“It’s Tuesday. AJ is probably making meatloaf down at the Horizon.”
Hold stepped around her, plucked something from her cart. “I like SpaghettiOs.”
Right, and he was studying the can as if it had been beamed into his hand by aliens from Vulcan. “You’ve never had SpaghettiOs in your life. If your heart’s set on the SpaghettiOs”—she plucked the can out of his hand, dropped it back in her cart—“you can get your own in aisle three.”
“Where’s the famous Windfall Island hospitality?”
“It’s off season.”
“Good manners, as my mama likes to say, are never out of fashion.”
“I wonder what she’d say about you following me around all day?”
“My mama,” he said with his trademark grin, “would be hard-put to find anything objectionable about my company.”
“Oh, I doubt that. Take it from a mother with a son.” As much as she loved Benji, there were just times it was best to be away from him. For both their sakes.
“I hear he’s a champ,” Hold said, “but I could run interference, say, tonight at supper.”
She shot him a look and kept moving, pushing her cart to the lone checkout, manned in the winter by Mr. MacDonald himself.
Mr. MacDonald shot Hold a look of his own. “You buying something, son, or are you just here to bother my patrons?”
“No. To both questions.”
“Then supposing you make way for paying customers?”
Hold stepped aside and looked behind him, his gaze dropping to a head of white hair belonging to an elderly woman barely five feet tall. Her face was a maze of wrinkles, her smile as sweet and pure as a newborn’s, and her eyes were glued to his butt.
“He’s fine right where he is, Sam,” Mrs. Weingarten said to MacDonald, her gaze not shifting one bit.
“No,” Jessi said, “He’s really not.”
Mrs. Weingarten patted Jessi on the hand. “Just because you’ve taken yourself out of the game doesn’t mean you can’t admire the players.”
“She’s not out of the game completely,” Hold said, ranging himself with Mrs. Weingarten. “She’s just taking a little hiatus. I’m hoping to give her a reason to bend her rules. Or break them.”
“Well, honey, if anyone can convince her to throw caution to the winds, I’m betting on you.”
“It’s a task Hercules himself would think twice over tackling, ma’am.”
“Well, you’ve got the physique for it.” This time, when Mrs. Weingarten patted his arm, her hand stayed there.
Jessi handed Mr. MacDonald two twenties, meeting his bland expression with a slight shake of her head and an eye roll. She pocketed the change he gave back, gathered up the handles of her canvas totes, and when Hold reached for them, shifted them away.
“Mrs. Weingarten, how are you getting home?”
“Oh, I’m walking, dear, just like always.”
Jessi aimed her gaze directly at Hold. “But it’s nearly a mile.”
Hold popped up an eyebrow, smiled a little, then turned the full wattage of his grin on Mrs. Weingarten. “I’d count it a privilege if you let me carry your groceries home for you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Weingarten dimpled up at him. “Only if you allow me to make you a cup of tea.”
“He loves to hear stories about the island,” Jessi put in, and this time the look she aimed at Hold was pointed. “Mrs. Weingarten has lived here all her life. She knows just about every Windfaller, present and past.”
“Well, then,” Hold crooked his elbow, waited until Mrs. Weingarten placed her gloved hand there, then collected her single plastic sack. “So, you know everyone on the island?”
“I do, yes,” Mrs. Weingarten said, allowing Hold to squire her to the door. “But I imagine you’re particularly interested in the Randal family.”
“That may be.” And he shot Jessi a look over his shoulder as he ushered Mrs. Weingarten out the door. A look that said, payback is hell .
If the general upheaval of the day had dimmed her mood, Benji brightened it right back up. How
Hold stepped around her, plucked something from her cart. “I like SpaghettiOs.”
Right, and he was studying the can as if it had been beamed into his hand by aliens from Vulcan. “You’ve never had SpaghettiOs in your life. If your heart’s set on the SpaghettiOs”—she plucked the can out of his hand, dropped it back in her cart—“you can get your own in aisle three.”
“Where’s the famous Windfall Island hospitality?”
“It’s off season.”
“Good manners, as my mama likes to say, are never out of fashion.”
“I wonder what she’d say about you following me around all day?”
“My mama,” he said with his trademark grin, “would be hard-put to find anything objectionable about my company.”
“Oh, I doubt that. Take it from a mother with a son.” As much as she loved Benji, there were just times it was best to be away from him. For both their sakes.
“I hear he’s a champ,” Hold said, “but I could run interference, say, tonight at supper.”
She shot him a look and kept moving, pushing her cart to the lone checkout, manned in the winter by Mr. MacDonald himself.
Mr. MacDonald shot Hold a look of his own. “You buying something, son, or are you just here to bother my patrons?”
“No. To both questions.”
“Then supposing you make way for paying customers?”
Hold stepped aside and looked behind him, his gaze dropping to a head of white hair belonging to an elderly woman barely five feet tall. Her face was a maze of wrinkles, her smile as sweet and pure as a newborn’s, and her eyes were glued to his butt.
“He’s fine right where he is, Sam,” Mrs. Weingarten said to MacDonald, her gaze not shifting one bit.
“No,” Jessi said, “He’s really not.”
Mrs. Weingarten patted Jessi on the hand. “Just because you’ve taken yourself out of the game doesn’t mean you can’t admire the players.”
“She’s not out of the game completely,” Hold said, ranging himself with Mrs. Weingarten. “She’s just taking a little hiatus. I’m hoping to give her a reason to bend her rules. Or break them.”
“Well, honey, if anyone can convince her to throw caution to the winds, I’m betting on you.”
“It’s a task Hercules himself would think twice over tackling, ma’am.”
“Well, you’ve got the physique for it.” This time, when Mrs. Weingarten patted his arm, her hand stayed there.
Jessi handed Mr. MacDonald two twenties, meeting his bland expression with a slight shake of her head and an eye roll. She pocketed the change he gave back, gathered up the handles of her canvas totes, and when Hold reached for them, shifted them away.
“Mrs. Weingarten, how are you getting home?”
“Oh, I’m walking, dear, just like always.”
Jessi aimed her gaze directly at Hold. “But it’s nearly a mile.”
Hold popped up an eyebrow, smiled a little, then turned the full wattage of his grin on Mrs. Weingarten. “I’d count it a privilege if you let me carry your groceries home for you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Weingarten dimpled up at him. “Only if you allow me to make you a cup of tea.”
“He loves to hear stories about the island,” Jessi put in, and this time the look she aimed at Hold was pointed. “Mrs. Weingarten has lived here all her life. She knows just about every Windfaller, present and past.”
“Well, then,” Hold crooked his elbow, waited until Mrs. Weingarten placed her gloved hand there, then collected her single plastic sack. “So, you know everyone on the island?”
“I do, yes,” Mrs. Weingarten said, allowing Hold to squire her to the door. “But I imagine you’re particularly interested in the Randal family.”
“That may be.” And he shot Jessi a look over his shoulder as he ushered Mrs. Weingarten out the door. A look that said, payback is hell .
If the general upheaval of the day had dimmed her mood, Benji brightened it right back up. How
Similar Books
