Page 97 of Summer Weddings
The oven timer went off, and grateful for the excuse to clear his head, Mitch walked into the kitchen. He opened the oven and pulled out the ground-turkey casserole to cool on top of the stove.
He entered his daughter’s room and discovered Bethany sitting on the bed, with Chrissie cuddled close. The child’s head rested against Bethany’s shoulder as she read from the story he’d begun himself. When Chrissie glanced up to find Mitch watching, her eyes shone with happiness.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, craning her neck to look up at Bethany. “Dad usually reads me this story, but you do it better because you love it, too. I don’t think Dad likes romance stories.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Mitch announced. “Are you sure you won’t try to eat something, pumpkin?”
Chrissie’s frown said that was a terribly difficult decision. “Maybe I could eat just a little, but only if Ms. Ross will stay and have dinner with us.”
Before Bethany could offer a perfunctory excuse, Mitch said, “There’s plenty, and we’d both enjoy having you.” He wanted to be certain she understood that he wouldn’t object to her company; if anything, he’d be glad of it.
He saw her gaze travel from him to Chrissie and then back. He leaned against the doorway, hands deep in his pockets, trying to give the impression that it made no difference to him if she joined them or not. But it did. Hewantedher to stay.
“I… It’s thoughtful of you to ask. I, uh, haven’t eaten yet.”
“Oh, goodie.” Chrissie jumped up and clapped her hands, bouncing with glee. Then, as if she’d just remembered how ill she was supposed to be, she sagged her shoulders and all but crumpled onto the bed.
In an effort to hide his smile, Mitch returned to the kitchen and quickly set the table. By the time Chrissie and Bethany joined him, he’d brought the casserole to the table, as well as a loaf of bread, butter and some straight-from-the-can bean salad.
Dinner was…an odd affair. Exciting. Fun. And a little sad. It was as if he and Bethany were attempting to find new ground with each other. Only they both seemed to fear that this ground would be full of crevices and strewn with obstacles. He’d take one step forward, then freeze, afraid he’d said something that might offend her.
He noticed that Bethany didn’t find this new situation any easier than he did. She’d start to laugh, then her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, would meet his and the laugh would falter.
Following their meal, Chrissie wanted her to finish the story. Since Mitch was well aware of how the story ended, he lingered in the kitchen over a cup of coffee.
He’d just begun washing the dishes when Bethany reappeared.
“Chrissie’s decided she needs her beauty sleep,” she told him, standing at the far side of the room.
Mitch didn’t blame her for maintaining the distance between them. Every time she’d attempted to get close, he’d shoved her away. Every time she’d opened her heart to him, he’d shunned her. Yet when he’d desperately needed her, she’d been there. And although she’d accused him of settling for any woman who happened to fall into his arms,shewas the only one who could fill the need in him.
“I imagine you want to get back home,” he said, experiencing a curious sadness. He dumped what remained of his coffee into the sink. The way her eyes flickered told him she might have enjoyed a cup had he offered one.
“Stay,” he said suddenly. “Just for a few minutes.”
The invitation seemed to hang in the air. It took her a long time to decide; when he was about to despair,she gave him a small smile, then nodded.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
His heart reacted with a wild burst of staccato beats. He poured her a mug, grabbing a fresh one for himself. His movements were jerky, and he realized it was because he felt afraid that if he didn’t finish the task quickly enough, she might change her mind.
He carried the mugs into the living room and sat across from her. At first their conversation was awkward, but gradually the tension eased. He was astonished by how much they had to talk about. Books, movies, politics. Children. Police work. Life in Alaska. They shared myriad opinions and stories and observations.
It was as though all the difficulties between them had been wiped out and they were starting over.
Mitch laughed. He felt warm and relaxed, trusting. Alive. She seemed curious about his past, but her occasional questions were friendly, not intrusive. And she didn’t probe for more information than he was willing—or able—to give her.
He brought out a large photo album and sat next to her on the sofa, with the album resting partially on his lap and partially on hers. Mitch turned the pages, explaining each picture.
He wondered what Bethany thought about the gap in his past. It was as if their lives—his and Chrissie’s—had started when they came to Hard Luck. There wasn’t a single photograph taken any earlier than that. Not one picture of Lori.
He turned a page and his hand inadvertently brushed hers. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but when he did, it was as if something exploded inside him. For long seconds, neither moved.
Slowly Mitch’s gaze went to hers. Instead of accusation, he found approval, instead of anger, acceptance. He released his breath,tired of fighting a battle he couldn’t win. With deliberate movements, he closed the photo album and set it aside.
“Mitch?”
