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Alec grinned, and unable to help himself, kidded, “Oh, that’s right. You will need a boyfriend first if you expect to have any shot at a wedding.”
Maren rolled her eyes, but a grin teased her pretty lips.
“Har, har,” she said, placing the ceramic lid over the sausage gravy and sliding the dish toward him. “Just for that, I now demand you help me carry everything out to the dining room.”
“I would have helped,” Alec said, “even without the imperious command.”
A grateful smile transformed her face once more. “I know. Thanks.”
With dish in hand, Alec followed Maren to the dining room. All the while a mental tug-of-war ensued. On one side, the warmth of her smile, and how comfortable and easy he felt with her beckoned him to imagine a potential connection. On the other hand, reality urged him to maintain a polite distance. The fifteen hundred miles between her home and his loomed large, as did the memory of his initial behavior toward her yesterday, which might still be a shadow coloring Maren’s perception of him.
Chapter Seven
So it was both a bit of a bust, the rehearsal dinner being cancelled, and then also somewhat of a relief. She had a houseful of guests to entertain today and dinner for thirty, including the roasted beef tenderloin she’d planned for, would have taken a lot of her time without Bethany here to help. The change of plans, and the fact that she only needed to put out dinner for eight—nine if Hal showed up—made a much more relaxing day.
Over breakfast, and while the blizzard essentially still churned outdoors, albeit with what many agreed was a reduced wind, Mr. Adamczyk, Mark, and Alec collectively voiced their opinion, persuading Maren that there was little sense in clearing the still-falling snow or addressing the downed tree with any urgency, since no one was coming or going anytime soon. Though it blocked the rear driveway, the fallen pine was far removed from the guests’ vehicles, all parked in the circular drive at the front of the house.
Breakfast proceeded smoothly, with everyone seeming to enjoy the food, but frankly, Maren felt like a teenager all the while she sat at the dining room table, stealing shy glances at Alec, wondering if he felt, thought, or imagined the same things she had. She was visited by a thrilling sense of excitement at the prospect of a mutual attraction and then analyzed every fleeting glance and longer gaze, trying to decode potential signs of his thoughts and feelings. All very juvenile, she convinced herself, but then it had been a long, long time since anyone had stirred her interest as Alec Sullivan did.
Again, she was brought back to reality by several factors, first and foremost being his initial rudeness, how he’d judged Jasmine before meeting her and his vocal reservations about the wedding and then the other matter of how far away he lived.Still, and try as she might, she couldn’t escape his presence or her awareness altogether. And yet the butterflies in her stomach, provoked by any bit of attention aimed her way by him, were dampened a bit by apprehension and uncertainty.
She was almost relieved when Mrs. Adamczyk focused her attention on Maren after grilling Mark and Emily about their families, home, work, and their plans for having children—“Back in my day, we didn’t waste any time. I had four children by the time I was your age.”
“And what about you, Maren?” Mrs. Adamczyk pivoted, her mauve polished fingernails tapping on her coffee cup. “Jasmine’s been mentioning your name for years, but I feel I know so little about you. Are you from Willowbrook originally? Where are your parents? Local?”
Almostrelieved, Maren amended.
“I grew up in Willowbrook,” she answered, choosing her words carefully. “My grandparents played a significant role in my life. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my parents.”
“That’s a shame, honey,” cooed Jasmine’s mom. “Where are your parents that you haven’t seen them?”
“Jean,” chided her husband for pressing on despite Maren’s obvious reticence.
“What? I’m just asking,” she defended and returned her attention to Maren. “Family is everything, dear. You must miss them terribly. Where are they now?”
Skillfully deflecting without revealing too much, Maren responded. “My father and I haven’t been in touch for quite some time,” she said. Not since he walked out on Maren and her mother, when Maren was eighteen months old. “And my mother, well, she has her own path.” Her path involved some guy name Billy and last Maren had heard, which was more than ten years ago, an entire life somewhere near Albany thatincluded lots of drama and several arrests, but did not include Maren.
Despite the conscious effort she made not to look at Alec, not wanting to encounter any perceived sympathy in his gaze, curiosity tugged at her, compelling her to steal covert glances at him.
Though he wore what seemed like a poker face, Maren believed she imagined a glint of understanding in his powerful blue gaze. Not sympathy, as in he shared a similar messy story, but in that he understood her discomfort presently, for being grilled in mixed company.
When no one made any response to her last remark, and while she felt her cheeks warm with a flush, Maren stated, “Sometimes the best way to move forward is by focusing on present relationships, the ones that bring positivity and support into our lives.” Essentially, she was only echoing words that had been gently drilled into her head by the lovely therapist, Mrs. Suddaby, who had guided Maren through her adolescent years.
“Amen,” agreed Mr. Adamczyk, tapping his hand lightly on the table.
“But I—” Mrs. Adamczyk began again.
Only to be interrupted, intentionally—Maren would never believe otherwise—by Alec.
“Did I hear some mention of a tour of the catacombs below the house?” He grinned charmingly at Maren. “You can’t just run around accusing the former owners of the inn with smuggling and not back it up with some evidence.”
Admittedly, with that deft change of subject for her benefit, Alec Sullivan’s value rose tenfold in Maren’s eyes.
Emily was equally lovely, pouncing on this idea with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes, please. I’ve been chomping at the bit since you mentioned false walls and secret passageways. I want to get down there and go full-on Nancy Drew.”
“I would love to,” Maren agreed, with a grateful smile. “Let’s meet back here in an hour. I have the kitchen to clean and I want to get a few things done toward dinner tonight.”
“Mind if I join you on that tour?” Mr. Adamczyk wondered.
