Sweet On Peggy. Stella MacLeanЧитать онлайн книгу.
know each other?” Ned asked, moving closer, his eyes darting from one to the other.
“We met at the hospital,” Rory replied, looking deep into her eyes. So deep she thought she would fall in. What was it about this man that had her heart tripping in her chest?
Ned cleared his throat. “Okay, well, can you stay for a few minutes, Peggy? I need to speak to you.”
If her world was perfectly in sync with her wishes, she’d stay right here and learn to be a carpenter. She’d spend long hours working up a sweat with this man. She tried not to look at the muscles curving over his shoulders and chest under his black T-shirt.
But her world wasn’t perfect. She smelled like an armpit. She had to run errands in town, maybe pick up a new top for tonight. Something sexy...
She dragged her gaze from Rory and focused on Ned. “Sorry, Ned, but I have an appointment. Can we talk later?”
“I guess so. It’s certainly not going to go away anytime soon, so yeah...later.”
Rory leaned toward her. She backed up, hoping not to shroud him in her eau de horse.
“I’ll see you at seven,” he said, low enough that Ned couldn’t hear, for which she was very, very thankful. Nothing against Ned. It was just that she’d like to have a little privacy, and obviously so did Rory. Nice.
RORY PACED BACK and forth in front of the Wayfarer Inn. He’d dug out his best dress pants from among the stuff he’d brought from his mother’s house in Bangor, ironed his only dress shirt and borrowed a tie from the guy in the apartment next to him, all in preparation for tonight.
He was about to make another lap around the front flower beds of the inn when he saw her coming across the street. She hadn’t seen him yet. Her stride was long, her silky brown hair clung to her cheeks and the sea green dress she was wearing skimmed her body in all the right places. When she looked his way, he smiled and waved.
Tonight was going to be special. He could feel it. He sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, then realized that he sounded like an overeager teenager.
Peggy glanced at her watch. “Am I late?”
“No, I’m early,” he said as she came near.
She smiled at him, her eyes meeting his. “That’s nice.”
“What is?” he asked, unable to take his eyes from hers.
“You. Being early...for a change,” she said, chuckling.
“So I’m to be reminded of my one sin, am I?”
“Not if tonight goes okay. If all ends well, I will never mention the missed coffee date ever again.”
“Deal,” he said, placing his arm on the small of her back as he led her to the entrance of the inn. He felt so good walking beside her, letting her flowery perfume play along his senses. The waiter showed them to a table by the window with a view of the side garden near the trestle he’d built for their climbing roses. He held her chair for her as she sat down.
“May I take your drink orders?” the waiter asked.
“White wine for me,” Peggy said, raising her eyebrows at him.
“Me, too,” he offered. “I can’t remember the last time I had any alcohol,” he said as the waiter left.
“You don’t drink? You don’t have to have a glass of wine just because I do.”
“No. I drink. I simply haven’t since I got back from Haiti.”
“You lived in Haiti?”
He toyed with the lip of his water glass, his gut tightening. He wished now he hadn’t mentioned Haiti. Yet he’d done it out of a need to be completely honest with the woman who had held his attention since he’d met her. “Yes, for two years.”
“Did you like it?”
He’d spent the early weeks after he’d gotten back trying not to think about Haiti. He’d finally given up trying. Haiti changed his life. “I’m not sure. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“I’m listening if you want to try.”
He met her attentive gaze and was tempted. Yet he wasn’t quite ready to share those memories he’d held so close to his heart, memories both happy and tragic. “Haiti is a special place. I was working for an NGO whose purpose was to rebuild the homes lost in the earthquake. But now I’m back, ready to enjoy life, to make each moment count.”
“I admire you for what you’ve done,” she said, a smile lighting her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to encourage him to continue.
As much as he wanted to say more, he didn’t want to ruin their evening by getting into a heavy topic like the devastation in Haiti. Their wine arrived. He picked up his glass. “To this evening.”
“To this evening,” she responded, putting her glass to her lips. He couldn’t help noticing that her fingers were long, her nails painted in a subtle shade of pink.
They both ordered a steak. He was pleased to discover a woman who liked steak. Most of the women he’d dated didn’t eat steak because it was too fattening, or too something. To him it was the perfect food. To each his own, he mused as he watched her sip her wine.
“You like to ride horses,” he said.
“I do. When I came here, I was lucky enough to find a small farm property with a barn. I found two horses I love, and I’m now looking at offering riding lessons. On a very small scale, of course, since I work full-time. What about you? What brought you to Eden Harbor?”
“My mother passed away a couple of months ago. I inherited her house in Bangor, sold it and couldn’t decide what to do after. Then one day it came to me.”
Her eyes popped open, the corner of her lips tipped up in a smile. “What came to you?”
“The answer to where I’d move once all the paperwork around my mom’s death was finished. Mom summered in Eden Harbor, out on Cranberry Point, when she was a kid. She loved it. Coming here was an easy decision. I just put some of my things in storage, the rest I put in the back of my truck and I hit the road.” He felt her interested gaze on him and wanted to share more with her. “It just felt right to come here, where my mom had been so happy.” He played with the tines of his fork. “She hadn’t been very happy the last couple of years.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.
“I am, too. She developed cancer...” He was sorry he’d brought up this particular heavy topic. It had been a very difficult time for him. His mother’s death and what he’d experienced in Haiti had left him desolate and uncertain for the first time in his life.
“Why did you choose to be a carpenter?”
“It’s more like carpentry chose me. My dad liked to build things. When he passed away a few years ago, he left me all his tools. I found myself wanting to learn everything I could about working with wood. I found a program at the tech school in Bangor and decided to try my hand at it.”
She smiled at him over her glass. He felt ridiculously pleased and happy. The best he’d felt since he’d gotten home from Haiti. As they ate they talked about so many things, and he found himself thinking that it would be nice to do this every day...with Peggy. He loved the way she listened to him, made intelligent comments about his work, offered her ideas and generally made him feel that she understood why he’d chosen carpentry.
For the first time since he’d returned home, he wanted to share his feelings about his work in the past two years. What it meant to him. Yet somehow he couldn’t bring himself to