Con cleared his throat. “So, you think you can handle this? We’ve got fifteen eating here, and we need a dozen PB&Js to go home.”

I nodded, words still escaping me.

“Good deal. Yell if you need help getting the lasagna in or out of the oven. Those things are fucking heavy.”

My mumbled okay was less than impressive, but it was pretty much all I could get out.

Con paused in the doorway and looked back at me. “Don’t go running off after you’re done either. We’ve got some shit to talk about.”

I wondered if he was talking about the crazy feelings ripping around inside me. Good God, can he tell? I forced myself to remember the reason I was here: the piece of property I needed to keep my shot at running the foundation that had been my mother’s passion—a passion that had been imbued in me since childhood. My mother might have been happy to sit on the board in a figurehead position, but I wanted more. I wanted to think bigger, do bigger. I wanted to make the final decision on how we changed lives in Louisiana for the better.

Just focus on the goal, Vanessa. Push everything else aside.

I reached for the garlic bread, declaring my mental pep talk successful.

Mostly.

We all see what we want to see. And we expect our assumptions to play out accurately in real life. But in this case, the case of Ms. Vanessa Frost, it seemed like my assumptions may have been off—if only just a little. She was still gorgeous and eminently fuckable, but she wasn’t the stone-cold bitch I’d thought she was since she’d walked out and left me with the taste of her still on my tongue. It could have been a show to soften me up to get what she wanted, but she’d actually seemed to care about making sure these kids had food to eat. The way to most men’s hearts might be through their stomachs, but the quickest way to mine was through the stomachs of my boys.

The flirty banter had also thrown me for a minute. She’d sounded serious when she’d said that anything I wanted her to handle was out of her league. I’d been equally serious when I’d reminded her that she was the one out of my league.

A pair of gloves and headgear smacked me across the chest. Reggie.

“Need you in the ring. I can’t watch all of them at once.”

“We need to get another guy on board, to cover when Lord or I can’t be here.” Lord was the third in our motley crew of role models. Not that I was a good role model for any kid, but I did my best. And since I wasn’t a gangbanger, it made me more of an example to follow than most of these kids had.

“Agreed, but it’s got to be someone who can handle these kids. They don’t respect just anyone. Though they seem to like that girl of yours just fine.”

“She ain’t my girl. She’s just here doing some work in exchange for a favor.” And don’t forget it, Leahy, I chastised myself. Vanessa wouldn’t have set foot in this neighborhood if not for the prize on the line.

“Whatever you say, boss. I saw the way you were lookin’ at her.”

“Drop it, Reg.”

“Touchy.”

“Seriously, fuck off.” I stopped at the bench and grabbed a roll of tape. “Make yourself useful and tape me up.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.”

Helping the guys in the ring was the cure for any lingering thoughts about Vanessa. Trey and Jojo were both so fucking quick that if I wasn’t on my game, I’d get beat down. And I had my rep to protect.

Ninety minutes and buckets of sweat later, the boys tromped toward the showers, and I ducked into the kitchen. The heavenly scent of lasagna and garlic bread wafted through the air, and the gorgeous girl standing in the center of it all, oven mitts on both hands, a smear of what looked like strawberry jam across one cheek, had me freezing at the doorway.

When she looked up and smiled, I felt something weird in my chest. What exactly, I wasn’t sure. But that shit wasn’t normal.

“I can take those out to the table.” I jerked my chin toward the steaming pans of lasagna on the center prep surface. “If I can borrow the oven mitts.”

She looked down at her hands. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” She pulled them off, and I stepped closer to take them from her.

I glanced at the dozens of brown paper lunch sacks on the counter and raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks flamed crimson. “I made a few extras. Okay, a lot of extras. But I’ll pay for the supplies. I thought if maybe they had brothers and sisters…and once I started making them, I just couldn’t stop. So, yeah. That.”

Her self-conscious rambling had my heart doing that funny thing again.

“It’s okay. And you don’t need to pay for any supplies. I’ve got it covered. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the extras. There are always more mouths to feed.”

Her frown didn’t detract from her traffic-stopping beauty, but it made me want to…comfort her. What the hell? I didn’t have time to question my weird ass reaction when Vanessa started wringing her oven mitt-less hands.

“I just want you to know that regardless of whether you decide to donate the property or not, I’m going to do whatever I can to help fund more programs to feed these kids. I mean, we already do a lot, but clearly we’re not making a big enough impact. And that’s not right. The foundation can do more. Change more. No kid should be going to bed hungry in this city. We have the resources, we just need to deploy them better.” She looked up at me for a split second, before spinning around toward the fridge. And in that tiny glimpse I got of her face, I could swear her eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“Then join us for supper. Meet some of the kids you want to help change things for. They’ll be on…better…behavior.”

She froze, half-in and half-out of the fridge.

Her voice was small when she said, “I can’t.”

After her impassioned speech, it wasn’t the answer I expected.

“Busy?”

“Ummm…I just…well…” She took a breath and looked at me straight on. “I just can’t.”

My hands clenched into fists. “You want to help feed these kids, but you’re too good to sit down and actually eat with them?”

“No! That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just can’t. Okay?” She turned. “I should go.”

I wasn’t satisfied. For a split second, I’d seen a glimpse of a different woman beneath the layers of polish and ice—one who had a heart that might rival the size of her bank account. She was the woman I wanted sitting down at a table with these boys and me. But apparently what I’d seen was a figment of my imagination—and that pissed me off.