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“You’re one in a million,” Mrs. Fields chimes in.
I silently agree with her. Sean Wells is definitely one in a million. I’ve never met a man quite like him before.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Callie
A restaurant quality dinner,the best wine I’ve ever had, witty conversation, and he did the dishes on his own.
My boss is sliding up the perfect scale at breakneck speed.
“Sean is a magnificent cook, isn’t he?” Mrs. Fields asks in a tone that is fueled by too much wine.
She practically screams the question out.
No one seems to notice since the Durkmans are engrossed in a conversation with Mrs. Sweeney about which variety of pear is the best.
That stems from the pear pie that Mr. Durkman presented for dessert. He wanted everyone at the table to believe that he spent the better part of the afternoon baking it.
He was completely oblivious to the fact that the bakery he bought it at stamps each of their foil pie plates with their logo.
As each piece was served, Mr. Durkman’s dirty secret was revealed.
Not wanting to leave Mrs. Fields hanging, I answer her rhetorical question in my own way. “Dinner was delicious.”
“He’ll make someone a wonderful husband one day.” She follows that with a wink that is sent in my direction.
I take a sip of the full-bodied red wine to save myself from responding to that. I’m not an expert, but if I had to guess the price of a bottle of this, it’s more than my monthly salary.
The red wine selection at Tin Anchor is limited to three brands. Not one of them costs more than ten dollars a glass.
Sean strolls back into the dining room with a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.
Every set of eyes in the room glances in his direction even though he hasn’t said a word. I blame that on his magnetism. He commands attention whether he’s speaking or not.
“How is it going in here?” He doesn’t direct the question to anyone in particular.
“We’re having a pear debate,” Mrs. Sweeney offers. “Do you have a favorite pear, Sean?”
His gaze drops to the front of my dress. When it trails back up to my face, there’s a smirk on his lips.
Is he insinuating that my tits are his favorite pair?
“I’m not a complicated man,” he says as he sits next to me. “I prefer a nice juicy Bartlett. What about you, Calliope?”
“Bosc,” I say without giving it a lot of thought. I follow that up with an explanation because I sense this crowd will want one. “I like how crisp they are.”
Sean taps his forehead again. “Filed away for a rainy day.”
“So, do tell.” Mrs. Field leans an elbow on the table. “What’s the story with you two?”
“Us?” I ask nervously.
Sean pats my hand. “Calliope not only lives next door to me, but she also works with me.”
With, not for.
It’s a distinction that I notice immediately.
