That would be the easiest solution, but it had its drawbacks. “Tempting, but I’d just as soon eat here. If I brought the food with me, I wouldn’t be able to divide it into enough pieces to share it equally.”
She stared at him. That had to be the strangest comment she’d ever heard about eating one of her meals. What was he talking about?
“You’ve lost me,” she told Shane honestly. “Are you feeding something?” It sounded as though he was working with pets or at least some kind of animal. “Because I can certainly give you more than just a regular portion to take with you—”
“Stop,” he ordered before she continued any further down the wrong path. “You’re way too generous, Cris, but even an extralarge portion still wouldn’t be enough.”
Just what was he planning on feeding? “You realize you’re making me incredibly curious.”
As a rule, Cris didn’t believe in prying—what people did was their own business. But Shane was scattering just enough tasty bread crumbs before a hungry woman to make her ravenous for more.
He grinned at her. “And yet, you’re not asking questions,” he marveled. She had always been an unusual person, Shane recalled with more than a touch of admiration.
“Well, if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me—although,” Cris had to admit in all honesty, “I really do wish you would.”
Again he laughed, intuiting what was likely going on in her mind.
“It’s actually a lot less exciting than you’re probably imagining,” he told Cris. “I volunteer at a homeless shelter two, three evenings a week—more if I’m between jobs,” he confided. “I fix things at the shelter that break down, do whatever heavy lifting might be needed—literally and otherwise,” he tacked on before she could inquire. “In general, I pitch in wherever a body is needed. Kind of like ‘a jack of all trades, master of none’ thing,” he finished.
She took exception to how Shane just naturally played himself down. “I have a feeling you’re good at all,” she told him honestly. An idea hit her. She knew she didn’t have to run it past her father—or Alex, who were both very big on charity and doing their share. “I tell you what. Every night when I close down the kitchen, there’s usually leftover good food that we don’t use the next day—like the bread I bake and some of the extra portions of food. Once they’ve been served in the dining area, we’re not allowed to put them back into our refrigerator to serve the next day. Why don’t I set those items aside and on the days you go to the shelter, you can take them with you. Just give me a heads-up on the days you volunteer.”
He considered her offer less than a moment. “Well, I pass by the shelter on my way home from here. I can drop off your donation every night if you’re really serious.”
She thought that an odd way for him to word his acceptance. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?” she wanted to know, puzzled.
“Sorry, just my basic wariness rising to the surface.” He had to remember who he was dealing with. Cris had always struck him as one of the “good ones.”
“I deal with a lot of people whose favorite phrase is ‘the check’s in the mail’ when it isn’t. I tend to forget that there are really honest, decent people like you and your family around.”
That there were gave him hope, the will to continue in a world made suddenly and painfully empty three years ago. He was just now finding his way again, finding how to rebuild himself and be whole once more.
Shane also realized that he liked working at the inn, liked interacting with Cris and her entire family. He was getting a kick out of her son. He’d have to be careful not to allow that to influence him. If he wasn’t alert, his feelings might unconsciously cause him to slow down so he could continue working in this atmosphere, soaking in these people’s company.
The compliment he’d just paid Cris and her family caused Cris to blush. She sensed her cheeks growing warm. Which meant they were already turning pink.
There were moments when she would have killed for a darker complexion, she thought wistfully.
It was really time to retreat—before she started guiding in ships from the sea with her glowing cheeks. “Well, I’d better be getting back to the kitchen and start making dinner.” She paused one last time, cocking her head. “You’ll stop by?” she asked, realizing that the matter really hadn’t been settled.
“I’d be a fool not to.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Cris declared, turning on her heel.
Cris heard Shane humming “What A Wonderful World” as he raised his mask again to cover his mouth and nose then lowered the goggles he’d had on when she’d walked into the work area.
Cris smiled without realizing it as she hurried back to the kitchen.
* * *
CRIS GLANCED AT her watch again. She’d lost count of how many times she had looked at it in the past half hour. Right now, it was a little past six o’clock and neither Stevi nor Andy had ducked into the kitchen to tell her Shane was in the dining area.
Where was he?
If he planned on being at the homeless shelter at seven, that didn’t leave him much time to eat and get there... That was when she realized she had no idea where this homeless shelter was located.
Also, as a volunteer, Shane didn’t punch a time clock, she reminded herself. He could be a few minutes late getting there—if he ever got here first.
You’re spending way too much time thinking about something you have no business thinking about, Cris upbraided herself.
But in a way, she knew why she was fixating on Shane. Seeing him after all these years reminded her of a far simpler time. A time when life, with all its promises, lay before her, fresh and new. A time before the scaly hand of death had twisted her heart from her chest. In short, a time when innocence still surrounded her and anything was possible because ugliness had not yet reared its head in her world.
And, she had to admit, when she saw Shane playing with Ricky, it also reminded her of what her life could have been like if Mike had returned from his tour of duty on his own power rather than lying in a coffin.
“That is the fifth time in the past few minutes I have heard you sigh,” Jorge, her assistant, observed. “Is everything all right?” he wanted to know, concerned.
“I can’t breathe,” she told him, the less-than-truthful reason coming automatically to her lips. “Allergies,” she added for good measure.
Jorge stopped stirring the giant pot of potatoes he’d already mashed, now warming to perfection, and reached beneath the white tunic he always wore while in the kitchen. He extracted a small rectangular package from his pocket and held it out to her.
“Here, have one,” he urged. “I take two a day for my allergies. They say to take one, but that doesn’t work for the whole day,” he told her. When she made no effort to reach for the small, over-the-counter medication from him, Jorge held it closer to her. “C’mon, try it, Miss Cris,” he coaxed.
Embarrassed
