wool jumper, appearing so without any agenda, so charming that he had to keep reminding himself that she was just another one of
them.
No matter how much he hadn’t wanted to allow her in, he wasn’t so heartless as to leave her stranded in his driveway in the middle of such a terrible storm. He hadn’t seen any sign of a camera yet. In fact, she hadn’t come in with so much as a purse. Still, to be safe, he knew he’d better keep as much distance between them as possible and have her out of there at the earliest opportunity.
Graeme stood up.
“I’m afraid none of the bedrooms are in readiness for guests, so I hope you won’t mind doing with a blanket on the sofa. You’ll be warmer in here with the fire anyway.”
“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised at his abrupt leave-taking. It had barely gone seven o’clock, rather early yet for retiring. “Yes, the sofa will be more than fine. Thank you.”
He realized he probably should have offered her supper, even if only a cold sandwich.
“The kitchen is just down the hall, past the bathroom, if you’d like something to eat or drink. There’s sliced ham in the refrigerator.” He almost told her to make herself at home, but thought the better of it. “And if you look in the cupboard, you might even manage to find a package of Hob Nobs.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then after an awkward stretch of responding silence, “Good night, then.”
He gave a single nod. “Good night, Miss Hutchinson.”
An hour later, Libby couldn’t stand it anymore.
She simply had to know what a Hob Nob was.
Despite the warmth of the fire, the floor was cold beneath her feet when she stood up from the sofa. She checked her socks, but they were still quite damp. She happened to notice a pair of slippers set beside the hearth and slid her feet into them before she headed for the door. They were quite big, so she ended up scuffing her feet against the wooden floor as she shuffled, candle in hand, down the hall toward the kitchen.
In contrast to the bathroom, the kitchen was huge, and modernly appointed, with a high, raftered ceiling that echoed with her footsteps. She set the candle on the far countertop and took a look around, noting the stove, a small washing machine, and a stainless-steel wall oven. She spotted the fridge in the corner and went to it, removing the platter of ham, a bottle of mineral water, and in a last-minute change of heart, the pint of Häagen-Dazs Coffee Mocha Chip she found tucked in the freezer.
She found a spoon in a drawer and searched for a bowl. When she couldn’t find one, she stuck the spoon straight into the container. It was only half full anyway. Why bother to dirty a bowl?
The first spoonful of ice cream melted smoothly in her mouth, the perfect mixture of coffeehouse mocha and bittersweet chocolate chips. What was it about chocolate that made even the worst situation fade away? She eyed the ham platter, but decided against it and simply stood against the counter, ice cream carton in hand, watching the rain outside spilling down the window in sheets.
As she stood there, she thought about Miss Aggie and Miss Maggie, who were no doubt fretting over her absence. They would be keeping her plate of shepherd’s pie warm in the oven while they waited for her to arrive for their promised card game. She could only hope they wouldn’t spend the night watching the front window for her, even as she knew that they would.
In no time at all the ice cream had vanished. Libby tossed the empty carton into the trash bin and washed the spoon at the sink, setting it in the drying rack. She put the ham back in the fridge untouched, took up the water bottle as she turned to leave. She realized then she’d never found anything called Hob Nobs.
But as she reached for the candle to leave, she spotted something else, something that seemed to be scratched into the far corner window. It looked like some sort of writing.
Libby took up the candle, brought its
them.
No matter how much he hadn’t wanted to allow her in, he wasn’t so heartless as to leave her stranded in his driveway in the middle of such a terrible storm. He hadn’t seen any sign of a camera yet. In fact, she hadn’t come in with so much as a purse. Still, to be safe, he knew he’d better keep as much distance between them as possible and have her out of there at the earliest opportunity.
Graeme stood up.
“I’m afraid none of the bedrooms are in readiness for guests, so I hope you won’t mind doing with a blanket on the sofa. You’ll be warmer in here with the fire anyway.”
“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised at his abrupt leave-taking. It had barely gone seven o’clock, rather early yet for retiring. “Yes, the sofa will be more than fine. Thank you.”
He realized he probably should have offered her supper, even if only a cold sandwich.
“The kitchen is just down the hall, past the bathroom, if you’d like something to eat or drink. There’s sliced ham in the refrigerator.” He almost told her to make herself at home, but thought the better of it. “And if you look in the cupboard, you might even manage to find a package of Hob Nobs.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then after an awkward stretch of responding silence, “Good night, then.”
He gave a single nod. “Good night, Miss Hutchinson.”
An hour later, Libby couldn’t stand it anymore.
She simply had to know what a Hob Nob was.
Despite the warmth of the fire, the floor was cold beneath her feet when she stood up from the sofa. She checked her socks, but they were still quite damp. She happened to notice a pair of slippers set beside the hearth and slid her feet into them before she headed for the door. They were quite big, so she ended up scuffing her feet against the wooden floor as she shuffled, candle in hand, down the hall toward the kitchen.
In contrast to the bathroom, the kitchen was huge, and modernly appointed, with a high, raftered ceiling that echoed with her footsteps. She set the candle on the far countertop and took a look around, noting the stove, a small washing machine, and a stainless-steel wall oven. She spotted the fridge in the corner and went to it, removing the platter of ham, a bottle of mineral water, and in a last-minute change of heart, the pint of Häagen-Dazs Coffee Mocha Chip she found tucked in the freezer.
She found a spoon in a drawer and searched for a bowl. When she couldn’t find one, she stuck the spoon straight into the container. It was only half full anyway. Why bother to dirty a bowl?
The first spoonful of ice cream melted smoothly in her mouth, the perfect mixture of coffeehouse mocha and bittersweet chocolate chips. What was it about chocolate that made even the worst situation fade away? She eyed the ham platter, but decided against it and simply stood against the counter, ice cream carton in hand, watching the rain outside spilling down the window in sheets.
As she stood there, she thought about Miss Aggie and Miss Maggie, who were no doubt fretting over her absence. They would be keeping her plate of shepherd’s pie warm in the oven while they waited for her to arrive for their promised card game. She could only hope they wouldn’t spend the night watching the front window for her, even as she knew that they would.
In no time at all the ice cream had vanished. Libby tossed the empty carton into the trash bin and washed the spoon at the sink, setting it in the drying rack. She put the ham back in the fridge untouched, took up the water bottle as she turned to leave. She realized then she’d never found anything called Hob Nobs.
But as she reached for the candle to leave, she spotted something else, something that seemed to be scratched into the far corner window. It looked like some sort of writing.
Libby took up the candle, brought its
Similar Books
