As she entered, he leaned over to kiss her cheek and said, “You look wonderful.”
She’d worn a favorite white suit because it was her last chance for the season—at least by fashionista standards. “My aching feet disagree.”
“Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” he said as he closed the door behind her. He gestured to his own bare feet. “As you can see I am.”
Wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, he did look ultra-casual, but his understated attire did nothing to mute his physical appeal. It was as though all of the energy in the universe was working in tandem to force her to stay aware of that.
“The problem is that if I took off these heels, I might never get them on again.” Although that was the truth, it was only half of it. “I can’t stay,” she added quietly.
“Somehow I knew you would say something like that. At least join me in a glass of wine,” Marshall replied. “I’d just finished unpacking the last box and showered when you called. I have muscles demanding relief.”
She’d noticed that his hair was still somewhat damp. Thinking a drink would also help her say what she had to say, she accepted. As she followed him, she noted the only lights on were in the kitchen, and those were the accent ones above the cabinets. It made their environment more intimate, yet provided enough illumination for him to work.
“Did you really finished unpacking?” she asked, eyeing the bare counters that she’d left stacked two and three boxes high. Now there was only a toaster, a coffeemaker and a paper towel stand. “Everything?”
“Yes. Well, except for the one bedroom.” Marshall drew a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and took two fat goblets from the buffet. “I’ll call a charity and donate her clothes—unless you know of someone who could use them around here?”
“I do. There’s a church-operated store in town that would welcome the donation. I’ll get you the number.”
“Thanks.” With minimal physical effort, he uncorked the wine.
His unwillingness to speak Cynthia’s name brought her reticence about Adam back to mind. “I didn’t follow my own advice with Adam’s things,” she blurted out. “I brought them down to a charity in Tyler. I was afraid I’d be driving down the street here one day and see his favorite shirt or jacket.”
“I won’t have that problem,” he said, pouring the first drops of wine into his glass, then filling hers one-third full. “As you saw for yourself, Cyn never veered from the same style thing that she’d worn through college—jeans, Dockers, T-shirts and sweatshirts. Her things will blend in fine here.”
Genevieve nodded. “I remember her saying that she’d been a tomboy and athletic. I suppose comfort was her chief motivation later.”
“That and doing her best to discourage any sexual interest I might have in her.”
“Oh, Marshall.” There didn’t seem to be anything she could say that wasn’t going to trigger pain, and maybe even bitterness in him. That was never her intention.
“Sorry.” He held out her glass to her. “I did understand, even though I didn’t always handle things well.”
“I could see you did—and cared. And from what I could tell, you were very attentive and gentle with her.” Genevieve set her keys on the counter and accepted the goblet. She’d left her purse in the car to give him another sign that she was serious about not staying but a few minutes. “Okay, subject change—are you going to give me a tour? It sounds like you really pushed it.”
“Wait until you see.” Although he touched his glass to hers, there was a hint of mockery or self-deprecation in his voice. “But first, tell me more about your day. Do you realize how long it’s been since I had an intelligent conversation? Of course you do—you were it!”
After an initial sip of her wine, Genevieve was about to point out that she could hear the TV on somewhere and knew he had a satellite dish hooked up, but then again that wasn’t a conversation, that was all one-sided. “Well, we gained two new residents today,” she told him. “A dentist and a nurse, both from Dallas.”
“Are they a couple?”
“No, each has a spouse.”
“Having professionals moving in is a good sign.”
“It is. Our dentist, Dr. Harvey, is retiring and selling his practice to a young doctor. Tim Petrie. Unless you keep your Dallas doctor, you’ll probably meet him sooner or later. He and his wife are energetic and enjoy canoeing.”
“Are they here on the lake?”
“Interestingly, no. In town about three blocks from his office. They bought a historical home. Mrs. Petrie’s other interest is antiques and restorations.”
“I remember seeing it. I liked it myself, but three stories wasn’t practical for us. So you’ve saved a local bit of history from further deterioration, as well. That should provide some job satisfaction.”
“I liken it to the pebble-skipping-across-calm-water metaphor. The ripples expand and sometimes merge. You get to see lives touching lives here.”
“Well put. Unlike in the vast sea of Dallas where a pebble vanishes amid all the other frenetic motion going on,” he drawled.
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