Willow Brook Road(43)

“It’s nice to know that things do work out, even if it’s not on the timetable we anticipated.”

“That’s what she says, that love has its own timetable, and we need to pay attention to it. Not everyone gets that second chance.”

Sam studied her and noticed a sadness he hadn’t seen since that first night when he’d spotted her at the bar at O’Brien’s.

“How do you feel about second chances?”

“Given how often we manage to mess up our own lives, I’m all for them,” she said. “You?”

“Same thing. Have you messed up your life? It seems to me you have it all—a big, wonderful family, a whole town that’s practically a family business in some crazy way. You’re beautiful.”

“I’ll accept the compliment, but those are blessings that I really had nothing to do with. My looks can be attributed to great genes. This town is Grandpa Mick’s baby. The family, well, that’s Nell’s doing. Even when there have been tensions, she’s made certain that we all stick together. It’s nice knowing that kind of support is always there when we need it.”

“Is that why you came back here? I heard you were living in Europe.”

“In a way,” she said. “This is home, and I do love it here.”

“Are you planning to stay or is there another glamorous job on the horizon. I’ve heard from a couple of people you were involved in the fashion industry.”

“All behind me,” she said. “It turned out it wasn’t right for me.”

He grinned. “You wore the clothes well.” He glanced at the bright blue T-shirt and capris she was wearing today, along with a pair of flip-flops with a big white daisy between her toes. No more sexy heels. No designer wardrobe. “Is this a new look?”

“You have a good eye,” she said. “I decided I needed some more practical clothes for the life I’m living now. I loved some of the things I was able to buy at a discount because of my connection to a designer, but I would have had heart failure if I’d splattered grease on them.” She gestured toward the apron Nell had given her, which was covered already with various stains. “Look at me. I sure wouldn’t have made one of those perfect housewives portrayed in those old TV sitcoms.” She glanced his way and caught a puzzled look. “You know, the ones who could cook entire meals in a dress and heels without getting a thing on them.”

“Ah, yes,” he said with dawning understanding. “Well, just so you know, you look like a million bucks in these clothes, too.”

She blushed. “Sam Winslow, are you flirting with me?”

“Just calling it like I see it,” he said, then winked. “I’ve also heard that a little flirting is good for your health. If that blush on your cheeks is any indication, it definitely has an impact on blood flow.”

She laughed. “I never thought of it quite that way. I’ll have to brush up on my flirting skills.”

A sudden image of her flirting with any man who crossed her path gave Sam pause. And the fact that it did scared him in a way that little else in his life had, The only thing scarier was knowing that as tricky as the past three weeks of adjusting to being a dad had been, he still had years in that role to figure out.

That thought had him moving quickly to the door to hold it open for Nell and Bobby, relieved to have a distraction. He could feel Carrie’s puzzled gaze for the rest of the morning as he focused his attention on mastering Nell’s instructions and answering her questions.

When they finally sat down at the big kitchen table to sample what they’d cooked, he smiled when Bobby took his first taste of the Irish stew and looked up, his face alight with surprise.

“This is really good,” he said, already spooning up more. “It’s like the stew we had when we got to town.”

“It is,” Carrie agreed, looking triumphant. She met his gaze. “How about that? We didn’t mess it up.”

“You both get an A plus,” Nell said approvingly.

“Never had better, not even back in Dublin,” Dillon added.

Sam studied their expressions, still harboring doubts about their success. Eventually he took a tentative taste. As the flavors of the beef, fresh herbs and vegetables burst on his tongue, he regarded the stew with amazement.

“Who knew I could cook?” he said, an unmistakable hint of wonder in his voice.

Nell chuckled. “Boy, you’re just scratching the surface. You can’t live on Irish stew alone, even as good as it is. Next week we’ll move on to my chicken and dumplings. Now those dumplings are the test that separates the men from the boys.”