Page 100 of Summer Weddings
They’d all enjoyed the card-playing so much that it had become a weekly event. In the past few weeks Bethany had spent a lot of time in Mitch’s company, and she believed they’d grown close and comfortable with each other. But then, they were almost always with other people. With Chrissie, of course. With Sawyer and Abbey. The other O’Halloran brothers. Ben. Margaret Simpson. Rarely were they alone. It was this situation that had prompted her to invite him for dinner.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said self-consciously, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “I hope you like Irish stew.”
“I love it, but then I’m partial to anything I don’t have to cook myself.” He smiled and his eyes met hers. He pulled his gaze away, putting an abrupt end to the moment of intimacy.
Bethany had to fight back her disappointment.
“I see you got your Christmas tree,” he said, motioning to the scrawny five-foot vinyl fir that stood in the corner of her living room. She would’ve preferred a live tree, but the cost was astronomical, and so she did what everyone in Hard Luck had done. She’d ordered a fake tree through the catalog.
“I was hoping you’d help me decorate it,” she said. It was only fair, since she’d helped him and Chrissie decorate theirs the night before. Chrissie had chattered excitedly about Susan’s slumber party, which was tonight. Bethany wondered if Abbey had arranged the party so Bethany and Mitch would have some time alone. Whether it was intentional or not, Bethany was grateful.
“Chrissie said the two of you baked cookies today.”
“Susan helped, too,” she said. Bethany had offered to take both girls for a few hours during the afternoon; Mitch was working, and Abbey wanted a chance to wrap Christmas gifts and address cards undisturbed.
Mitch followed her into the kitchen. They were greeted by the aroma of sage and other herbs.The oven timer went off, and she reached for a mitt to pull out a loaf of crusty French bread.
Mitch looked around. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
“No. Everything’s under control.” That was true of dinner, perhaps, but little else felt manageable. Mitch suddenly seemed like a stranger, when she thought they’d come so far. It was like the old days—which really weren’t so old.
“I’ll dish up dinner now,” she said.
He didn’t offer to help again; perhaps he thought he’d only be in the way. With his hands resting on a chair back, he stood by the kitchen table and waited until she could join him.
The stew was excellent, or so Mitch claimed, but for all the enjoyment she received from it, Bethany could have been eating boot leather.
“I imagine Abbey’s got her hands full,” she said, trying to make conversation.
“How many kids are spending the night?” Mitch asked. “Six was the last I heard.”
“Seven, if you count Scott.”
“My guess is Scott would rather be tarred and feathered than decorate sugar cookies and string popcorn with a bunch of girls.”
“You’re probably right.” She passed Mitch the bread. He thanked her and took another slice.
Silence.
Bethany didn’t know what had happened to the easy camaraderie they’d had over the past few weeks. Each attempt to start a discussion failed; conversation simply refused to flow. The silence grew more awkward by the minute, and finally Bethany could stand it no longer. With her mouth so dry she could barely talk, she threw down her napkin and turned to Mitch.
“What’s wrong with us?” she asked.
“Wrong?”
She gulped some water. “We’re sopolitewith each other.”
“Yeah,” Mitch agreed.
“We can hardly talk.”
“I noticed.” But he didn’t suggest any explanations—or solutions.
Bethany met his eyes, hoping he’d dosomethingto resolve this dilemma. He didn’t. Instead, he set his napkin carefully aside and got to his feet. “I guess I’m not very hungry.” He carried his half-full bowl to the sink.
“Oh.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
