rinsed a muffin pan and set it on the counter. She wasn’t used to a man in her kitchen. For that matter, few guests took up her offer to freely roam about except in the lounge off the lobby.
“Go right ahead.” Alex glanced at his watch, saw that it was nearly eight. She would have had to be up by at least six to start serving breakfast at seven. Yet she looked as fresh as when he’d arrived, her yellow slacks and blouse spotless. She’d taken off her shoes, though, and he saw that her toenails were painted a bright pink. “You put in some mighty long days, what with the inn and doing all this baking.”
“I don’t mind.” She set another pan to drain, cocked an ear and heard the shower upstairs go on. Good. Ryan was following orders without being reminded for a change.
Finished with his dessert, Alex walked over and grabbed the towel he spotted hanging on a hook, then picked up a pan and began drying it.
Surprised, Megan paused. “Oh, no. You can’t do that. You’re a paying guest, for heaven’s sake.” She reached for the towel.
He wouldn’t let her have it. “Listen, I’m a guy who can’t sit still. I don’t feel like going anywhere or watching TV. Please, let me do this.” Up close to her, he caught her scent, a light floral, perfectly suiting her, mingled with the baking smells. He also noticed a flour smudge on her cheek just under one eye. He almost reached up to dust it away, but stopped himself. After all, he hardly knew this woman. And he had the feeling she wouldn’t welcome his touch.
Megan glanced toward the swinging doors, wishing Grace hadn’t gone out tonight. “This is really unusual. I feel awkward having you helping out in the kitchen.”
Alex set the first dry pan aside, picked up another. “Please don’t. I can’t sit back and watch someone work and not pitch in.”
Megan forced herself to relax. He was awfully nice and easy to talk with. But he still made her nervous.
“What about your husband? Didn’t he help out in the kitchen?” Watching her expressive face, he saw her mouth tighten slightly and her eyes lower.
“No.” Neal hadn’t been fond of kitchens. Or of work, period. But she wouldn’t think about Neal right now. She was certain chatty Emily had told this man that her husband had died last year. No secrets in small towns. Well, not many anyway.
Alex wanted to keep the conversation rolling, so he searched his mind for a more comfortable topic. “Are you familiar with the parcel of land at Grayson and Thomas? I believe the Parsons family owns it.”
Megan’s features relaxed. “Yes, I know where that is. Is that the land you’re here about?”
“Yes. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with a representative of Mr. Parsons. First, I want to go take a look at it, walk the area, so to speak.”
Finished with the last pan, she rinsed and dried her hands before moving to the table to begin packaging the loaves. “And what would your firm be building on this land?”
“I’m not sure. I have to go to the courthouse and check on the zoning, maybe hire someone to do a feasibility study. Twin Oaks is kind of a sleepy little town. Do you think it could handle more housing in that neighborhood?”
Megan measured plastic wrap and worked as she considered his question. “There’s a lack of middle-income housing here, I think. There are plenty of big homes, older ones, along the cliffs. Most have been in the same family for generations. And there’s some low-income housing on the far side of town near the railroad tracks. Nothing much in the middle.”
Alex set down the last pan and dangled the towel in his hands. He was fascinated by her eyes, a deeper shade of sapphire blue tonight. He’d noted that they crinkled at the corners when she’d gazed at her son and almost glowed. What kind of a fool had Neal Delaney been not to be a good husband to this woman, nor a good father to that sharp little kid? Maybe the guy had married before he’d been ready.
“Go right ahead.” Alex glanced at his watch, saw that it was nearly eight. She would have had to be up by at least six to start serving breakfast at seven. Yet she looked as fresh as when he’d arrived, her yellow slacks and blouse spotless. She’d taken off her shoes, though, and he saw that her toenails were painted a bright pink. “You put in some mighty long days, what with the inn and doing all this baking.”
“I don’t mind.” She set another pan to drain, cocked an ear and heard the shower upstairs go on. Good. Ryan was following orders without being reminded for a change.
Finished with his dessert, Alex walked over and grabbed the towel he spotted hanging on a hook, then picked up a pan and began drying it.
Surprised, Megan paused. “Oh, no. You can’t do that. You’re a paying guest, for heaven’s sake.” She reached for the towel.
He wouldn’t let her have it. “Listen, I’m a guy who can’t sit still. I don’t feel like going anywhere or watching TV. Please, let me do this.” Up close to her, he caught her scent, a light floral, perfectly suiting her, mingled with the baking smells. He also noticed a flour smudge on her cheek just under one eye. He almost reached up to dust it away, but stopped himself. After all, he hardly knew this woman. And he had the feeling she wouldn’t welcome his touch.
Megan glanced toward the swinging doors, wishing Grace hadn’t gone out tonight. “This is really unusual. I feel awkward having you helping out in the kitchen.”
Alex set the first dry pan aside, picked up another. “Please don’t. I can’t sit back and watch someone work and not pitch in.”
Megan forced herself to relax. He was awfully nice and easy to talk with. But he still made her nervous.
“What about your husband? Didn’t he help out in the kitchen?” Watching her expressive face, he saw her mouth tighten slightly and her eyes lower.
“No.” Neal hadn’t been fond of kitchens. Or of work, period. But she wouldn’t think about Neal right now. She was certain chatty Emily had told this man that her husband had died last year. No secrets in small towns. Well, not many anyway.
Alex wanted to keep the conversation rolling, so he searched his mind for a more comfortable topic. “Are you familiar with the parcel of land at Grayson and Thomas? I believe the Parsons family owns it.”
Megan’s features relaxed. “Yes, I know where that is. Is that the land you’re here about?”
“Yes. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with a representative of Mr. Parsons. First, I want to go take a look at it, walk the area, so to speak.”
Finished with the last pan, she rinsed and dried her hands before moving to the table to begin packaging the loaves. “And what would your firm be building on this land?”
“I’m not sure. I have to go to the courthouse and check on the zoning, maybe hire someone to do a feasibility study. Twin Oaks is kind of a sleepy little town. Do you think it could handle more housing in that neighborhood?”
Megan measured plastic wrap and worked as she considered his question. “There’s a lack of middle-income housing here, I think. There are plenty of big homes, older ones, along the cliffs. Most have been in the same family for generations. And there’s some low-income housing on the far side of town near the railroad tracks. Nothing much in the middle.”
Alex set down the last pan and dangled the towel in his hands. He was fascinated by her eyes, a deeper shade of sapphire blue tonight. He’d noted that they crinkled at the corners when she’d gazed at her son and almost glowed. What kind of a fool had Neal Delaney been not to be a good husband to this woman, nor a good father to that sharp little kid? Maybe the guy had married before he’d been ready.
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