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“You’ve got it bad, son.”
“I’ve got it. Can’t say about her yet. Rozwell.”
Once again, Jake glanced back, and kept his voice low. “They think he’s heading to Washington State. The federal task force, the local LEOs, they’re all over it.”
“Doesn’t matter. As long as he’s loose it’s hanging over her.”
He heard her laugh, shook his head. “But not tonight.”
When they sat at the happy table with its flowers and candles, its food and drink, he thought again: Not tonight.
Nothing hanging over her tonight, because she was in the moment, sliding over her particular hump.
Laughing with Liam, engaging Dawn in conversation about Impressionism—Dawn’s particular interest. She talked baseball with Jake, about anything under the sun with Nell.
He knew some of it was an innate skill, a tool of her trade. But it sprang from simply enjoying people and listening to what they had to say.
“All right, Miles, you’ve definitely mastered the Jameson secret sauce.” Nell nudged her plate away. “You’re head chef next family meeting, if I recall correctly. And I do. I vote for pulled pork. You can handle it.”
“I’ll vote for that. And these potatoes,” Liam added.
“Those are Morgan’s specialty.”
“One of two,” she put in. “If my ladies have anything to do with it, I’ll eventually add at least one more.”
“Your ladies?” Dawn sent Morgan a quizzical smile.
“My mother and grandmother. We share a house.”
“Oh.” She took a delicate bite of chicken. “You live with your mother. I thought you worked at the resort.”
“I do. It’s been fascinating and enjoyable to live in a three-generation household.”
Though she obviously tried, Dawn kept digging the hole. “I’m sure your grandmother must feel safer knowing you’re in the house. Being elderly, I mean.”
Miles caught Nell’s eye-cast to the sky, but Morgan just laughed. “You’d better not let Gram hear you call her elderly. She and my mother go to yoga class every week, and the couple of times I joined them, I could barely keep up. They own and run Crafty Arts and Wine Café.”
“Oh. I’ve been in there. It’s wonderful. I think I’ve met your grandmother there. She’s very sharp.”
Morgan lifted her glass, but didn’t hide the smile. “She’s all of that.”
No, Miles thought, the raven-haired beauty didn’t come close to a fit.
The sun settled in the west before dessert time rolled around.
“Confession,” Morgan began. “I forgot you were bringing dessert, Nell, then your mom came by with peaches.”
“You made something?”
“She walked me through a peach cobbler.”
“A dessert-off!” Liam declared, and Nell shot him a look.
“No. It’s not a competition.”
“Isn’t everything?”
Morgan threw in with Nell. “No. We’ll consider it your lucky night, and you get two desserts. Would anyone like cappuccino? Hot or iced.”
