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Addy didn’t need him jumping her bones the minute he walked through her door.
Flora showed up on the porch, a quarter till noon wearing jeans and a shirt that she’d likely stolen out of a teenager’s closet. The woman took dressing young to extremes, but her smile was friendly and her companion had a four-year-old boy with her.
Lucas bent down and eyeballed Charlotte. “Be nice to Tristan. Remember what happened with Sheldon?”
She nodded. “He hitted me.”
“Yes, so use good manners just like your teacher taught you, okay?”
“Okay.”
He rose and gave Michael and Chris the look his father had often given to him and Ben. “Keep your hands off each other and be nice to your sister.”
Chris saluted. “Aye, aye, Uncle.”
And off they went, leaving Lucas to shower, shave and run out for a bottle of wine. He grabbed a small clutch of flowers as he checked out at the grocery and then booked it back to Orchard Street. He wanted every second of every minute with Addy to count.
When he pulled into the driveway, he groaned.
A car sat in the drive.
A car with a nun in it.
Sister Regina Maria wasn’t bigger than a popcorn fart, but she covered every inch of ground she trod.
And she trod toward him.
Glowering.
“Mr. Finlay?”
“You drive a car?” As opposed to flying on a broomstick?
She glanced back at the silver Toyota Highlander before piercing him with flinty eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He didn’t have an answer. “What can I help you with, Sister?”
“First, I think it would be appropriate for you to ask me to step inside. I’m a human being, not an animal who would conduct business in a driveway.”
Something sank inside him as he shifted the grocery bag and gestured to the house before casting a desperate glance at Addy’s house.
So much for every second of every minute.
“Come inside, Sister.” He pulled out the key and unlocked the door, praying the living room was halfway cleared of toys, clothing, and the load of towels he’d not gotten around to folding.
Nope. Same ol’ messy living room. The clothes-folding fairies had not descended upon his laundry basket.
Sister Regina Maria’s eyes widened, but she was polite enough to keep her mouth pressed into a disapproving line. She refused to sit… of course, he didn’t blame her. Chris had left his socks on the cushion. He set the bag on the coffee table and turned to her. “So what brings you here on a most Holy day?”
“The Lord’s work, of course.”
“No telephones at the nunnery?”
“Nunnery? We don’t call our home a nunnery. Does this look like 18thcentury Europe to you?” she snapped, crossing her whip-thin arms.
“Sorry. Can I get you a coffee? Tea? Beer?”
She shook her head. “I like cold beer but not on Sunday. My grandmother was Baptist.”
