out for a smoke.”
If they gave awards for asshole remarks, he’d win hands down with that one. The family room was so smoky it looked like an opium den. You could set your lungs back five years without even lighting up. They wouldn’t have noticed if he’d smoked an entire carton inside.’
“Well, I won’t bother you,” she said, edging away. Her face was wet with rain. Droplets beaded the tips of her lashes and shimmered across her cheekbones. Beautiful, he thought. So goddamn beautiful she made him ache with loneliness.
“You didn’t,” he said.
Her expression grew shadowed. “Didn’t what?”
“Bother me,” he said.
“I’m glad.” She backed away. “I’d better get those sweet potatoes inside.”
“Wait,” he said, opening the truck door. “I’ll give you a hand.”
She picked up the grocery bag. “I can manage.”
“That looks heavy.”
“It isn’t.”
“I insist.” He reached for the bag, but she clutched it against her chest.
“I’m not helpless.” There was an edge to her voice, a sharpness he might not have noticed another time.
“Nobody said you were.”
“In fact, I’m a great deal more capable than you might think.”
Where the hell had that come from? “Nobody’s going to argue that, Alex. You’re the one who paid cash for your house. The rest of us have mortgages.”
She softened visibly, as if just thinking about the rundown Winslow house was enough to make her happy.
“Humor me,” he said. “Sister Mary Bernadette used to rap my knuckles if I didn’t carry Mitzy Donohue’s book bag.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”
He placed a hand over his heart and stared at her in mock indignation. “Eight years at St. Aloysius leaves its mark on a man.”
“Here.” She handed him the grocery bag. “Since it means that much to you.” She smiled when she said it, and this time the smile reached her eyes.
Thanks,” he said, tucking it under his right arm. “You can relax now. You’ve done your good deed for the day.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She had the most amazing face he’d ever seen, filled with enough shadow and light to keep a man interested for the rest of his life. “I’ve been neglecting my good deeds lately.”
“And thanks for not asking.”
She inclined her head. “We’re all entitled to our secrets.”
“Yeah,” he said, thinking about Libby and the boys and how quickly your life can fade to black, “but sometimes I can’t remember why.”
Seven
“Great turkey, Dee Dee,” Rich Ippolito called from his seat at the far end of the table. “Even if you forgot to save a drumstick for me.”
“Will you look at that?” His wife, Jen, shot him a fierce look. “Seventy-two years old, and he still talks with his mouth full. Don’t they ever learn?”
“At least he keeps his teeth in.” Sally Whitton looked up from her mountain of candied sweet potatoes. “Last year’s boyfriend only popped his choppers in when he wanted to kiss me.”
“You’re a cruel woman, Sal,” Dee said as she put a big bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. That made three bowls of mashed potatoes, two of candied sweets, and more biscuits than she could count. “At least you have a boyfriend.”
“Hey, Dee.” Eddie nudged her with his elbow. “You know I’m available.”
Dee grinned and kissed him on his bald spot. “You’d be the death of me, Eddie, and we both know it.” Everyone laughed, just the way she’d meant for them to do. She’d done the right thing, not asking Sam Weitz to join them. The crowd at the table would have read more into the gesture than was actually there, and poor Sam would have faced a level of good-natured teasing that could make a grown man weep. But she missed him. That had to be a good sign.
She reclaimed her seat at the head of the table, feeling more pleased with herself than she had in ages. Every now and then she managed to get it right, and
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