more accurately, the night. She’d kissed a man who appeared to be already taken.
She was tempted to flee to Primrose House. But why deprive herself of the pleasure of the celebration? After all, she hadn’t come to Belleporte because of Ben Nolan. He’d merely been an added attraction.
Arlo Bramwell’s wife grabbed Laurel’s arm when she entered the community center and ushered her around, introducing her to everyone she encountered. Finally she directed Laurel to the refreshment table, where they each picked up a slice of cake and a mug of hot chocolate. “Now—” Mrs. Arlo looked around “—where shall we sit?” Then she waved across the room and nodded her head. “There. By Maureen.”
They shouldered through the crowd and settled at a long table by the window. “Laurel, this is my friend Maureen—she runs the village day care.”
A friendly-looking woman with russet hair and sad green eyes smiled. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
Mrs. Arlo practically bounced in her chair. “You must know about Laurel. She bought the old Mansfield place. For a gift shop.”
“Of course. I’ve heard about you from my son Ben.”
Laurel nearly dropped her fork. “Yes, he introduced me to Ellen, who handled the sale for me.”
“Ellen’s a great real estate agent and a wonderful person,” Maureen Nolan continued. “She and Ben have known each other ever since grade school.”
Approval echoed in every syllable. Laurel’s heart sank, but she did her best to recover, asking the two women about the history of the Twelfth Night observance.
“Part of the fun is the cake,” Mrs. Arlo said. “Whoever finds a pea in their cake will be crowned king or queen.”
“Of what?” Laurel asked.
“Misrule,” Maureen responded. “It all goes back to an old tradition. We do it here for fun.”
“In just a minute there will be the announcement,” Mrs. Arlo said.
Sure enough, the mayor hushed the crowd, then held up a pasteboard crown. “Okay, folks, who has the pea?”
A jaunty silver-haired gentleman with a military mustache stood and made his way to the front. “Quincy Axtell, I declare,” the mayor said, “this is about the fifth time you’ve been king.”
“Wouldn’t you know it would be Quincy,” Mrs. Arlo whispered to Ben’s mother, but Laurel noticed both women gazed on the man with affection.
After the coronation, Laurel politely excused herself and headed for the door. She had taken only a few steps when she stopped dead.
From the other side of the room, walking directly toward her in a yellow sweater and gray flannel pants, was the man who’d filled her thoughts for weeks now. Someone jostled against her, but she didn’t move.
Ben wasn’t looking at the mayor nor at the new king.
Nor was Laurel looking at anyone else.
Despite the press of the crowd and the hearty conversations raging around them, they may as well have been alone—the only man and woman on a moonlit, windswept beach.
B EN STRODE toward Laurel, ignoring those in his path. It would’ve been so much easier if his memory had idealized her or if, at this moment, he felt ambivalent about seeing her. But when her dark eyes met his and she smiled in welcome, relief washed over him.
As others turned away to finish their refreshments or head for home, Ben said quietly, “I’m glad you’re back.” Talk about understatement.
“Me, too. I wish you could see the wonders Arlo’s worked on my apartment. Monday he starts on the shop itself.”
He smiled. “Still think you haven’t undertaken too much?”
“For your information, Mr. Pessimist, I’m more convinced than ever that I made the right choice. Just wait till you see some of the merchandise I’ve lined up. Really, it’s all coming together nicely.”
What was the matter with him? He had no right to discourage her. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. “I’d like to drop by so you can show me.”
“Anytime. I’m almost always there.” He
She was tempted to flee to Primrose House. But why deprive herself of the pleasure of the celebration? After all, she hadn’t come to Belleporte because of Ben Nolan. He’d merely been an added attraction.
Arlo Bramwell’s wife grabbed Laurel’s arm when she entered the community center and ushered her around, introducing her to everyone she encountered. Finally she directed Laurel to the refreshment table, where they each picked up a slice of cake and a mug of hot chocolate. “Now—” Mrs. Arlo looked around “—where shall we sit?” Then she waved across the room and nodded her head. “There. By Maureen.”
They shouldered through the crowd and settled at a long table by the window. “Laurel, this is my friend Maureen—she runs the village day care.”
A friendly-looking woman with russet hair and sad green eyes smiled. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
Mrs. Arlo practically bounced in her chair. “You must know about Laurel. She bought the old Mansfield place. For a gift shop.”
“Of course. I’ve heard about you from my son Ben.”
Laurel nearly dropped her fork. “Yes, he introduced me to Ellen, who handled the sale for me.”
“Ellen’s a great real estate agent and a wonderful person,” Maureen Nolan continued. “She and Ben have known each other ever since grade school.”
Approval echoed in every syllable. Laurel’s heart sank, but she did her best to recover, asking the two women about the history of the Twelfth Night observance.
“Part of the fun is the cake,” Mrs. Arlo said. “Whoever finds a pea in their cake will be crowned king or queen.”
“Of what?” Laurel asked.
“Misrule,” Maureen responded. “It all goes back to an old tradition. We do it here for fun.”
“In just a minute there will be the announcement,” Mrs. Arlo said.
Sure enough, the mayor hushed the crowd, then held up a pasteboard crown. “Okay, folks, who has the pea?”
A jaunty silver-haired gentleman with a military mustache stood and made his way to the front. “Quincy Axtell, I declare,” the mayor said, “this is about the fifth time you’ve been king.”
“Wouldn’t you know it would be Quincy,” Mrs. Arlo whispered to Ben’s mother, but Laurel noticed both women gazed on the man with affection.
After the coronation, Laurel politely excused herself and headed for the door. She had taken only a few steps when she stopped dead.
From the other side of the room, walking directly toward her in a yellow sweater and gray flannel pants, was the man who’d filled her thoughts for weeks now. Someone jostled against her, but she didn’t move.
Ben wasn’t looking at the mayor nor at the new king.
Nor was Laurel looking at anyone else.
Despite the press of the crowd and the hearty conversations raging around them, they may as well have been alone—the only man and woman on a moonlit, windswept beach.
B EN STRODE toward Laurel, ignoring those in his path. It would’ve been so much easier if his memory had idealized her or if, at this moment, he felt ambivalent about seeing her. But when her dark eyes met his and she smiled in welcome, relief washed over him.
As others turned away to finish their refreshments or head for home, Ben said quietly, “I’m glad you’re back.” Talk about understatement.
“Me, too. I wish you could see the wonders Arlo’s worked on my apartment. Monday he starts on the shop itself.”
He smiled. “Still think you haven’t undertaken too much?”
“For your information, Mr. Pessimist, I’m more convinced than ever that I made the right choice. Just wait till you see some of the merchandise I’ve lined up. Really, it’s all coming together nicely.”
What was the matter with him? He had no right to discourage her. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. “I’d like to drop by so you can show me.”
“Anytime. I’m almost always there.” He
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