Soldier, Handyman, Family Man. Lynne Marshall
a conservative hair band, and how she looked like a proper bed-and-breakfast owner. Then he glanced down at her bright tangerine toenails, enjoying the contradiction.
She caught him staring, too, and he didn’t even try to look away. Why pretend when he liked what he saw? So he smiled, and judging by the twitch at one corner of her mouth, she didn’t mind.
“So what are you going to call this place?”
“The Prescott Bed-and-Breakfast. I’ve got a sign, just haven’t put it up yet.”
“I can do it.”
“Would you?”
On impulse, he decided he might just help out from time to time. She was a widow with three kids and needed all the help she could get. Not because he found her attractive, and she interested him, and he felt good around her. But as backup. Only to help her out, as a handyman, because she could use it. That was the main reason.
Right. And Grandda didn’t believe in selkies.
“Sure. The sooner you start to advertise the better.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
He refilled his coffee. “Absolutely.”
For now, he’d buy the little white lie about helping her out because she needed it. Otherwise he might get uptight about making another excuse to see her tomorrow, and he didn’t want to be tense when having her all to himself in the sitting room right now felt so right.
* * *
Laurel sipped coffee and watched Mark’s big hands as he grappled with the teapot made for ladies. She hid her smile behind the antique china cup. He’d obviously ogled her pedicure, and she wondered if there was anything else he might like about her. It had been a long time since she’d seen appreciative gazes from a man, and, being honest, she’d missed it.
Was that why she kept asking him to come back?
Or was it because, beyond his all-man appearance, he was nice? He’d intervened on her son’s behalf. He was a man and her boy needed male mentoring? Lord only knew she was out of her depth on that one. She hadn’t a clue that Peter, gangly and new in town, would be the subject of teasing. From what Peter had said, the teasing had been heading in a much more serious direction when Mark showed up.
What kind of mother was she? One who seriously needed to make time to read some books on parenting teens. Maybe if he was more confident, hadn’t been devastated by losing his father...
Her mind drifted back to the present. Instead of required reading, she was sitting in the parlor with a man who emitted more sex appeal than the last three seasons of bachelors combined. Did he have a clue?
Yesterday he’d hinted at needing a life coach as much as she did, so that was something they had in common. With his time in the Middle East, and her husband’s losing battle with cancer, they’d both been through hell. There was one other, more positive thing they had in common, too: they’d both been raised in a small beach town.
She could hear him swallow. Deep in thought, it’d grown too quiet. “So tell me about the history of The Drumcliffe.”
An easy subject to tackle, he did so with ease, giving her the story from all the way back when his grandfather came from Ireland. As he spoke, she enjoyed the sparkle in his blue eyes, darkened by the parlor lighting, and how tiny the teacup looked in his hands. His lower lip curled out the tiniest bit, and she wondered how it would feel to kiss him.
What? She took another sip of her coffee. Maybe she was ready to...
Oh, the mere thought made her stomach knot and a hope chest of guilt crash over her shoulders. But there he was, sharing his family’s story, natural as could be, smiling with pride. What could be wrong with a little longing?
She took another sip, admiring every aspect of Mark Delaney. She’d caught him checking her out earlier, and knew how that felt. Good, by the way. Now the tables were turned, but she didn’t want to give the wrong impression, and the last thing she needed was to get caught. Taking yet another sip of her cooling coffee, she wondered how long she could hide behind her teacup before being obvious.
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