Maybe her heart tripped at first, maybe she glanced at the chef’s knife on her cutting board, but she ordered herself to keep to the task at hand.
And was rewarded when she saw Xander haul chairs onto the back deck.
Swiping her hands on the dish towel tucked into her waistband, she walked over to at least open the doors.
“He sworeI almost made him take a blood oaththese were the chairs you wanted.”
“That’s right.”
Xander looked at themscowled at them. The faded, ripped, ugly patterned seats, the scuffed wood. “Why?”
“They’re going to be adorable.”
“How?”
“Reupholstered with this fabric I’ve picked out, painted. The ladderbacks a slatey blue, the armchairs a sagey green.”
“You’re going to paint them?”
“Jenny is. I’ve retired. They can be ugly until she takes them. I’ve got rags and wood cleaner. We can make them presentable for one meal.”
“They look like presentable kindling to me, but it’s your deal.”
“What about the table?”
“I get the tableneeds a little work, but it’s a good piece.”
“I meant do you need help getting it out of the car?”
“Eventually.” Clearly unconvinced, he gave the chairs a final frown. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’ll get what you need.”
She got the supplies out of the laundry room, filled a bucket with water, carted it out in time to see him coming back up the steps behind a forest of lilacs in a tall cobalt blue pitcher.
“There.” He set them on the table on the deck. “I brought you flowers and something to put them in.”
Staggered, she stared at them, at him. “I . . .”
“I stole the flowers, but I bought the pitcher.”
“It’sthey’re . . . They’re perfect. Thank you.”
He stood there, scruffy, scowling at the chairs he obviously considered a waste of time and moneyand she had to swallow, twice.
“This better be some dinner.” After taking one of the rags from her, he dropped it in the bucket. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’ve just got things going inside.”
“Go on, deal with that. I’ll clean up these butt-ugly chairs.”
She went inside, grabbed the wine on the way and took it with her straight to the powder roomthe one that still needed lights, new fixtures, and a towel bar.
Her heart was tripping again. In fact it was tripping, stumbling, staggering all at the same time. Not a sensation she’d ever experienced before. Not a panic attacknot exactly, though she definitely felt considerable panic.
He’d walked up the steps with lilacs in a blue pitcher, set them down unceremoniously. Stolen flowers in an old pitcher, carried in big, callused hands.
And she’d fallen in love.
It couldn’t be that fast. It couldn’t be that simple. It couldn’t be.
But it was. She didn’t have to have felt it all before to know what tripped and stumbled inside her.
She breathed in, breathed out, took a good glug of wine.
What happened next?
Nothing had to happen next, she assured herself. Everything just continued, it just kept going until . . . something. But right now, nothing happened.
She had pork chops to stuff.
She heard him laughing, talking to the dog out on the deck. She saw the lilacsso lush, so sweet. And had to press the heel of her hand to her heart, order it to behave.
But she pulled out her phone, angled herself, and took several shots of the flowers.
By the time she began making the stuffing, she heard Mason’s voice and, glancing up, saw him step onto the deck from the stairs.
Xander moved into the opening. “We’ll get the table. The chairs are clean, but they’re still ugly.”
“Their charm is simply yet to be released.”
“Whatever. I’m going to want that food once we get the table up. It smells good.”
“Food’s an hour off.”
“That’ll do.”
While she finished the stuffing, they hauled up the farmhouse table. Mason stepped in.
“Are those . . . stuffed pork chops!”
“I know how to soften you up.”
He kissed her cheeks. “Thanks. Why did you buy such crappy chairs?”
“They won’t be crappy when they’re fixed.”
“If you say so. I like the table. Is that barn wood?”
“It is.”
“Built to last.”
She finished stuffing the chops, slid them into the oven, and stepped out on the deck. “Oh, look how the cleaner brings out the grain. It just needed some tending.”
“It’s got some dings and scratches,” Xander told her.
“It’s called character. And Jenny said she could fix anything that needed fixing. I don’t want to spoil anything, Mason, but I thought if we could talk about what you did, found out, think since meeting with Chief Winston, we wouldn’t have it hanging over us at dinner.”