change the subject and put the spotlight on someone else. “This pasta is delicious, Lark. What’s in your sauce?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like it. It’s a simple spaghetti aglio e olio. Butter, olive oil, toasted garlic, and chili flakes.”

“Lark’s always been a great cook,” Dove said. “She could melt cheese over a rock and you’d swear it was the best thing you ever ate.”

“Definitely gets it from your mom,” Aidan said. “Man, I still think about her cooking. Her roast chicken and her short ribs? Legendary. Or those thick, chewy monster cookies she used to make with the Smarties in them?”

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