bitterly. No, it had been ripped away from him.
She finished speaking, and her expectant gaze met his. “Does that sound agreeable?”
“Uh, sure. Yes, very agreeable.” He rubbed the stubble along his jaw. “Now, if that will be all, I’ve got work to do.”
Tilting her head to one side, she arched a single brow in a way that dispelled the illusion of youth. She clearly suspected he hadn’t heard one word. “It’s been a while since we’ve offered fish. Would you have time today to catch us some? I could fry it up tomorrow and serve it with corn bread, snap beans and coleslaw.”
She’d requested his input before, but nothing that required action. “You want me to go fishing?”
“I think folks will enjoy a fish fry, don’t you?”
He shrugged and, leaving the drink on his desk, wandered over to the window. Using his handkerchief, he rubbed clean a saucer-sized circle. The alley between his establishment and the post office didn’t see much foot traffic. The other building’s exterior log wall dominated much of the view. Above the roofline, a brilliant blue strip of sky was visible.
“It’s a gorgeous day,” she enthused. “There’s a consistent breeze that eases the sun’s heat and carries with it the remnants of summer. The humidity is low. Doesn’t feel like rain, either. I—”
“Fine. You’ll have your fish.”
At her silence, Alexander turned in hopes she’d quit the room. Instead, she’d abandoned her chair to take up position in the middle of his office, her person a study in grays and browns broken only by faint strokes of pink on the apple of her cheeks and a rosebud mouth that was, in its delicate perfection, her one intriguing feature.
Startled by the thought, he said in clipped tones, “We’re finished here, are we not?”
“Before I start on the noon meal, I’d like to show you something in the dining room.”
Emitting a resigned sigh, he gestured with an impatient flick of his fingers for her to lead the way. The sooner he listened to her concerns, the sooner he’d be rid of her.
* * *
To most folks, Alexander Copeland was an irascible recluse who couldn’t be bothered with his customers’ needs or wants. In the brief time Ellie had worked for him, she’d come to the conclusion that he was a hurting soul who desperately needed a friend. Someone to gently nudge him from the nest like a baby bird.
In the spacious dining room, she watched him pace restlessly from one window to the next, his remote blue gaze surveying the various aspects of Main Street. The café was currently closed for the two-hour break between breakfast and the noon meal, an opportune time to broach the subject of sprucing up the place.
He ceased his restless movements and directed his full attention to her. Despite his recent health problems, Alexander Copeland cut a commanding figure. Over six feet tall, he favored austere, formal clothing at odds with his tousled, collar-length raven hair and habit of shaving every third or fourth day. His features were classically handsome. His light blue eyes were ringed with darker blue and fringed with lush black lashes any girl would envy. Noting how his black vest shot through with silver threads over an ice-blue shirt complemented his coloring, she recalled the gauntness of his appearance upon his return from the doctor’s not so long ago. Sensitive to others’ suffering, she was grateful he was following his prescribed diet. While he could stand to gain a bit more weight, he was well on the way to complete recovery—physically, anyway. Whatever tormented his mind remained—that much was obvious.
“What is it that requires my personal attention?”
Arms stiff at his sides, he looked around the room, his gaze snagging on the back wall and the large blackboard where she’d written the day’s menu. Did he disapprove of her drawings? Or perhaps it was the Bible verse she’d included? According to her assistant, Flo Olufsen, Mr. Copeland hadn’t darkened the doorstep of the church since his arrival.
“It’s the curtains, sir.” Ellie indicated the maroon draperies that should’ve been replaced years ago. “They’re in bad shape, as are the tablecloths. Their appearance gives a poor impression of the state of the restaurant.”
There were twelve tables in total, all rectangular in shape. Four windows overlooked the street and two windows flanked the fireplace on the alley side. Alexander inspected the cloth on the table closest to him. When his finger pierced the worn material and opened up a hole, his face puckered in bewilderment. Ellie couldn’t squelch a giggle.
He straightened immediately, his mouth tightening.
Feeling chastened without him ever speaking a word, Ellie hurried to cover the gaffe. “I was thinking we should choose material of a lighter, neutral hue that would brighten the room,” she said. “Nothing too feminine, of course. And it would have to be sturdy. You won’t want to be replacing them every year.”
“You’ve given this a great deal of thought.”
“I want the Plum to be a place where folks feel comfortable. Somewhere they can be assured of a fresh, hot meal in an inviting environment.”
He skimmed his fingers along the mantel and inspected them. “Are you responsible for the cinder-free fireplaces?”
Thrown by the question, she said, “Sally and I did the work while you were indisposed.”
“It was your idea, though.”
“Yes.”
“And the windows? You scrubbed them, as well.”
“We did, yes.”
Folding his hands behind his back, he rocked on his heels. “For a new employee, you’re awfully committed to the success of my café. Neither Sally nor Flo, whom you might say I inherited from the former owner, have shown a thimbleful of the initiative you have. While I appreciate your commitment to excellence, I have to wonder at your motivation.”
His gaze probed hers and, for a wild moment, Ellie wondered if he might’ve guessed her secret. But that was silly. No one else in the entire world knew about the precious baby she carried.
“I need the work,” she stated baldly. “I happen to enjoy cooking for people. It’s a rare occurrence to find a paid position doing what you love. I’d like to keep it.”
“You’re a recent widow, I understand. My condolences.”
Ellie stammered out something unintelligible, her tongue suddenly tied. It was his first mention of her loss. She’d gotten the impression he expected her to burst into tears if he broached the subject. He’d be wrong.
Her marriage to Nolan Jameson had been fraught with difficulty and failed to be the loving union she’d hoped for. She had mourned his sudden passing but rejoiced at this unforeseen chance to finally be a mother, to have a child of her own to raise. Her last two pregnancies had ended in tragedy. She’d beseeched God morning, noon and night on behalf of this baby, praying this time would be different.
“Tell me, do you have someone in mind for the changes you’ve mentioned?”
“I’m a decent seamstress. I’d be happy to do it.”
