She yanked the piece off the shelf and tested the weight in her hand, delighted to discover it wasn’t some kind of delicate porcelain, but rather something substantial that would make a satisfying crash against the wall. Too bad she couldn’t toss it straight at Sam’s hard head.
Wasn’t it enough that she’d had to deal with Marc again first thing this morning and send him on his way? Had she really needed Sam going all noble on her and refusing to sleep with her because he wasn’t ready for marriage, wasn’t sure he ever would be?
Really? What man refused when a willing woman was stretched across his lap? It wasn’t as if he’d been immune to her, either. That would have opened a whole other kettle of fish, but she knew he wanted her just as badly as she’d wanted him. There’d been no mistaking the evidence of that.
So, he was an idiot or a saint. Because it suited her mood, she was going with idiot! Saying a mental goodbye to the gravy boat, she hurled it at the wall, where it shattered so thoroughly, gave her such satisfaction that she grabbed blindly for something else, anything else that might get this fit of temper out of her system.
She pulled back her arm to throw a silly souvenir mug from Paris—two birds with one mug, so to speak, since Marc had bought the stupid thing for her—when she heard her mom’s voice.
“So this is why you didn’t answer the door when I knocked,” Abby said, looking at the shards of pottery on the floor and the mug still gripped tightly in Carrie’s hand. “Having a bad day?”
Abby plucked the mug out of danger, then walked to the pot of coffee that was still warm on the kitchen counter and filled the mug. “Think of this as giving it one last useful moment before you destroy it,” she said.
Carrie studied her mother with a suspicious gaze. “Mom, what are you doing here? I don’t imagine you came to rescue my dishes.”
“I heard Marc was in town. Jess said you had quite the meeting at the inn. I thought you might need to talk.”
Carrie waved off the entire confrontation with Marc. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.”
“Good to know,” Abby said with satisfaction, studying Carrie over the rim of the mug as she took a leisurely sip of coffee. “So,” she asked eventually, “the shattered pottery has nothing to do with Marc?”
“Nope.”
“No more unresolved feelings, no more longing for what you once had?”
Carrie actually shuddered. “Not even a tiny bit.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Abby said. “He wasn’t worthy of you.” She studied Carrie for another minute, then said oh-so-innocently, “So, this must be about Sam.”
Carrie frowned. “Why must it be about Sam? Why does it have to be about any man? Maybe I’m just having a lousy day. Maybe I failed an inspection at the day-care center. Maybe Grandpa Mick made me crazier than usual.”
Her mother made a valiant effort to hide a smile, but failed miserably. “Okay, that’s fair enough. I jumped to a conclusion. I’ll rephrase. What brought on this mood?”
Carrie didn’t appreciate the oh-so-patient, patronizing tone, especially since they both knew what her response was going to be. “Sam, of course.” Before her mom could gloat, she added, “But I don’t want it to be about Sam. I don’t want it to be about me falling for yet another man I’ve apparently been reading all wrong. Marc accused me of having a little schoolgirl crush on him, something of no consequence. Maybe that’s all it is with Sam, too. He certainly doesn’t see it going anywhere.”
“Have you stopped to consider the possibility that he’s scared? This is a man who, by his own admission, never really thought much about settling down, much less having a family. Now, out of the blue, he’s a dad. And, also out of the blue, he discovers he has feelings for you. That’s a lot for a carefree guy to try to absorb in a matter of a few months.”
“I’m not trying to rush him down the aisle, for heaven’s sake. I just want to sleep with him.”
Abby didn’t even try to contain her laugh at that. “Too much information, sweetie. Not that I’m easily shocked. We’ve all seen this coming. And we all know that you have very little patience. You want what you want when you want it. I blame your grandfather for that. He always saw that you and your sister got everything you ever asked for. I’m sure if you were to tell him you want to jump into bed with Sam, he’d do his level best to make that happen, too.”
“Mom!” Carrie protested, though she, too, laughed. “He probably would, wouldn’t he?”