Finding Perfect (Fool's Gold #3)(59)

He was still standing there looking confused when she went back to her car for the second load. She collected the last three bags, shut her car door with her hip, then returned to the house.

“I don’t understand,” Raoul said, following her to the kitchen.

“Pia!”

She turned and saw Peter running toward her. He had a cast on his skinny forearm and had already changed into race-car pajamas.

“Hey, you,” she said, putting her bags on the kitchen table. “What happened?”

“I fell.” He held out his cast. “See.”

“Very impressive. Does it hurt?”

“No. I have drops.”

Some kind of pain medicine, she would guess. “Cool. Have you had dinner?”

Peter shook his head. “Just ice cream.”

Pia raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me,” Raoul told her. “It was Mrs. Dawson’s idea.”

“A likely story,” Pia teased, then shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “So, what are we in the mood for? There are lots of choices.”

She moved to the counter and started taking casserole dishes out of the various bags. “Lasagna, always a favorite. Seven-layer tamale pie.” She read each item as she set it down. “Chicken-and-noodle casserole, a vegetable bake.” She wrinkled her nose at Peter. “Probably not that one, huh?”

He laughed. “I like lasagna.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at Raoul. “Would you set the oven to three-fifty? It’s not frozen, so it won’t take long to heat up.”

He stood there, staring at her. “I don’t understand.”

She faced him. “When people heard that Peter would be staying with you for a few days, they brought food to help out. So you don’t have to cook dinner every night.”

“How did they hear?”

“Someone told them. Have you learned nothing about small-town living?”

She turned on the oven, then walked to the fridge. “Tell me the freezer’s empty, because you have food for days.”

He nodded, still looking shell-shocked.

“Why don’t you go help Peter wash his hands? You know the cast can’t get wet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll get things together in here. I’ll leave two dinners in the refrigerator for the next couple of nights. Oh, and there are stickers in that white bag. For your cast.”

“Cool!” Peter reached into the bag and pulled out the sheet of stickers. “Can we put them on now?”

Raoul looked at her. She laughed. “Go ahead. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes.”

They left the kitchen. A few minutes later, Raoul was back.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“For what?”

“We were supposed to have dinner together tonight.”

“We are.”

“Not like this,” he said. “I don’t know exactly how it happened. One second the social worker was talking, the next I had a kid.”

She patted her stomach. “I know the feeling.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be? Peter’s all alone, he’s hurt and no one knows where his foster parents are. You stepped up. Honestly, it makes you even nicer.”

“You hate nice.”

“I’m making an exception.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He disappeared down the hall.

She stared after him, telling herself that just because he was a great guy didn’t mean it was safe to open her heart to him.

BY THE TIME THEY FINISHED dinner and got Peter settled in Raoul’s spare bedroom, it was after nine. Pia curled up on the sofa, telling herself that she had to get it together and head home. Despite not having many symptoms of her pregnancy to date, she was a little more tired than usual. Raoul sat at the other end of the couch, angled toward her.

“Thanks for everything,” he said.

“I just showed up with other people’s effort. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“Poor kid.” Raoul sipped his beer. “Talk about a hell of a situation.”

“They really don’t know where his foster parents are?”

“That’s what Mrs. Dawson said. I hope they investigate them when they finally get back. Peter hasn’t said anything bad about them, but there are a few red flags.”

He’d already told her about the possibility that the kid wasn’t getting enough to eat. There was no excuse for neglect, she thought. But that didn’t stop it from happening.

He set down the bottle. “I had other plans for the evening,” he told her.

For a second she thought he meant sex. Her body reacted with an internal happy dance, and various parts of her went on alert.

He pulled open a small drawer from the underside of the coffee table and withdrew a small, square lavender jewelry box. She recognized the color and the design on the box. Jenel’s Gems was known for elegant, upscale, one-of-a-kind designs.

Her throat went dry and she had an odd and unexpected sense of shyness. The wanting faded as confusion took its place.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“We’re getting married,” he reminded her. “I believe an engagement ring is traditional.”