Key Of Knowledge by Nora Roberts

dinner.
    She stopped herself, pressed her hands to her eyes. It was okay, it was perfectly all right. He’d done something very considerate, and she would reciprocate by bringing him something to drink, having a few minutes of conversation.
    She never knew what she was supposed to say to him. She didn’t understand men like him. The kind of man who came from serious money. Who’d done things and had things and gone places to get more.
    And he made her so stupidly nervous and defensive.
    Should she take him a glass of wine? No, no, he was driving, and she didn’t have any really good wine anyway. Coffee? Tea?
    Christ.
    At her wits’ end, she opened the refrigerator. She had juice, she had milk.
    Here, Bradley Charles Vane IV, of the really rich andimportant Pennsylvania Vanes, have a nice glass of cow juice, then be on your way.
    She blew out a breath, then dug a bottle of ginger ale out of a cupboard. She took out her nicest glass, checked for water spots, then filled it with ice. She added the ginger ale, careful to keep it a safe half inch below the rim.
    She tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt she’d tossed on over jeans, looked down resignedly at the thick gray socks she wore in lieu of shoes, and hoped she didn’t smell of the brass cleaner she’d been using to attack the tarnish on an umbrella stand she’d picked up at the flea market.
    Suit or no suit, she thought as she squared her shoulders, she wouldn’t be intimidated in her own home. She would take him his drink, speak politely, hopefully briefly, then show him out.
    No doubt he had more exciting things to do than sit in her living room drinking ginger ale and watching a nine-year-old play video baseball.
    She carried the glass down the hall, then stopped and stared.
    Bradley Charles Vane IV wasn’t watching Simon play. He was, to her amazement, sitting on the floor in his gorgeous suit, playing with her son.
    â€œTwo strikes, baby. You are doomed.” With a cackle, Simon wiggled his butt and prepared for the next pitch.
    â€œDream on, kid. See my man on third? He’s about to score.”
    She stepped farther into the room, but neither of them noticed her as the ball whistled toward the plate and the bat cracked against virtual cowhide.
    â€œHe’s got it, he’s got it, he’s got it,” Simon said in a kind of whispered chant. “Yeah, yeah, shagged that sucker.”
    â€œAnd the runner tags,” Brad said. “Watch him fly, heading for home. Here comes the throw . . . and he slides, and . . .”
    Safe! the home base ump decreed.
    â€œOh, yeah.” Brad gave Simon a quick elbow nudge. “One to zip, pal.”
    â€œNot bad. For an old guy.” Simon chuckled. “Now prepare to be humiliated.”
    â€œExcuse me. I brought you some ginger ale.”
    â€œTime out.” Brad twisted around to smile up at her. “Thanks. Do you mind if we play out the inning?”
    â€œNo. Of course not.” She set the glass on the coffee table, and wondered what she should do now. “I’ll just be back in the kitchen. I need to start dinner.”
    When his eyes stayed so direct and easy on hers, she heard—with some horror—the words tumbling out of her mouth. “You’re welcome to stay. It’s just chicken.”
    â€œThat’d be great.”
    He swiveled back around to resume the game.
    Mental note, Brad thought: Forget the roses and champagne. Home improvement supplies are the key to this particular lady’s lock.
    WHILE Zoe was standing in her kitchen wondering how the hell she was going to turn her humble chicken into something worthy of a more sophisticated palate, Dana was soothing her ego with takeout pizza.
    She hadn’t meant to tell him. Ever. Why give him one more thing to smirk at her about?
    But he hadn’t smirked, she admitted, washing down the pizza with cold beer. In fact, he’d looked as