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“An obsession, you mean,” Stuart mumbled. “At least, that’s what your ex called it.”
Julian scowled. “Yeah, well, she’s a—”
“Julian,” his mother interrupted quickly, with a pointed look at Tate, as if to remind her son they had company among them. “Tate, don’t get the wrong impression. Julian isn’t a mechanic, he’s an up-and-coming financial advisor. He enjoyed tinkering with cars as a teenager, but he doesn’t have nearly as much time for that now, isn’t that right, Julian?”
“No,” Julian said, and if he tried to hide the regret, he wasn’t entirely successful. “I don’t.”
“What types of cars have you restored?” Tate asked, doggedly trying to keep the conversation moving.
“Couple of classic Mustangs. I’m working on a ’69 Mach 1 now. It’s in pretty bad shape, haven’t had much time to work on it, but it’s got great potential.”
“Sixty-nine, huh? Nice. Which engine?”
For the first time since they’d been introduced, Tate saw a spark of enthusiasm in Julian’s eyes. “Three fifty-one V8.”
“Windsor or Cleveland?”
Beneath the table, Kim lightly tapped his leg, then gave a thumbs-up sign when he glanced down.
The spark in Julian’s blue eyes flared into a flame of passion. “Windsor—not quite as easy to find the parts, but she’s going to purr like a tiger when I’ve got her up and running.”
“Shaker hood scoop?”
“Yes, of course. And I was thinking of—”
“Oh, there’s no need to get all technical about the mechanical aspects,” Betsy interrupted impatiently. “You don’t want to bore our guest, Julian.”
Julian subsided with a slight flush, looking down at his plate.
Tate was finding Betsy less amusing all the time. “Actually, I have a lot of admiration for a skilled mechanic, whether on a professional or recreational level.”
“More challenging than gardening?” Stuart asked in a slightly mocking murmur.
Feeling Kim stiffen beside him, Tate laid his hand quickly on her thigh, silently assuring her that he didn’t need her to jump to his defense. “In its own way,” he agreed equably.
Betsy frowned reproachfully at her younger son. “Tate is a landscape designer, Stuart. Didn’t you hear Kim say he has a degree in the field? What do you think of my flower beds, Tate? Bob and I have worked quite hard on them this summer.”
“They look great,” he said, making an effort to speak as warmly as before. He was determined to keep this visit pleasant for Kim, though he was aware he had an uphill battle ahead if her family continued to snipe at each other this way. “Nice use of color.”
“Thank you. I’m a member of a local gardening club. We meet once a week during the summers, and we visit each other’s gardens. I had them here last month for lemonade and tea cakes in my backyard garden. Everyone was quite complimentary.”
“Is that what you do, Tate?” Bob asked. “Design flower beds for homes and businesses?”
“Partially, though we specialize in adding water features to landscaping. We’ve also focused on urban food gardens recently. With the growing interest in healthy, locally grown organic foods, we’ve had quite a demand for ways to use limited areas of ground in a manner that is both productive and visually appealing.”
“Perhaps you could come speak to our club soon,” Betsy said on a sudden rush of inspiration. “I know my fellow gardeners would love to hear you speak.”
“You’ll have to contact his secretary and get on his waiting list,” Kim said without waiting for Tate to respond. “Tate and his partner are in high demand as speakers, and they’re working on a book about urban gardening, so they’re quite busy. They charge a fee for their speaking engagements, of course.”
Betsy blinked, then smiled brightly again. “Well, that’s very impressive, Tate. Of course, I’m sure you can make an exception to do a favor for a member of the family. I’d be quite the hit with my garden club if you would volunteer a session for us.”
Kim sighed gustily and opened her mouth to deliver what would likely have been a scathing response had she not been interrupted by a whimper from the baby monitor.
She pushed back her chair. “I’d better go check on Daryn.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tate said quickly, jumping to his feet. “Just in case you need help with her.”
“Hurry back, you two,” Betsy called after them. “We haven’t had dessert yet.”
