Love Letters: A Rose Harbor Novel (17 page)

“I could host the dinner.” To me, this was the logical solution.

“But, Jo Marie, that’s a lot of work when you’ve already got your hands full.”

“Mom, please. I cook for a crowd nearly every day. I’d enjoy hosting the family. Besides, it would give me an opportunity to show you how far my culinary skills have come along.”

“Are you sure?” Mom sounded hesitant.

“I’m positive. I’m a good cook.” I don’t know what Mom thought I did all day. But in the last year I’d learned more about putting meals together than I had in my first thirty-seven years.

Still, she hesitated and I could almost see her chewing on her lower lip, a habit she had when uneasy about making a decision. “This is a dinner, remember, not breakfast.”

“True.” No argument there, and while I was an old hand when it came to breakfast, I wasn’t as adept at dinners. “I’ll look through my cookbooks and come up with something wonderful.”

Mom chuckled. “You amaze me, Jo Marie.”

“Does that mean you’d be willing to come my way?” On second thought, I might have been a bit hasty in asking the entire family over for a home-cooked meal. Before I took over the inn, I would
have either taken them out to a local restaurant or brought in takeout.

“I’ll need to check with Todd and Jennifer, but seeing that this may be the only way we’ll get a chance to see you, I doubt they’ll have any objection.”

My mind was abuzz with ideas of what I might serve. The farmers’ market was in session and fresh fish were often sold from one of the fishing boats that docked at the marina. My dad especially enjoyed fresh salmon. I could steam clams as well. I’d bake the salmon, put together a green salad loaded down with vegetables from my garden, and pick up bread from the bakery. For a side dish, I’d serve Dad’s favorite rice, a recipe handed down in his family, made with raisins and pine nuts. In a matter of seconds I had the entire menu.

“That’ll be seven of us,” Mom reminded me.

My table would easily seat seven and often up to twelve. That was when it struck me. “Would it be all right if I invited someone?”

“Who, dear?”

I could be opening up a can of worms. Still, I couldn’t resist. “Mark Taylor.”

“Who?”

“Mark. He’s my handyman.”

“The one who put in the rose garden? Oh, and wasn’t it Mark who crafted the sign for the inn?”

“That’s him.” I should have thought of this earlier. My mother had a gift, a knack for reading people in the most natural, nonthreatening way. I would love for her to get a feel for Mark. I couldn’t think of a better way than to have her sit across from him at dinner. My mother was wonderful with people, and if anyone could get Mark engrossed in conversation, it would be her.

My mother went suspiciously quiet.

“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Perhaps I’d misjudged the
intention of this family dinner. I’d assumed it was just another get-together because it’d been a while. Apparently not. It seemed there was an agenda at play that I knew nothing about.

“Do you like … Mark?” Mom asked in a small, quiet voice that wasn’t quite like her.

“Like?” I was beginning to get the picture. “Mom, there’s nothing romantic between us. Mark’s a friend.”

“Are the two of you involved?”

“No,” I said automatically.
What was I thinking?
By suggesting I invite Mark I’d given my mother the wrong impression about my relationship with him. “No way,” I repeated for emphasis.

Mom spoke softly, as if she was dealing with a child. “You seem to talk about him a great deal, Jo Marie.”

I wasn’t aware of that and would make a point of keeping him out of any future conversations. If I did mention Mark, it was no doubt in reference to something he’d done to irritate me, which he often did.

Now I was forced to own up to the truth. “I have a specific reason for wanting him to join us for dinner.”

“Oh?” Mom’s interest was instantly piqued. I could hear it in her voice.

“I see quite a bit of Mark.” I shouldn’t have admitted that. It would only add fuel to Mom’s suspicions. “That didn’t come out right,” I amended quickly. “The only reason I see Mark as much as I do is because he’s been working at the inn on a variety of projects.”

“I thought he did a lovely job with the rose garden, and you did mention you planned to have him build a gazebo.”

“I might have said something about that in passing.” I feared I was digging myself into an even deeper hole every time I opened my mouth. “Mark’s starting on the gazebo now, but the point is, Mom,” I said, not wanting to get sidetracked with her questions and comments. “I don’t really know him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mark rarely talks about himself, and you have such a great rapport with people. You connect easily with others, and I thought you might … you know.”

“Get him to talk …”

“I guess, but in a natural, nonthreatening way. Get a feel for him, that sort of thing.”

“Because you’re curious?”

“I … yes, I suppose,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Why do you want to know more about him, Jo Marie?”

My mother could get right to the point when she felt the need.

“Well, because …” I struggled to find the right words. “He’s a friend, and I know practically nothing about him. I don’t want to hound him with questions.” Heaven knew I’d already tried that and failed miserably. My mother’s talent was equal parts being genuinely interested in others and being a good listener. If Mark would open up to anyone, it would be my sweet-natured mother.

“W-e-l-l,” Mom said, dragging out the word, “in that case, invite Mark for no other reason than I’d enjoy meeting him, and I know your father would as well, as often as you’ve mentioned his name.”

Mom and I discussed the time for dinner and she promised to get back to me regarding the availability of my brother and his family. We hoped it would all work out.

We ended the conversation and Rover stood by the kitchen door, letting me know he wanted out. As I suspected, Mark had arrived with another load of lumber for the gazebo.

“Morning.” I stood on the front porch and called out to him while Rover wandered about the yard, carefully choosing the exact blade of grass to water.

“Morning,” he returned. He’d apparently been at work for quite some time, because the bed of his truck was nearly empty.

“How about a cup of coffee?” I asked.

He hesitated, as though he needed a bit more convincing in order to pull him away from his task.

“I baked Peggy’s blueberry muffins this morning.”

He paused, a long two-by-four balanced across the top of his shoulder. “Are the blueberries out of Peggy’s garden?”

“They are.”

He nodded, but without a lot of enthusiasm. “I suppose I could help you out and eat a couple of those muffins.”

Help me out
. “Your generosity knows no bounds,” I said, and rolled my eyes.

While he set down the last of his load I returned to the house and poured us each a cup of coffee and then set two muffins on a plate. I carried both outside, where Mark stood waiting. When he saw me, he walked over to the porch, sat on the top step, and removed his work gloves. I settled down next to him with Rover between us.

“I have an invitation for you,” I said, and handed him the plate with the muffins.

“Oh?”

“How would you feel about having dinner here with me on Sunday?” I thought it best not to mention that my family would be joining us, at least not right away.

He considered the invite. “What are you serving?”

“Salmon, I think. I’ll walk down to the farmers’ market in a bit and see what the fishing boats have to offer.”

“They had tuna last week,” he mentioned.

“Yes, I know.” It’d been fresh and snatched up before I made it down to the marina. Not that it really mattered—I wasn’t keen on tuna, fresh or otherwise.

“This time of year you can get Hood Canal shrimp, too.”

The shrimp season was short, and while expensive, they were worth the price. The same with Copper River salmon, which was available only in spring.

“Salmon,” Mark repeated. “I like salmon, but I thought it wasn’t your favorite fish.”

“It isn’t, but it is my dad’s.” The minute the words were off my lips I wanted to snatch them back. I didn’t want Mark to know my parents would be at the dinner and yet the first thing I did was blurt it out.

Mark reached for a muffin, and his hand paused in midair. “Your father’s coming?”

“I’m not sure yet.” A slight exaggeration; Mom had said she’d be getting back to me.

“Will anyone else be there that I should know about?” he asked innocently enough before he bit into the muffin. Crumbles fell unheeded onto the second step down. Rover lowered his head and quickly devoured what had fallen and then looked up, eager for more.

“Don’t know yet,” I said.

“Okay, let me rephrase that question,” Mark said. “How many other people have you invited?”

I would make a terrible covert spy. The very thing I’d hoped to hide until I’d gotten a commitment I’d inadvertently blurted out in the first few minutes.

“Jo Marie?”

“Six. I invited my family to dinner.”

Mark sipped his coffee and reached for the second muffin. He broke off a small portion and fed it to Rover. “Why do you want me to join this family function?”

“Why not? They admire the work you’ve done around the inn. I thought it was time they met you.”

“Why?” he pressed again.

“Because.” I could feel the blood filling my face, reddening my cheeks.

He stared at me as if I’d spoken in a foreign language.

“Wouldn’t you like to meet my family?” I asked, turning the tables on him.

“Not necessarily.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Tell me how you really feel, why
don’t you?” I joked. I could see my entire plan falling to pieces right before my eyes.

Mark frowned. “I’m not good with social situations.”

“This isn’t social; it’s family.”

“Your family,” he reminded me.

I ignored that. “You attended my open house.”

He squinted his eyes as if his attending the event I’d held last spring had nothing to do with our current conversation.

“That was a social event and you did fine.”

“If you remember,” he said stiffly, “I’d recently broken my leg and was on heavy pain medication. I wasn’t myself.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I was losing my patience with him. “Now, are you going to accept my invitation or not?”

“Not,” he said, without even blinking an eye.

I was sorely disappointed and tried hard not to show it. As silly as it sounded, my feelings were hurt. In rejecting the invitation it felt as if he was rejecting me. After all these months I’d counted him as a friend, but I could see that I was wrong. I might consider him that way, but he held no such feelings for me. I was a job with the benefits of cookies and muffins tossed in.

“Don’t take it personal.”

“I’m not,” I lied. He must have read the disappointment in my eyes.

“Like I said, I avoid this kind of situation.”

I looked away and nodded. “It’s all right, I understand.”

“It’s not my thing, Jo Marie,” he reiterated.

“It’s no big deal,” I said, doing my utmost to be as chipper as possible. I stood and brushed off the stray crumbs that had fallen onto my pant legs. Rover was instantly there to lick them up. “I better get back to work.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Mark said, but he didn’t make an effort to move away.

As I headed inside the inn, my shadow and constant companion, Rover, chose to remain with Mark.

As the screen door closed I heard Mark murmur to Rover, “Thing is, I don’t know that I’d fit in with Jo Marie’s family.”

I wanted to reassure Mark, but hesitated. Just maybe I was the one in the wrong, looking to use the dinner invitation for my own purposes.

“I appreciate how far you’ve stepped out of your comfort zone for me,” Tom said, as he manned the helm of the sailboat. The wind helped them slice through the waters of Puget Sound. He pointed out Vashon Island, which was off in the far distance. They’d sailed all the way around Blake Island as he did a quick tutorial on the techniques of sailing.

Ellie listened intently and wished she could be more help, but this was an area with which she was completely unfamiliar. Being with Tom helped calm her pounding heart. At first Ellie had felt ill at ease sailing, but he’d been more than patient and encouraging. While being on the water was foreign to her, it didn’t take long before she was able to relax and enjoy the sun, the wind, and the boat.

“I can’t believe we’re actually sailing,” she said. The thing that
struck her was how smoothly the vessel moved, gliding through the green water. The only sound was the flapping of the sails when the wind changed direction. No wonder Tom loved sailing. The day was perfect, the weather ideal, or so he had explained.

He had her sit close to his side, and he placed his arm around her shoulders. The sun felt good on her skin, warming her. Every now and again it would hide behind a billowing white cloud, and Ellie was grateful she’d thought to bring her sweater with her.

“Are you going to tell me about my surprise?” she asked, eager to discover what it was he had for her. He seemed a bit apprehensive about it, and she hoped to convince him to share his concern.