Reunion By The Sea

Sighing, Ginny took another sip before going to answer it. She knew it was Rodney from next door. Practically every Saturday he conveniently hit a ball over her fence and needed to enter the property. She had no idea what was so interesting about her side of the—

It wasn’t Rodney. Through the long, narrow window she saw Parker standing at the door. And he most definitely saw her. No pretending she wasn’t home. But having the reunion as an excuse, she figured she could get rid of him quickly.

Gripping the knob, she took a deep breath and then opened the door. “Parker. This is a surprise.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging. “I would’ve called first if I’d had your number.”

And he couldn’t have taken the hint?

Instead of pointing that out, she held on to a polite smile. He wore jeans again, but they were dark blue and went well with the green polo shirt tucked in at his slim waist.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked. “I won’t stay long, and I come bearing gifts.” He held up a white paper bag, probably from Gustav’s. Great. The bakery was off-limits to her.

“Okay,” she drawled. “Honestly, I only have a few minutes. I was just on my way out.”

As she stepped back, holding the door wide, his gaze slid down the front of her body.

Wondering about the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he walked past her, she looked down at herself...

Her faded, oversize granny robe had to be a hundred years old. On the left side was a hole you could drive a truck through, and it was so long the hem dragged on the floor behind her.

She bit back a whimper.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she remembered that she’d made it through only half of her makeup ritual. She had to look like a stupid clown. Good. Maybe he’d leave sooner.

Ginny clutched the front of her robe, making sure there were no gaps, and gestured for him to go into the living room. Tilda always teased her about the robe, pointing out she was too old to have a security blanket. Her daughter wasn’t too far off the mark. The robe was Ginny’s go-to when she was sick or upset or just feeling a bit blue.

“I smell coffee,” Parker said. “Any chance I can get a cup?”

“Sure, although if you use cream you’re out of luck. All we have is milk.”

His brows drew together in the oddest frown. “We?”

Ginny swallowed. Hard. “My daughter,” she said, and saw him glance toward the hall. “She’s camping with friends this weekend.” Ginny cleared her throat. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

Too frazzled to think straight, she swept a swift gaze around the room as she headed for the kitchen. Sitting on the bookshelf closest to the piano were two framed pictures of Tilda, one from when she was five and the other from her twelfth birthday. They were in plain sight. Nothing short of a miracle would stop him from looking at them, which would lead to questions Ginny didn’t want to answer.

Her hand shook as she poured him a cup, and she cursed under her breath when some of the hot brew burned her fingers.

“Here, let me get that...” His voice came from close behind.

She jerked, spilling half the coffee onto her hand and the floor. She clamped her lips together.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly and took the cup from her. After setting it on the counter, he picked up her hand and inspected the red skin.

“It’s nothing.”

“Do you have any ointment handy?”

He’d shaved, she realized, doing some close inspecting of her own. The dimple on his chin was more visible, and the sudden urge to rub her thumb over it had her pulling her hand back.

“It’s fine,” she said and returned the carafe to the coffee station, then went to the fridge. The second she opened it she remembered the milk was already on the counter.

“Okay to use this?”

She turned to find him holding up the kitchen rag she left draped on the dishwasher handle. She nodded and watched him crouch to wipe the coffee off the hardwood floor. “Do you clean windows too?”

Glancing up, he grinned. “With the right motivation, you bet.”

Oh, no, she wasn’t taking the bait. She gave him a slight smile and slid the small ceramic pot of sugar toward him as he rose. “Thanks,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the floor.

He eyed the nearly empty coffee carafe.

“I’d offer to make more, but I know you don’t have much time. Go ahead and finish it up. It’s still fresh.”

“I brought something from Gustav’s...”

“I guessed,” Ginny said, sighing.

Parker paused, the amusement in his eyes hard to miss. “The bag’s in the living room. Are we going back out there, or should I go get it?”

“Yes, please.”

His brows went up.

“Let’s stay here.” Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t noticed the photos. Knowing she had a daughter was one thing. Knowing her daughter’s age, well, that was something else altogether.

She went ahead and scooped up the remainder of the beans she’d ground earlier, enough for at least half a pot. Anything from Gustav’s required coffee as an accompaniment. And not just any brew but the really good stuff, of which she was always sure to have a vast supply.

Parker returned quickly and made himself at home finding the small plates and setting them on the table along with forks and napkins.

She was dying to know what he’d brought, but she wouldn’t ask. As soon as the coffee started to brew she turned to him. He swiftly brought his gaze up to eye level. The robe...

When he pulled a chair out from the table for her, she bit her lip as she sat down. Why was this suddenly feeling like the Last Supper?

“Go ahead and open the bag,” he said, as he took a seat across from her.

“I’m not sure I should be starting the day with sugar,” she murmured, even as she reached for the sack. “I drank more alcohol last night than I typically drink in a whole year.”

“You don’t look hungover.”

Ginny peeked inside the bag and groaned. “I love anything Gustav makes, but the cardamom rolls are my absolute favorite.”

“I know.”

She frowned at his pleased smile. “How?”

“I asked.” Parker shrugged. “I figured someone behind the counter would know you.”