own, didn’t even own pots and pans, loved traveling. Yet she obviously had a strong streak of domesticity in her.
He felt bad now, getting so aggravated over the damage to his car. He’d already talked to the other driver, who had admitted fault and was willing to have his insurance company handle the whole thing, no arguing.
Maybe Sara could have been more aware of her surroundings, but mistakes happened, as he had so enthusiastically proved with the dishwasher incident. His mother didn’t put her china in the dishwasher; he should have known better.
Reece had been accused more than once of expecting a ridiculous degree of perfection from his coworkers-from everyone around him, actually. But his highest standards were reserved for himself. Today had just brought home the fact that nobody was perfect.
“Reece?”
He looked up to see Sara’s slim figure silhouetted in the kitchen door. “Yes?”
“I’ve made soup and sandwiches if you’re interested.” The uncertainty in her voice pricked his conscience. For whatever reason, his approval was important to her.
“Sure, sounds good. Let me just finish this one e-mail.” He was in the middle of explaining a complex financial procedure to his brother, and if he stopped now he would lose his train of thought completely.
Finishing the message took a bit longer than he thought it would. It was easy for him to get engrossed in something and lose track of time. Then he took a phone call from his father, who wanted to know down to the second when he would return to the office.
Probably fifteen minutes had passed by the time he shut down his laptop and headed to the kitchen, but Sara hadn’t nagged him.
He smiled when he saw her, sitting at the small table in the breakfast nook. She appeared to be sorting through recipes.
“Sorry that took so long,” he said. “I hope the soup hasn’t gotten cold.” He had to admit, it smelled pretty good.
She brightened and set her work aside, shoving it onto the seat of an empty chair. “No problem. The longer it simmers, the better it tastes.” She bustled around for a few moments, ladling up soup and slicing the sandwiches. He enjoyed just watching her perform everyday tasks.
He used to think she was a bit clumsy. During the first couple of weeks here she had dropped food on him at least three times while serving breakfast. But now he could see that she was actually quite graceful, moving with a beautiful economy, one activity flowing into the next.
Just the same, he tensed as she set his soup in front of him, ready to jump to his feet if the hot liquid appeared to be heading for his lap.
No mishaps today, though.
The meal not only smelled good, it looked beautiful. She’d served the thick ham sandwiches on brown bread with a pickle spear, just like at a restaurant, along with a few tortilla chips. Okay, so he didn’t like pickles, and that enormous green thing floating in his soup would have to go. But the effort she’d gone to impressed him.
He tried the sandwich first, because it looked less risky. At his first bite, he realized the bread was rye. He couldn’t stand rye bread. And there was something weird on the sandwich, like lettuce but not.
He chewed quickly and swallowed, then washed the bite down with iced tea-sweetened. What was it with Southerners and their tea? Every place he went down here, the tea was so sweet it tasted like syrup.
“The sandwich is made with one of those honey-baked hams,” Sara said. “Miss Greer received it as a gift for her birthday last week, but she doesn’t care much for it.”
“The ham is good,” he said without reservation. “What else is on the sandwich?”
“Havarti cheese, brown mustard-oh, and some arugula. I grow it myself in my herb garden on the patio.”
“Mmm,” he said noncommittally. Had she never heard of American cheese? Regular yellow mustard? Iceberg lettuce? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he ought to let her know his preferences. Maybe he would buy some groceries he liked, and she would get the hint.
He ate a few tortilla chips, then went on to brave the soup. Good Lord, what was that
He deftly shoved it aside and spooned up some of the broth. Okay, not bad. Kind of strangely spicy. But there was no chicken in the soup. Wasn’t tortilla soup supposed to have chicken?
He ate some of the little crunchy things on top and more broth. And when Sara’s attention was diverted by her own food, he pulled the ham out of the sandwich, scraped off the mustard, cut it into bites and ate it. Then he put everything else in his napkin, to be disposed of at the first opportunity.
He and his brother had become masters of vegetable disposal from an early age. Their dog, Winston, would eat anything, even broccoli. Unfortunately the Sunsetter didn’t have a dog, so he would have to be more creative.
“You don’t like avocado?” she asked.
Busted. “It’s not my favorite thing,” he admitted.
“That’s a shame. They’re so good for you.”
“I thought they were fattening.”
“They’re high in fat, but it’s the good kind of fat.”
“I guess I better eat some, then.” To appease her, he cut off a tiny piece with his spoon and put it in his mouth, hoping that maybe he was mistaken and it would taste good.
Nope.
He kept eating the broth, but after several spoonfuls he noticed his tongue was burning. Great. His ulcer was going to love this.
“Thank you for not yelling at me,” she said suddenly.
“What? Why would I yell at you?” The dinner wasn’t
“When I was sixteen I wrecked my dad’s car. It wasn’t exactly my fault-a guy pulled out in front of me. But I was so busy trying to look cool that I didn’t see him in time.”
“Was anyone hurt?” he asked.
“No. The damage wasn’t even that bad. But my dad went on and on like I was the stupidest, most irresponsible girl on the face of the earth, and how he knew he shouldn’t have let me get my driver’s license and how all females and especially teenage girls were bad drivers and on and on and on. He just wouldn’t drop it. To this day, if the topic of driving comes up, my dad goes off about how I wrecked the car two weeks after getting my license.”
Reece understood demanding parents.
“I guess I’m not the yelling type. Anyway, it’s just a car. Easy to fix. It’s not like you smashed up a sweet old lady’s wedding china.”
Sara reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m not the yelling type, either.” When she realized her hand was lingering on Reece’s arm, she snatched it away and hopped to her feet. “Do you want another sandwich?”
“No, no thanks,” he said hastily. “That one was…filling.”
“More soup, then?” She cast a critical eye at his bowl, which now contained nothing but soggy onions, celery and tomatoes. “You didn’t like the soup.”
“Yes, I did. I just ate around a few things that aren’t my favorite.”
She folded her arms. “You ate the broth.”
“And it was very good broth.”
“You don’t like vegetables of any kind, do you?”
“That’s not true. I like green beans. Carrots are okay.” He ticked the various items off on his fingers. “Corn. I’ll eat corn and…and lettuce. You know, all the normal vegetables. There are just a few I don’t like.” Okay, more than a few, several of which happened to be in the soup.
She shrugged. “Well, I appreciate that you at least tried the soup. Very adventurous of you.”
Hmm, somehow he got the idea she was condescending to him.
THE NEXT MORNING Sara got up early to fix breakfast. She and Reece had decided that he would help her with the meal, then he would visit Miss Greer and stay with her for a while, making sure she got everything she needed.
But it was early yet, and for a few minutes Sara would have the kitchen to herself.
