“I’m sure it’s fine.” I set the pasta and salad in front of him, placed a napkin and fork on the table, and took the chair across from his.
“Wow. This looks great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He dug in, and I sipped my wine. For the first time since he’d arrived, I allowed myself to really look at him. He wore jeans and a white collared shirt that set off his golden skin, and his hair was closely cropped on the sides and back, just like Drew’s had been, and a little longer on the top where brown curls traitorously beckoned my fingers. I wanted to touch it.
Would it feel like Drew’s? Were his curls the same soft texture? Would they cling to my fingers as I ran a hand through them?
Jesus. Stop it. You can’t touch his hair.
I looked out the window, lifted my glass to my lips.
“This is delicious, Hannah.” He wound a huge mound of pasta around his fork. His wrists and forearms were nice and thick—a little thicker than Drew’s, and the slight difference pleased me. If I could focus on the differences, I’d cope better.
“Thanks. I got the tomatoes from work. Everything we serve there is grown on their farm.”
“That’s right. My mom mentioned you’ve been working at Valentini Farms.”
“At the new bed and breakfast, yes. Although we serve dinner now, too. But sometimes I work over at the farm if they need extra help with something.”
“I’ll have to check it out. I’d like to catch up with Pete. It’s been a while. Sounds like they’re doing really well with the new business.”
I nodded. “They are. Summer has been really busy there. And it’s completely booked this weekend.”
“High season up here. Things will seem quiet next week.” He set down his fork and picked up his wine. “So you’re enjoying the job? I remember how good your baking was.”
“Thanks.”
“And everything is good with the house?”
“Yes. I’ve had a crash course in things like mortgages and taxes and insurance in the last year and a half. Your dad has helped me a lot.”
“Good. I’m always happy to help you out, too. Don’t ever hesitate to ask.” He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. Was his top lip a little fuller than Drew’s? Maybe it was that he wore his scruff a little shorter than Drew had. “I feel bad that I haven’t been here for you, Hannah.”
“Don’t. Really, don’t.” I met his eyes, and we exchanged a look that felt like a conversation. I couldn’t have handled your being here anyway. I can barely handle it now.
But I feel guilty.
There’s nothing you can do.
There must be. Tell me what it is. I’ll do it.
“It fits!” Abby came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Glad for the intrusion, I focused on my daughter, who twirled happily in her new dress, which was ruched with elastic across the bodice and halter style, but the straps were hanging down. “Come here, let me tie it.”
“I want Uncle Wes to do it.” She stood next to his chair, presented her back and lifted her hair off her neck.
He looked at me, eyebrows raised, as if to ask permission.
I shrugged. “She’s all yours, Uncle Wes.”
He smiled back and set his glass down before reaching for the straps. His fingers looked big and masculine as they gently worked the straps into a bow. I almost laughed at how hard he appeared to be concentrating on the task.
“There,” he said. “How did I do?”
“Good.” She twirled around again.