girls saved what they felt was the best for last. Their room. Pink! White! Blindingly so. Frilly little girl stuff throughout. Putting him completely out of his comfort zone.
“Dinner’s ready,” Laurel called out. Thank God!
“Come on, awah-bubby! Dinner,” Gracie said, taking off first.
“She means everybody,” Claire quietly clarified, then made a beeline for their family dining room in the kitchen alcove.
Mark made a point to knock twice on Peter’s closed door. “Dinner’s ready.” Just in case he hadn’t heard his mother’s announcement. Then he followed the girls.
Laurel looked great in tan capris and a pale blue tunic top, which brought out her hazel eyes. Maybe the touch of eye makeup she’d put on helped with that, too. Had she done that for him? He smiled, glad he’d combed his hair and dressed a little nicer than usual, wearing one of his best T-shirts, then waited for her to sit first. She looked a little nervous, so he didn’t linger on her eyes, instead casting his gaze down to her sandals and noticing her tangerine-colored polish. Yeah, definitely in over his head. He never should have accepted her invitation.
Peter clumped down the hall, his feet seeming far too large for those skinny legs. Before he sat, he acknowledged Mark with a nod and partial smile. Then Claire insisted on saying a quick grace.
“I should say it. I’m Gwacie!”
“I said it first,” and out went Claire’s tongue.
“Now, girls.”
Like so many family dinners at his own house, soon the plates were passed and the chaos began.
Mark wasn’t used to being around kids, especially the chatty Claire and her little echo Gracie. He figured Laurel rarely got a quiet moment with them in the house. At least Peter’s mood had lightened some since yesterday. His second lesson had gone about the same as the first, but Mark made sure he understood that everything worth learning took time.
Peter let his mom know she’d made his favorite—turkey meat loaf. Mark could tell by Laurel’s surprised and pleased expression a compliment from the kid wasn’t routine. She’d rounded out the meal with small baked potatoes, with several choices for toppings, and fresh green beans that smelled great thanks to lemon slices and a large sprig of rosemary cooked with them.
Conversation around the table had more to do with bargaining over how much each twin had to eat in order to call it dinner, and whether or not Peter had homework and had he done it yet, than getting-to-know-the-neighbor gab.
It brought back a slew of memories for Mark, of him and his brothers when they were young kids, squirming and trying to behave. And later when they’d all become touchy teens, ready to pounce on each other at the drop of one wrong word, or unwanted glance.
Other than Mark occasionally catching Laurel’s gaze, and a special zing that took him by surprise whenever he did, they weren’t able to communicate much at all. He was okay with that, since his goal was to keep the distance.
“So tell us about your surfing lessons, Peter,” Laurel asked.
The kid said just enough words to qualify for an answer, then shoved more meat into his mouth. He seemed to have a healthy appetite, and Mark assumed it was from the beating he’d taken in the ocean that afternoon.
“Have you been doing those exercises I told you about?”
“Some.” More eating, this time potato. “I’m gonna do more later.”
“After your homework, right?” Laurel added between bites.
“Can we be excused?” the twins said in unison.
Laurel made a big deal out of checking their plates to make sure they’d eaten enough. “One more bite each.”
They both crammed another tiny bite into their mouths, washed it down with the last of their milk and rushed off for the family room.
Peter had to be asked to clear the table, but he didn’t protest too loudly, which surprised Mark. Maybe he wasn’t such a problem all the time after all. Or maybe that was Peter on good behavior because of Mark being there.
Mark wanted to help, too, but Laurel wouldn’t let him. “I’ll clean up later. While the girls watch their TV show and Peter finishes his homework, I thought we could have some coffee or whatever you’d like to drink in the front sitting room.”
An invitation for time alone? No matter how complicated the Prescott family’s situation was, Mark couldn’t resist the chance to get to know Laurel a little better. “Sure. Coffee’s fine.”
“I’ll meet you in there,” she said.
So he meandered into the front of the house. Rather than sit on the pillowed-out and overstuffed couch, or the matching ornate curved armchair beside it, he chose the classic paisley upholstered straight-backed chair across from the sofa, and waited for Laurel.
After looking around the room, he glanced out the front window toward the decidedly vintage-styled Drumcliffe and smiled, a few more ideas for perking up the place popping into his head. He also thought about Laurel and how having a brooding teen must stress her out, especially while juggling the twins and the hundreds of duties of the B&B. And the place wasn’t even open yet. And once it was, would it even support them? He wouldn’t suppose her situation, but figured there was probably life insurance meeting some of their needs.
He wondered what profession her deceased husband was in.
Then stopped himself. Enough already.
She brought coffee on a tray, like they did in old movies, and he got a kick out of all the effort she’d gone to for him. But this was a B&B, and she was the proprietor. Of course she’d do this for the guests. In fact, she was probably practicing on him. That was all.
He poured cream into his coffee and soon enjoyed the hint of vanilla and cinnamon. If this was only practice, he was happy to be her guinea pig, because it made their sitting alone together in a fancy room feel less intimate.
“I wanted to personally thank you for your help these last two days. Peter told me what happened at the beach yesterday.”
“No big deal. Those kids were up to no good.”
“It was a big deal. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Well, I did, and Peter got some surfing lessons out of it.”
“I hope he keeps it up.”
“He says he wants to.”
She went quiet for a moment. “I never thought he’d get bullied simply for being the new kid in town.”
“In a perfect world, it shouldn’t make any difference, but...”
She primly sipped her coffee from a pink patterned cup that probably came from England. The one inside the box he’d first carried yesterday?
He didn’t want to, but couldn’t help noticing her mouth, how the top lip was slightly plumper than the bottom. Rather than get caught staring again, he took in how tonight her hair was tamed with a conservative hair band, and how she looked like a proper bed-and-breakfast owner. Then he glanced down at her bright tangerine toenails, enjoying the contradiction.
She caught him staring, too, and he didn’t even try to look away. Why pretend when he liked what he saw? So he smiled, and judging by the twitch at one corner of her mouth, she didn’t mind.
“So what are you going to call this place?”
“The Prescott Bed-and-Breakfast. I’ve got a sign, just haven’t put it up yet.”
“I can do it.”
“Would you?”
On impulse, he decided he might just help out from time to time. She was a widow with three kids and