Samantha’s eyes widened in surprise. As he swallowed his own relief that Margaret had something else to focus on besides her son’s love life, or lack thereof, he could almost see Samantha performing a complicated mental inventory of her workload.
He knew she was overwhelmed right now but he guessed she also didn’t want to disappoint a potential customer. Especially one who happened to be the mother of her good friend.
“I... Perhaps,” she said tentatively.
“It wouldn’t have to be anything elaborate,” his mother assured her. “I tend toward simple styles, anyway. Just something flattering for the mother of the bride.”
“Still, that’s a high order,” he protested when he saw Samantha waver. “The wedding is only two weeks away, Mother.”
Margaret looked abashed. “You’re right. There wouldn’t be enough time, would there? Especially as you’re working on Gemma’s gown. Forget I said anything.”
“Gemma’s dress is nearly finished,” Samantha said. “You’re right, we don’t have much time but I can look through a few pattern books tonight and perhaps come up with a few ideas that might work. If I hurry, I might be able to finish something in time. Why don’t you come into the boutique tomorrow and we’ll do some measurements, then you can look through some of my designs to see if anything pops for you?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to burden you.”
“Positive,” Samantha said firmly.
“That would be perfect. Thank you.” Margaret beamed and Ian tried to put away his unease. His mother couldn’t have an ulterior motive for going to Samantha’s boutique, could she?
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Samantha said with a general smile for all of them. “If you’ll excuse me, I have errands to run this afternoon. Thank you for a lovely day.”
“Our pleasure,” Ian said, meaning every word.
She looked at the children, still watching the puppies as they talked to their grandfather. “Please don’t worry if your children are too busy visiting your grandparents to check in on the puppies for me this week. I easily can make other arrangements.”
“They’ll do it,” Ian said firmly. “They made a commitment to you and will be happy to fill it.”
“If that changes, please let me know. They’re on holiday and should feel free to visit with their grandparents all they would like without having to worry about my puppies.”
A few raindrops suddenly splattered on the grass from one of those quicksilver showers he was discovering hit the lake on many summer afternoons.
“Everyone inside,” Ian said to his parents and children, ushering them toward his door.
“What about the puppies?” Thomas asked. “They’ll be soaked.”
“I can take care of them,” Samantha assured his son with a warm smile.
“I’ll help her,” Ian said as more drops began to pour. “You all go into our house where it’s dry.”
His mother gave one more pleased look at him and Samantha before she grabbed a child with each hand and hurried toward the house.
SHE HAD TO ADMIT, the man looked utterly adorable carrying Oscar and Calvin as they hurried into the house with Betsey trotting after just as a rumble of thunder shook the trees.
“That came up out of nowhere,” Ian exclaimed.
“That seems to be how our summer storms go around here. You’ve probably noticed that already. One moment it’s lovely and feels like the perfect summer day, the next everyone is ducking for cover. It’s worse in August but we have a few in June and July, too.”
She was able to keep Coco dry by tucking the puppy under her shirt. Inside her house, she set the puppy back down on the pad inside her mother’s sewing room, then stepped away so Ian could do the same with Oscar and Calvin.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly nervous to find herself alone with him again, which she told herself was ridiculous.
“Glad to help.”
“I like your parents very much. They seem to adore the children. Do you live close to each other in England?”
“Not really. The children and I live in Oxford, which is northwest of London while Summerhill House, the family home, is in Dorset, closer to the south coast. It takes about two hours to travel between our homes. We do meet up in London where possible as they live there part of the year, and usually we spend a week or two at Summerhill House. We talk often on the phone and video chat where we can.”
He gestured to the puppies. “You’ve made a cozy little room for them here.”
“My mother is probably rolling in her grave to know I’ve transformed her sewing room to a puppy playroom. I didn’t know what else to do with them.”
They were side by side, both looking in on the puppies as Coco and Oscar wrestled and Calvin chased after a ball.
He smelled delicious, rugged and masculine with that undertone of some kind of expensive soap. Exactly as she might expect of someone who spoke casually of his family home with a grand-sounding name like Summerhill House. She again couldn’t help picturing something out of Pride and Prejudice, the Keira Knightley movie version, something with statues and Doric columns and vast, ornate gardens.
His home in reality was probably nothing like that, but that didn’t keep her from imagining it that way.
“You called this your mother’s sewing room, not yours,” Ian said. “Do you have a sewing room of your own?”
“I’ve always kept my sewing machine in my bedroom. Since my mother died, I’ve moved the machine into the sunroom, where I have a view of the lake and can watch television.”
She gestured behind them to the comfortable space she had carved out by taking several ugly pieces of furniture to a charity thrift store in Shelter Springs. Rain still pattered against the glass, creating a warm, intimate bubble.
He took in the fabric swatches, the table covered with scissors and thread, the sewing machine set up in front of the windows.
“It seems like a good workspace. Very calming.”
“I like it.”
She thought
