Page 40 of True North

“I’ll go and check she’s okay,” I offer and push from the chair. I wander through the house to the bathroom.

“Rosie, are you okay?”

Muffled steps move toward the door. It swings open a second later. Her brows lower. “You oughta be eatin’.”

“We’re waiting for you.”

She smiles and pats my arm. “Of course, where are my manners? Give me a moment, will you?”

“Sure.” I head back to the table and drop into the captain’s chair. “She’s coming.”

Harry nods and starts loading up his plate. “You gonna tell me what all this is?”

He doesn’t seem too worried about the ingredients, by the rate he’s shoveling large portions of each dish onto his plate. Rosie appears and places candles through the center of the table. She picks up her plate and takes a little of each dish. Setting it down, she lights the candles.

Harry’s face hardens as his mother ignores his glares.

“You’re not eating with us?” I ask.

“Oh hon, my old head is about to split. I’m not used to cookin’ for hours a day. You two young things enjoy each other’s company.” She winks at me and grabs her cutlery and heads for the hallway. She’s eating in her room?

I stare at her retreating back, mouth agape. Her hand hits the light switch as she passes the wall, leaving us sitting at the table with only candlelight.

She totally set us up.

When I feel Harry’s glare home onto my face, I snap my attention to him.

“I—”

He holds a hand up. “Just eat, Louisa.”

I clamp my mouth shut and take the closest dish. Just enjoy the company. Her words were hints. But I never thought she would pull a stunt like this. Was this entire cooking lesson gig just a charade to wrangle Harry and I into the same space?

I huff out a breath in disbelief. I didn’t even see it coming.

But I can’t be too harsh on Rosie. She’s the sweetest woman to ever walk this earth, and I know what she did came from love. I just don’t want her to be disappointed when her plan fails. Because by the look on this moody man’s face, he’s less impressed by this little maneuver of hers than I am.

So, being the problem solver I am, I decide to lighten the mood.

“So, Harry, you come here often?” I ask, my face serious, feigning the overacting serious face you’d see in one of those flicks at the drive-in.

His hard face flinches. Hands gripping the cutlery as he rips a mouthful of meat from the tines of his fork, he chews, face stern, then swallows before the stone cracks and he chuckles. “You didn’t just say that.”

He swipes up his glass and washes down the mouthful.

I hold both my palms up, looking like something fromThe Godfather. The last film we’d seen together before prom. In my best dramatic Italian accent, I squeeze out, “What can I say, I was set up.”

He half chokes on his water, setting the glass down too hard. I can’t help the laughter shaking my shoulders. We crack up over the food. I press a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the laughter. “Oh, Harry.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he says like Danny fromGrease.

I double over, barely missing the edge of the table. He nods his head and rolls his shoulders back, sliding his fork behind his ear. I toss my head back, my stomach aching from the uncontrollable laughter.

So, he does get out. At least, he’s seen that film.

And all of a sudden, the thought of Harry taking someone else to the drive-in movies sucks the air from my lungs. My laughter chokes out. And when I meet his gaze over the candlelight and long table, my breaths shallow out.

Panic rolls the swallow I just took into a sob. I tamp it down. Drawing in a long lungful of air, I steady my racing heart, trying to ease the ache in my heart. Harry’s smile falls and he dips his focus to his plate. Retrieving the fork from behind his ear, he stabs food onto it, his teeth snapping the morsel from it.

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