around and sat opposite the threesome.
“Mr. George, can you help me with this?” Cooper held up a hamburger hemorrhaging ketchup from all sides.
“Of course.” With a plastic knife, he scraped away the excess condiments, then cut the sandwich in four pieces. “Better?”
“Yes, sir!” The boy did his best to shove one of the wedges into his mouth whole.
George turned to his right and did the same for Christian and his hot dog.
“You’re going to be a wonderful father someday.” She’d said it out loud! She couldn’t take it back. She might as well have come out and told him how she felt.
“Thank you, Anne.” George’s gaze burned into hers.
Embarrassed, she dropped her attention to her plate. So much for being low-key.
The boys vied for his attention, leaving Anne to eat in peace… and to fall in love with him a little more with each passing moment.
Peace didn’t last long. After less than fifteen minutes, leaving mangled bread and soggy chips behind, Christian and Cooper left the table to expend their now-refueled energy.
“Where’s Forbes tonight?” George consolidated the remains onto one plate and stacked them.
“He’ll be here shortly. Some kind of emergency conference call came up at work.” They were watching. All her relatives. Their gazes bored into her. She glanced around, and no one seemed to be looking in her direction. But she knew what they were thinking and hoping and plotting.
He pushed the plates out of the way and leaned on the table on his crossed arms. “Tell me what to expect tonight.”
“Well, about eight thirty, Papere will read the Declaration of Independence. We’ll sing ‘America, the Beautiful,’ ‘My Country, ’Tis of Thee,’ and the national anthem, and if we’ve timed it right—which we usually do—the fireworks should start.”
“No stage show?” Disappointment furrowed the space between his well-groomed brows.
“Stage show?”
“A concert by the local philharmonic while the fireworks are being shot.”
“Oh, they have that up at the amphitheater. But it’s always so crowded on that end of the park, so we crank it up on the radio—the public station broadcasts it.”
“How big is this park?”
“It’s triangular—about two miles long and about a mile wide down here at the base. The north end is only about two hundred yards wide. That’s where the stage area is. They shoot off the fireworks from about halfway between.” She rested her chin on her hand. “How many Fourth of July celebrations have you been to?”
“I witnessed the Washington, DC, celebration last year because my employer was in town—for work. I’ve seen it in New York, too.”
“Is it strange for you to watch us celebrate our independence from England? After all, what we’re celebrating today is basically the declaration of war between our two countries.”
The twinkle in his eyes was as addictive as hazelnut crème lattes. “We Brits have taken on a very pragmatic attitude toward the countries that were once a part of the British Empire. As long as no one is currently declaring war on us, we don’t mind people celebrating wars that happened centuries ago.”
Around them, everyone headed for the field. George took her plate to throw away, and she took his cup to refill with Diet Sprite, no ice. They joined Jenn, Meredith, Jason, and Rafe, who’d overlapped the ends of two quilts on the ground.
Forbes flopped down beside Anne as she got settled. “Miss anything?”
She returned his kiss on the cheek. “Just dinner.”
“George came?” he whispered.
Odd question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Oh, I thought—never mind.” Forbes leaned forward and greeted his sisters by pulling their hair.
After he finished reading the Declaration of Independence, Papere led young and old alike in singing, “America, the Beautiful.” Anne added her alto to Forbes’s tenor, Jason and Rafe’s bass, and Jenn and Mere’s soprano. The dumbfounded expression on George’s face ended their harmony with laughter.
Forbes held up his hand. “We know, we’ve heard it all our lives: ‘You’re just like the Von Trapps from
George recovered himself. “Not exactly what I was thinking, but it did sound nice. Pray, continue.”
When they segued into “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” Anne made the mistake of looking at George to see what he thought of the coopted British national anthem. He leaned over and sang low in her ear, “God save the Queen!”
“You’re bad,” she whispered.
“I’m bad? Your ancestors stole our song, and I’m bad?” He shifted position, turning his torso toward her, their noses almost touching. A few inches, and they would be kissing. His grin faded. Emotion flooded his gaze. “Anne, there’s something—” With a whoosh of breath, his forehead banged hers.
“Ow!” She rubbed her head and leaned away. “Hello, Christian, Cooper.”
The two boys hung from George’s neck, one in his lap, the other on his back.
The boys’ mothers rushed over. “Oh, George, Anne, we’re so sorry. Boys, come on with us.”
He waved them away. “It’s quite all right, Andrea, Keeley. Let them stay. We’ve been bonding today.”
The second time he was with her family, and he’d remembered everyone’s name so far. Each moment she was near him, he revealed even more how he fit the image of her perfect mate.
Forgiving ol’ what’s-his-name didn’t seem so hard all of a sudden.
Chapter 18
“It had to be you,” Anne sang with the music flooding her office. She smiled, recalling the warmth in George’s cinnamon-hazelnut eyes as he’d talked at length with her grandfather Friday evening at the picnic. He’d been such a good sport to put up with the ribbing Papere and the uncles had given him. But he still had to prove himself. She couldn’t just fall head over heels for him because he got along with her family.
She wound pink tulle onto a heavy cardboard bolt, pulling the fabric yard by yard out of the white trash bags that nearly filled the floor of her storage room. Her bride Saturday afternoon had taken the wedding from
Whoa. Thinking in terms like that could only bring disappointment. Sure, she liked George now, and he seemed to like her, but what if the glow wore off? What if she discovered him lying to her about something important again?
The future without George Laurence in it looked dim and dismal. But it was a possible reality she needed to face. At thirty-five, she was too old to indulge in a crush. She couldn’t pin her hopes on him. She could, however, have fun exploring the possibility of something permanent.
The room filled with Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “I Get a Kick Out of You.” Anne sang along, swirling around in the tulle. She wished more brides would choose standards for their receptions. Easier to dance to, the words and music also spoke to a larger audience than the inane pop music of the moment her clients tended to choose.
George listened to the same kind of music, and oh, how he could croon it! But could he dance—more than just the waltz they’d already shared? If not, they could always take ballroom dancing together. She knew a few— the waltz, the fox-trot, and the cha-cha. She spun around, her feet tangled in the tulle, and she fell, landing on the soft pile of bags of fabric.
The bell on the front door echoed throughout the town house. Oh no, her ten o’clock consultation! She struggled to her feet and managed to reach the door. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called. Her own laughter didn’t make extrication from the pink cloud easy. Once out, she had to dive back in to find her left shoe and hair clip.
