Sam started to argue, then gave in. He pulled a couple of twenties from his wallet and gave them to her. “I’m not sure how much the bill will be, but this should cover it.”
She handed back one of the twenties. “This will do. I’m going to have Luke put some chocolate-chip cookies in with your order. They’re not on the menu, but he keeps them on hand for the kids in our family. They’re my great-grandmother’s recipe. She bakes once a week and brings them over here. She leaves a supply at my house, too, since most of the kids are in and out of there, too.”
The thought of home-baked cookies triggered a longing in Sam, one he hadn’t even realized he’d buried deep inside. “My grandmother used to do the same thing. She baked for the whole family. She’s been gone for years, but I still remember the way her kitchen smelled.”
A smile spread across the woman’s face at last. “There’s nothing like it, is there? Don’t ever tell Nell, if you happen to meet her, but I bake, too, just so my house will smell like that when the kids come by. I want to be the go-to aunt or cousin or neighbor when it comes to cookies.”
She shooed him toward the door. “Go. I’ll be over with your food in just a minute.”
Sam dutifully left the pub and crossed the street. He stood beside the car and waited for the woman to emerge with his order. At least he told himself his gaze was so intense because his stomach was rumbling, but the truth was, he wanted another glimpse of her. She was a mass of contradictions with her fancy clothes and home-baked cookies, the lost expression he’d caught on her face when he first noticed her sitting at the bar, and her fiery indignation when she’d found Bobby alone in the car.
Contradictions like that, though, usually meant trouble. And these days Sam had more of that than he could possibly handle.
2
Through the pub’s window, Carrie studied the man as he waited beside the car. He looked bone-weary. Little wonder after just suffering a tragic loss and then finding out he was responsible for his nephew. No longer furious about finding the boy alone in the car, she was able to cut the man some slack, but just this once. She’d be keeping an eye on him, and not because he was handsome as sin with his tousled hair, deep blue eyes and firm jaw, but because that child was likely in need of an advocate who knew something about kids.
When Luke emerged from the kitchen with the take-out order, Carrie held out her hand. “I’ll take it to him.”
Luke frowned. “Since when did we offer curbside service and how’d you get roped into it?”
“Just give me the bag. Did you put in some of Nell’s cookies?”
“You told me to, didn’t you? Of course I did. Are you picking up the check, too?”
“Very funny. His money’s by the register. Keep the change.”
She was about to open the door, when Luke called out.
“Carrie!”
She stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Come back here after you’ve delivered that,” he said.
“I was going to head home.”
“Not just yet,” he said firmly.
A few years ago she might have reminded him he wasn’t the boss of her, but she was more mature now. “Fine,” she said grudgingly.
She crossed the street and handed over the bag. The aroma of the stew made her stomach rumble. Maybe returning to the pub was a good idea, after all. She could use some of that stew herself.
“Here, take this quick, before I decide to dive in and eat it myself,” she said, handing him the bag.
He reached for the bag, took a sniff and sighed. “It does smell good. I hope Bobby will eat it.”
“Is he a picky eater?”
“It’s hard to tell. He’s shown little interest in anything the past couple of weeks, but that could be because of the circumstances. The only thing I’ve been able to coax him to eat are burgers and French fries, but I know I need to break that habit.”
“Now you’re talking like a responsible parent,” she told him approvingly.
He gave her a wry look. “If only it were that easy. Make sure he eats healthy meals and all will be right in his world.”
“Are you staying here in Chesapeake Shores or just passing through?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she added, “I’m Carrie Winters, by the way.”
He held out his hand. “Sam Winslow. I gather you’re a local.”
“Absolutely. My cousin Luke owns the pub. I think I mentioned that. My grandfather, Mick O’Brien, designed the whole town.”
He regarded her with amusement. “Is that what entitles you to dig into the lives of everyone you meet?”