Taste of Honey (38 page)

Mavis gave a knowing chuckle as she hobbled over to the kettle hissing on one of the cast-iron burners. “From the way that man looks at you, I’d say it’s an even trade.”

Claire felt her blush deepen. Mavis’s eyesight might not be what it used to be, but she saw well enough. Claire was grateful when Andie, seeming to take pity on her, changed the subject.

“Simon might drop by. I hope that’s okay.”

Claire smiled. “The more, the merrier.”

“I’m warning you, he eats like a horse.”

“Which is what we’re all going to look like when we’re through with this,” Gerry joked, eyeing the platters.

Andie looked distracted, as if she were reminded of something. Then everyone was bustling about all at once, trying not to bump into each other as they carried things in from the kitchen.

Sam and Ian were the first to arrive. Watching them stroll in through the door, Claire couldn’t help thinking again what an unlikely couple they made—Sam, so ladylike and perfectly put together even in maternity clothes, and Ian, with his ponytail and stud in one ear.

“Something smells good,” he said.

“I’ll have two of everything,” Sam joked, patting her belly.

“Remember what the doctor said,” Gerry warned.

Sam sank with a sigh into the nearest chair. “One Lamaze class and she’s my self-appointed watchdog.” She turned to Claire, adding, “Based entirely, and may I say unfairly, on my age, it seems I’m high risk. Never mind I’m healthier than I was with the last ones.” She didn’t add that it’d been more than a quarter of a century since then.

“Let’s keep it that way,” Gerry growled.

Sam cast Ian a beseeching look, but he only shrugged. “Sorry, I’m with Gerry.”

Alice and Wes were next, Alice looking as if she’d stepped from
Vogue
in slim camel slacks and fitted black tunic, her honey-blond hair swept back in a sleek bun. Wes, more sportily dressed in jeans and an old tweed blazer, followed her with his eyes as she crossed the room to give her mother and Ian pecks on the cheek.

“Hey, Mom, looking good.” Ian flashed Alice a grin.

She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Watch it. You’re older than I am.”

Ian turned to Claire with a wink, “Gets her every time.”

“My son’s taking good care of you, I hope.” Wes slipped an arm about Sam’s shoulders.

“The best.” She smiled the smile of a supremely satisfied woman.

Laura and her entourage trooped in minutes later. In their jeans and snap-button Western shirts, she and Hector were a matched set. Finch, on the other hand, wore a clingy top and sarong skirt that made her look utterly unique. Claire thought how stunning she’d be in a few years, when she grew into those long legs and eyes too big for her face. Finch’s hand was lightly cupped about Maude’s elbow, as if to keep her from tipping over in her high heels and ankle-length skirt. Their affection for each other was obvious; they might have been related.

Maude paused on the threshold to bring her hands together in a soundless little clap. “Wake me if I’m dreaming. I think I’ve tumbled down Alice’s rabbit hole.”

“Did you do all of this yourself?” Laura eyed the spread in amazement.

“I had help.” Claire glanced at Mavis and Andie.

“Who else is coming?” Alice wanted to know.

Before she could answer, Gerry put in, “Aubrey, for one.” She glanced at her watch. “He said he might be a little late.”

“I invited Matt, but I doubt he’ll be able to make it,” Claire said, knowing how he felt about large gatherings.

She heard the clomp of footsteps on the porch just then and, out of habit, her heart skipped a beat, but it was only Andie’s boyfriend, looking exactly as described: tall and loose-limbed, like a junior Clark Kent complete with glasses perched halfway down his nose.

“Hi. I’m Simon.” He flashed her an affable grin, shaking her hand with the firmness of an executive. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Claire hoped some of it had been good. “Same here. Andie tells me you like to eat. As you can see, you came to the right place.”

Everyone was seated and the tea ready to be poured when Aubrey finally strolled in, looking as elegantly European as usual in a three-button jacket and black T-shirt, a pair of slim calfskin loafers peeking from under the cuffs of his trousers.

“I hope I’m not too late,” he said.

“You’re right on time.” Gerry got up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and Claire thought she caught a hint of something bruised in the look that passed between them.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I’m on my way to the airport,” he apologized in advance, sinking into the empty chair next to Gerry’s.

“Where to this time?” Mavis inquired brightly.

“Brussels.”

“Oh? For how long?”

“Indefinitely, I’m afraid.” He seemed to be studiously avoiding Gerry’s gaze.

Sam was the only one besides Gerry and her kids who didn’t look surprised; then Claire remembered Isla Verde—he couldn’t very well have left without informing her.

“Too bad you’ll miss Justin’s game,” Andie said.

Justin cast him a reproachful look from under the bill of his baseball cap. Aubrey was clearly just one more father figure to bail out on him. “It doesn’t matter. I probably won’t get to play anyway,” he said glumly.

“Just because you were benched the last time—”

Gerry stopped, as if realizing that this had nothing to do with Justin’s record.

The minor cloud was swept aside by the torrent of raves that followed. And judging from the quickness with which the food was gobbled up, it wasn’t just talk. Claire felt happy and proud. It was only a small hurdle compared to what she’d be up against on opening day, but it was a good omen. Watching Maude tuck into her second tart, pausing to dab at a spot of strawberry filling on her chin, it occurred to Claire that her biggest problem might not be a shortage of customers but keeping up with demand.

“These are the best brownies I’ve ever had,” Sam declared.

“I use Kahlua in place of vanilla,” Claire told her.

“And these cookies—my God.” Laura rolled her eyes in ecstasy.

“Mavis’s recipe.” Claire glanced over to find the old woman beaming.

Hector helped himself to another gingersnap. “Whoever made them, they’re damn good.”

Laura shot him a mock injured look. “I guess my baking doesn’t measure up.”

Hector patted her arm. “No one can touch your cornbread.”

She turned to Claire. “Mom finally got Lupe to divulge the recipe. Would you believe the reason she was so secretive all those years was because she’d never written it down?”

“Now I know where I went wrong. Instead of trying to follow recipes, I should have been making them up as I went along.” Gerry gave a self-effacing chuckle.

Her laughter seemed too bright, her smile a tad brittle, yet she ate as heartily as the others and downed several cups of tea. When it was time for Aubrey to go, she showed no visible signs of distress other than the slight tremor in her hand as she rose to smooth his lapel. The gesture seemed oddly proprietary, and Claire wondered if the others had noticed as well. Sam clearly had; she chose that moment to retrieve her napkin from the floor. Alice, no stranger to unorthodox relationships, wore a knowing expression.

Claire’s thoughts turned once more to Matt. Lately she’d been aware of a subtle shift in their relationship. Where he used to tease her about Byron, he now seemed uncomfortable when the subject came up. Once, when Byron called, the pounding of Matt’s hammer in the next room became almost deafening.

Gerry walked Aubrey to the door. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon. It feels as if you just got here,” she said, glancing out at the black limousine idling at the curb.

“If I didn’t have a plane to catch …” He smiled with regret, glancing over at Justin. “I’ll send you a souvenir—a cricket bat perhaps.” Ignoring the resentful look Justin shot him, he turned to Andie. “I almost forgot. I have something for you, my dear.” He pulled a slim, gift-wrapped package from his breast pocket, watching with a faintly ironic expression as Andie opened it. It was a CD. “Schubert’s late sonatas. Many consider it my wife’s best recording,” he said. “I hope it brings you as much pleasure as it has me.”

Andie blushed crimson. “Thank you,” she said shyly.

Gerry cleared her throat and said, “I’ll walk you to your car.” She allowed herself to meet his eyes, and for a long moment they stood there on the threshold, gazing at each other as if no one else existed. Then they disappeared out the door.

No one spoke at first; then they were all talking at once. By the time Gerry reappeared, looking flushed and determinedly upbeat, it was as if nothing were amiss.

Before long, everyone was getting up to go.

Sam kissed Claire on the cheek on her way out, advising, “Keep fertilizing those roses the way I showed you and they’ll bloom all summer long.”

“Wonderful party, my dear.” Maude teetered on her high heels as if having enjoyed something stronger than Earl Grey. “I can hardly wait for the official opening.”

“I must have gained two pounds,” Finch complained good-naturedly.

Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m not even going to step on the scale.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to go public,” Wes teased. “I’ll put you together with my broker.”

Gerry lingered on the porch as the others trooped down the path. “It
was
a wonderful party,” she told Claire. “I’m just sorry Aubrey couldn’t stay.”

Claire hesitated, then said, “You’ll miss him, won’t you?”

Gerry looked as if she were about to deny it, then sighed and said, “Yeah, I will.” She tucked a stray wisp behind her ear, smiling ruefully. “What about you? Which will it be, the doctor or the carpenter?”

Claire blinked at her in surprise—how had she known?—then let out a self-conscious little laugh. “And here I thought I was being so discreet.”

“My mother has a big mouth. Besides, I’ve been around the block a few times, remember?”

Claire’s face was on fire. “The thing with Matt … it’s not serious.”

“Does
he
know that?” Gerry cast a wry glance over her shoulder.

Claire turned to find Matt striding up the path, a cone of flowers wrapped in newspaper balanced in the crook of one arm. Her heart soared, then plummeted. Oh, God. Had he overheard? No, from the look on his face it was obvious he hadn’t.

He bounded up onto the porch. “Sorry I’m late.” He nodded in passing to Gerry as she vanished into the twilight. “But at least I didn’t come empty-handed.” He thrust the flowers at her.

Dahlias and asters, her favorites. “You didn’t have to.”

“There’s a story behind them.” He winked, strolling in through the door. “I was doing some work out at the Flowermill this afternoon. The irrigation system in their greenhouse had crapped out. Joanne—she’s the owner—was all set to load up the back of my truck, she was so grateful, but I was afraid it’d look as if I were on my way to a funeral.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to die to get these,” she said with a little laugh, looking around for something to put them in and seeing that every vase she owned was in use.

In the kitchen she fished a plastic bucket from under the sink. It would have to do for the time being. While she was filling it from the tap, Matt carried a stack of dirty plates in. “Looks like the party was a hit. I just wish I could’ve gotten away sooner. But, well, you know how it is.” He shrugged, placing the plates on the counter.

In his Timberland boots and lumberjack shirt, he seemed to fill the room. Below the ragged line of his mustache, the gleaming edges of his teeth showed, and she had a sudden impulse to kiss him and run her tongue along the underside of his lip. God, what kind of person was she? One minute dismissing him, the next wanting to make mad, passionate love. Certainly not someone she recognized … or particularly liked.

“Oh, well, there’s always next time.” She dropped the flowers into the bucket, wondering if there would be a next time with Matt.

They finished loading the dishwasher. She was sweeping up the crumbs in the front room when he pulled the broom from her hands. “That can wait,” he said. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.”

“Now?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

Claire shrugged. Why not? Some fresh air would do her good.

Outside, she hopped into his truck. It was a balmy night, the air scented with the lilacs blooming along the drive. They drove in companionable silence, Claire, enjoying the warm air rushing in through her open window. Before long, the downtown area was a distant twinkle in the rearview mirror.

They’d gone several miles into the countryside when Matt pulled into a graveled drive, where they bumped to a stop in front of a dilapidated barn. There was only the trill of crickets and distant barking of a dog. Farther down the drive, the lighted windows of a farmhouse glowed—a Hallmark greeting card.

“Yours?” She’d never been to Matt’s place. Whenever he’d suggested it, she’d put him off, feeling—naively, no doubt—that it would signify something she wasn’t ready for.

“Nah. It belongs to a friend of mine. I do repairs in exchange for rent.” He produced a key for the padlock. The door squealed on rusty hinges as he pushed it open.

As they stepped into the dark interior, the first thing Claire noticed was the absence of any barnlike smells. The only scents were that of new lumber and varnish. When he switched on the overhead lights, she immediately saw why: A nearly completed sailboat, a good fifteen feet in length, sat on wooden supports in the center of the barn, alongside it power tools shrouded in plastic, cans of paint, and, lying on a tarp, a freshly lathed mast.

Claire ran a hand over the keel. “You built this?”

“All except the fittings.” Matt looked as proud as if she’d praised one of his children.

“It’s unbelievable.” She spoke with awe.

He must have read the question in her eyes. “You’re probably wondering what a landlubber like me is doing with a boat. Well, I wasn’t always a landlubber.” He scrambled easily onto the deck, holding out a hand to hoist her up. When she was seated on a bench, he said, “Before I went into business for myself, I was a naval architect.”