Twice the Chance

She’d been nervous about becoming a legal adult because her foster parents would only house her until the end of the school year. Luke made the landmark seem like an adventure.

“No more kid stuff,” he’d said.

That statement turned out to be prophetic. Since she was eighteen when the crime was committed, she was charged as an adult.

“Oh, yeah,” Jazz said. “I made a whopper.”

Sadie’s tears stopped. “Is that why you wouldn’t go out with that Matt guy?”

“How do you know I wouldn’t go out with him?” Jazz hadn’t shared any information about Matt. After a while, Sadie had given up asking about him.

“You’d be smiling way more if you were dating someone that hot,” Sadie said.

Jazz did smile then. She liked Sadie. The waitress made it impossible not to.

“I’m not looking to date anyone right now,” Jazz said.

“Why not?”

Should Jazz tell her? What would it hurt? “I don’t trust my instincts.”

“You and me both, sister,” Sadie exclaimed. “You and me both.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JAZZ CRACKED THE Crock-Pot lid Saturday afternoon to check on the meatballs, getting a whiff of the pineapple preserves she’d used to make the sauce.

Excellent.

She transferred bite-sized quiche, stuffed mushrooms and mini crab cakes from plastic containers to a tray she could pop in the oven when guests started to arrive.

All of the hors d’oeuvres had passed her taste test. So had the fresh fruit she’d arranged on skewers, purchased earlier today at the local farmer’s market.

“Did you know you’re smiling?”

Jazz looked up from her work to find Matt in the kitchen, leaning against the half wall that led to the rest of the town house. He wore khaki shorts that ended a few inches above the knee and a button-down, short-sleeved cream shirt that contrasted with his thick golden-brown hair. He looked fantastic.

“Nothing’s more satisfying than cooking.” Jazz swept a hand to indicate her surroundings. “Especially in a kitchen like this.”

The rest of his town house was nice, with rich, dark-wood furniture and a color scheme that incorporated shades of navy, forest-greens and burgundy. The kitchen was spectacular. Granite countertops with plenty of space. Top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. Plentiful cabinets with wood inlays. It was a kitchen fit for a gourmet.

“Then you’re glad you took the job?” he asked. “I got the impression something was holding you back.”

The twins, she thought.

“It was you,” she blurted out. Anything to throw him off track. To soften the abruptness of her accusation, she smiled. “I thought the catering thing might be a scam you use on women who refuse to date you.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a pleasant, rumbling sound. “Then how do you explain the goodbye party for my friend?”

“Tell me, does this mysterious friend have a name?” She injected heavy skepticism into her voice.

Matt was still grinning. “His name is Carter Prioleau.”

“A good Charleston name.” She stroked her chin, nodding in approval. “I couldn’t have made up a better one myself. And why, pray tell, is this Charlestonian leaving God’s country?”

Matt’s expression turned serious. “I wish I could make up a story, but the truth is he’s going through a divorce. It’s been pretty hard on him.”

The doorbell chimed. Matt checked his watch. “That’ll be my proof. Carter’s always on time.”

“Can’t wait to meet your alibi,” Jazz said, eager to see his smile again. He didn’t disappoint her.

She was also smiling when she turned the oven to preheat. Flirting with Matt had been fun, especially because she could tell he was a good guy. More of a go-getter than she was used to, perhaps. But he wouldn’t pursue her if she made it clear she wasn’t interested.

Except, didn’t being flirtatious convey the opposite message? She took a deep breath. There she went again, worrying for nothing. She was hardly a beauty. Heaven knew she wasn’t a catch.

A man as charming, good-natured and—she might as well admit it—hot as Matt could have his pick of women. He didn’t have to chase an ex-con who really needed to make it clear that nothing would happen between them.

A giggle that didn’t sound masculine traveled through the town house.

“It’s so nice of you to do this for Carter.” The low-pitched female voice preceded Matt and his guests into the kitchen. Its owner had luxurious long black hair and a bra size Jazz guessed was double D, and she was probably no older than thirty. Her pale pink sundress wasn’t particularly short or tight but showcased her to voluptuous advantage.

She stood inches away from an average-looking man at least twenty years her senior, his thinning hair parted on the side and swept over his bald spot. The man held his chin high, and a smug smile played about his lips.

Matt’s own smile no longer reached his eyes. “Jazz, this is Carter and Kelly.”

“Her name’s Callie,” Carter corrected.

“Spelled with a C.” The woman formed a semicircle with her thumb and index finger.

“Sorry,” Matt said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll answer to anything, even, ‘Hey, you!’” Callie laughed again. She was nervous, Jazz realized. She was also pretty definitely not Carter’s estranged wife. “I really like your name, Jazz.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said. Matt stood stiffly, saying nothing. “I’m the caterer,” Jazz added.

Matt found his voice. “A friend who happens to be a caterer.”

Was that how Matt thought of her when they’d only known each other a little more than a month? In the three years she’d been out of prison, Jazz had made a number of acquaintances but nobody she’d call a friend, except possibly Sadie.

“A caterer, huh?” Carter released a low whistle and slapped Matt lightly on the back. “I didn’t know I rated that high.”

“Are you kidding? I owe you.” Matt sounded more like his normal self.

“For what?” Carter retorted.

“The job recommendation.”

Carter snorted. “Bull. You’ll be named A.D. even if I didn’t lobby for you.”