the credit goes to my greatgranddaughter who fusses over me like a favorite doll."
Charity adjusted the scalloped collar of Mima's navy blue dress before helping her into the chair. "You are my favorite doll, Mima, the perfect size to primp and pamper."
Mima's faded blue eyes quirked in Mitch's direction while her lips twisted in a smile. "See what I mean?"
He grinned and glanced at Charity. "Some little girls never grow up, I guess."
Charity's brows lifted in surprise. "And some do, but nobody notices." With an air of refinement, she elevated her chin as if to turn away, then stuck her tongue out instead.
Mitch blinked, then burst out laughing. "Thanks for proving my point." He sat down in the chair and shifted to converse with Mima, keenly aware of Charity as she and Bridget chatted and prepared food for the table.
Mitch felt Mima's soft touch on his hand and blinked up in surprise. A serene smile hovered on the old woman's lips.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" she whispered, her voice so soft and low he had to lean forward to catch it.
Heat roared to his cheeks.
She chuckled. "Inside and out, you know. But few people realize that."
Mitch swallowed, pressing his lips tight.
She tilted her head, her gaze penetrating his. "You don't, do you?"
Mitch jumped when Charity plopped a steaming bowl of dumplings on the table. "Almost ready." She darted back to help Bridget with the pot roast. Mitch's stomach growled.
He looked over to see Mima studying him once again, her nose wrinkled in thought. She smiled and leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. "She's an enigma, our Charity. A real puzzlement. She begrudges fiercely and loves fiercely. Seems to be no in between with her. Have you noticed that?"
A smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe."
Charity groaned as she hefted a heavy platter to the table. Mitch shot up to take it from her, setting it down with a thump. "Sweet saints above, Mrs. Murphy, who else is coming? You have enough here to feed the whole block."
Bridget turned at the sink with a grin on her face. "I know. I seem to get carried away on special occasions. And it's Bridget, not Mrs. Murphy." She wagged a wooden spoon at him. "And don't make me tell you again, young man."
Charity giggled and leaned close to pour more cider. She scrunched her nose at Mima. "Did she say young' man?"
Mitch stifled a smile and fixed her with what he hoped was a threatening glare. "I suppose anything seems old to someone your age ... little girl."
Charity smirked.
Bridget hurried to the table with a bottle of wine and corkscrew in her hand. "Will you do us the honors, Mitch? We have to have a birthday toast, after all."
He poured Mima's first, then Bridget's, bypassing his glass to move toward Charity's.
Bridget scowled. "Mitch Dennehy, this is a celebration and we must all clink on Mima's birthday. Is that understood?"
He hesitated before relenting with a smile. "Maybe just this once. In honor of Mima."
He poured wine for himself, then let the bottle hover over Charity's empty glass. He glanced at Bridget. "Are you sure she's old enough?"
Charity flicked the cuff of his sleeve, causing a dribble of scarlet to splash into her crystal goblet. "Grandmother, make him behave."
He grinned, his eyes challenging hers to a truce. "I will if you will."
Her smile softened into serious resolve. "I will, Mitch." The hope in her face plucked at his heart. Friends. She wanted to be friends. He smiled and poured her wine. So be it.
Charity eased back in the chair, legs comfortably tucked beneath her skirt. She studied the man who made her stomach flutter. She wasn't sure if it was the effect of the wine or Mitch regaling them with stories of his dear, old landlady, but either way, she was sure she was glowing. Her gaze drifted to Mima and Bridget, both rapt with attention and giggling like schoolgirls, then back to Mitch with his teasing eyes and heart-melting grin. She released a quiet sigh. Here she was, head over heels, and the
Charity adjusted the scalloped collar of Mima's navy blue dress before helping her into the chair. "You are my favorite doll, Mima, the perfect size to primp and pamper."
Mima's faded blue eyes quirked in Mitch's direction while her lips twisted in a smile. "See what I mean?"
He grinned and glanced at Charity. "Some little girls never grow up, I guess."
Charity's brows lifted in surprise. "And some do, but nobody notices." With an air of refinement, she elevated her chin as if to turn away, then stuck her tongue out instead.
Mitch blinked, then burst out laughing. "Thanks for proving my point." He sat down in the chair and shifted to converse with Mima, keenly aware of Charity as she and Bridget chatted and prepared food for the table.
Mitch felt Mima's soft touch on his hand and blinked up in surprise. A serene smile hovered on the old woman's lips.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" she whispered, her voice so soft and low he had to lean forward to catch it.
Heat roared to his cheeks.
She chuckled. "Inside and out, you know. But few people realize that."
Mitch swallowed, pressing his lips tight.
She tilted her head, her gaze penetrating his. "You don't, do you?"
Mitch jumped when Charity plopped a steaming bowl of dumplings on the table. "Almost ready." She darted back to help Bridget with the pot roast. Mitch's stomach growled.
He looked over to see Mima studying him once again, her nose wrinkled in thought. She smiled and leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. "She's an enigma, our Charity. A real puzzlement. She begrudges fiercely and loves fiercely. Seems to be no in between with her. Have you noticed that?"
A smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe."
Charity groaned as she hefted a heavy platter to the table. Mitch shot up to take it from her, setting it down with a thump. "Sweet saints above, Mrs. Murphy, who else is coming? You have enough here to feed the whole block."
Bridget turned at the sink with a grin on her face. "I know. I seem to get carried away on special occasions. And it's Bridget, not Mrs. Murphy." She wagged a wooden spoon at him. "And don't make me tell you again, young man."
Charity giggled and leaned close to pour more cider. She scrunched her nose at Mima. "Did she say young' man?"
Mitch stifled a smile and fixed her with what he hoped was a threatening glare. "I suppose anything seems old to someone your age ... little girl."
Charity smirked.
Bridget hurried to the table with a bottle of wine and corkscrew in her hand. "Will you do us the honors, Mitch? We have to have a birthday toast, after all."
He poured Mima's first, then Bridget's, bypassing his glass to move toward Charity's.
Bridget scowled. "Mitch Dennehy, this is a celebration and we must all clink on Mima's birthday. Is that understood?"
He hesitated before relenting with a smile. "Maybe just this once. In honor of Mima."
He poured wine for himself, then let the bottle hover over Charity's empty glass. He glanced at Bridget. "Are you sure she's old enough?"
Charity flicked the cuff of his sleeve, causing a dribble of scarlet to splash into her crystal goblet. "Grandmother, make him behave."
He grinned, his eyes challenging hers to a truce. "I will if you will."
Her smile softened into serious resolve. "I will, Mitch." The hope in her face plucked at his heart. Friends. She wanted to be friends. He smiled and poured her wine. So be it.
Charity eased back in the chair, legs comfortably tucked beneath her skirt. She studied the man who made her stomach flutter. She wasn't sure if it was the effect of the wine or Mitch regaling them with stories of his dear, old landlady, but either way, she was sure she was glowing. Her gaze drifted to Mima and Bridget, both rapt with attention and giggling like schoolgirls, then back to Mitch with his teasing eyes and heart-melting grin. She released a quiet sigh. Here she was, head over heels, and the
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