man wouldn't reciprocate to save his soul. Instead, they would be friends. She took another sip of wine and smiled. For now.
She entertained the prospect. Gruff, solid Mitch Dennehy, a friend in need, a shoulder to cry on, a stabilizing force. A man who quelled her nerves by just walking into the room. A safety net, a father figure.
Charity silently gasped, startled by the thought. She observed his massive shoulders hunkered down, brawny arms planted firmly on the table, and a hard-chiseled chin shadowed by a day's growth of beard. Fatherly? She smiled. Hardly.
"What are you grinning about, young lady?" he asked.
She blinked, staring at three sets of blue eyes focused on her. A hot flush warmed her cheeks. "Why, your comments about your landlady, of course."
His left brow jagged high. "Which one? The fact she's been widowed for fifteen years or the one about her dog dying?"
Her cheeks scorched hot. "Oh, goodness, Mitch, I suppose I missed that. I apologize."
He chuckled and settled back in his chair. "Well, at least your grandmother and Mima find my company interesting, even if you don't."
"I think someone's just feeling the effects of the wine," Bridget said, stifling a yawn. "I know it certainly has relaxed me." She lifted the watch pinned to the lacey lapel of her best blouse. "Goodness, Mother, you must be exhausted. It's half past ten."
Mima chuckled, her paper-thin eyelids drooping noticeably. "So that's why I'm weaving in my chair. Thank you all for a wonderful birthday. And thank you for coming, Mitch, and for the lovely chocolates. Bridge, Charity-dinner was delicious."
"You're welcome, Mother. Now let's get you to bed before you fall asleep at the table."
Charity jumped up. "Grandmother, I'll do it."
Bridget leaned down to clasp an arm around Mima's shoulders, worry lines bunching her brow. "No, Charity, I'd like to, if you don't mind. I just hope we haven't overdone it tonight. Do you think you can stand, Mother?"
Mima nodded slowly, but it was Mitch who supported her as she rose, his strong arm fastened beneath her elbow. He glanced at Bridget. "May I?"
Bridget's smile was as drawn and tired as Mima's. "No, Mitch, I can manage." She patted his arm. "But I'm sure Charity would love help with the dishes, if you're so inclined. I doubt I'll be much good to her once I get Mima undressed and into bed."
Mitch nodded, glancing at Charity before putting his hand on Mima's shoulder. He leaned to press a kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Mima." He squeezed Bridget's arm. "Good night, Bridget. Dinner was wonderful. Thank you for inviting me."
"My pleasure. So good to see you again, Mitch. Please come back."
Taking her cue from Mima and Bridget's departure, Charity gathered dishes from the table while Mitch followed suit. His towering frame seemed out of place as he carried a lopsided pile of dirty plates to the sink. He stacked them on the counter and turned, pushing his hands deep in his pockets as if not sure what to do next. A crooked grin surfaced on his lips. "You're not going to make me wash, are you?"
She laughed, the warmth of his presence oozing through her like thick, hot molasses. He appeared blissfully relaxed, and she silently thanked Bridget for plying him with wine despite his objections. She cocked her head. "Not if I want you to come back."
She ratcheted the pump, and water spilled into an old, dented pot. She rolled the sleeves of her blouse. "Mind lugging that to the fire? I like my dishwater hot."
He lifted the pot with ease, transferring it to the stove while she reached for two more, filling each half full. She sensed him watching her while she scraped plate after plate, and the thought made her giddy and flustered at the same time. When the dirty dishes were stacked high, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Why don't you pour us more wine? We have to wait for the water to boil anyway."
He cocked a brow. "Don't you think you've had enough?"
Enough? Of this glorious warmth?
She entertained the prospect. Gruff, solid Mitch Dennehy, a friend in need, a shoulder to cry on, a stabilizing force. A man who quelled her nerves by just walking into the room. A safety net, a father figure.
Charity silently gasped, startled by the thought. She observed his massive shoulders hunkered down, brawny arms planted firmly on the table, and a hard-chiseled chin shadowed by a day's growth of beard. Fatherly? She smiled. Hardly.
"What are you grinning about, young lady?" he asked.
She blinked, staring at three sets of blue eyes focused on her. A hot flush warmed her cheeks. "Why, your comments about your landlady, of course."
His left brow jagged high. "Which one? The fact she's been widowed for fifteen years or the one about her dog dying?"
Her cheeks scorched hot. "Oh, goodness, Mitch, I suppose I missed that. I apologize."
He chuckled and settled back in his chair. "Well, at least your grandmother and Mima find my company interesting, even if you don't."
"I think someone's just feeling the effects of the wine," Bridget said, stifling a yawn. "I know it certainly has relaxed me." She lifted the watch pinned to the lacey lapel of her best blouse. "Goodness, Mother, you must be exhausted. It's half past ten."
Mima chuckled, her paper-thin eyelids drooping noticeably. "So that's why I'm weaving in my chair. Thank you all for a wonderful birthday. And thank you for coming, Mitch, and for the lovely chocolates. Bridge, Charity-dinner was delicious."
"You're welcome, Mother. Now let's get you to bed before you fall asleep at the table."
Charity jumped up. "Grandmother, I'll do it."
Bridget leaned down to clasp an arm around Mima's shoulders, worry lines bunching her brow. "No, Charity, I'd like to, if you don't mind. I just hope we haven't overdone it tonight. Do you think you can stand, Mother?"
Mima nodded slowly, but it was Mitch who supported her as she rose, his strong arm fastened beneath her elbow. He glanced at Bridget. "May I?"
Bridget's smile was as drawn and tired as Mima's. "No, Mitch, I can manage." She patted his arm. "But I'm sure Charity would love help with the dishes, if you're so inclined. I doubt I'll be much good to her once I get Mima undressed and into bed."
Mitch nodded, glancing at Charity before putting his hand on Mima's shoulder. He leaned to press a kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Mima." He squeezed Bridget's arm. "Good night, Bridget. Dinner was wonderful. Thank you for inviting me."
"My pleasure. So good to see you again, Mitch. Please come back."
Taking her cue from Mima and Bridget's departure, Charity gathered dishes from the table while Mitch followed suit. His towering frame seemed out of place as he carried a lopsided pile of dirty plates to the sink. He stacked them on the counter and turned, pushing his hands deep in his pockets as if not sure what to do next. A crooked grin surfaced on his lips. "You're not going to make me wash, are you?"
She laughed, the warmth of his presence oozing through her like thick, hot molasses. He appeared blissfully relaxed, and she silently thanked Bridget for plying him with wine despite his objections. She cocked her head. "Not if I want you to come back."
She ratcheted the pump, and water spilled into an old, dented pot. She rolled the sleeves of her blouse. "Mind lugging that to the fire? I like my dishwater hot."
He lifted the pot with ease, transferring it to the stove while she reached for two more, filling each half full. She sensed him watching her while she scraped plate after plate, and the thought made her giddy and flustered at the same time. When the dirty dishes were stacked high, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Why don't you pour us more wine? We have to wait for the water to boil anyway."
He cocked a brow. "Don't you think you've had enough?"
Enough? Of this glorious warmth?
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