inside the refrigerator. “I try to avoid the stuff on the weekends because I live on it all week, but I can make a pot.”
“I’m a tea drinker, myself.”
“I have some tea bags.” She pushed the refrigerator door closed with her hip. “I’ll make you a cup.”
“Well, actually—do you have any iced tea?”
She stopped in front of him, a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. “Iced tea? At breakfast?”
“Lunch, dinner and bedtime, too.” His eyes twinkled, reminding her of Connor at his most mischievous.
“I don’t know how to make iced tea.”
“I could show you.”
“You make tea?”
“My daddy makes the best,” Ginny put in. “He learned from my grandmama. When our family gets together for a picnic, everybody wants Daddy to make the tea.”
Valerie gestured toward the pantry with the milk. “Well, clearly I’m in the presence of a master. Be my guest.”
By the time she’d scrambled eggs and broiled bacon, Rob had produced a pitcher of tea and Grace stood at the door to the kitchen with Connor behind her, blinking at their early guests. “Mom? What’s going on?”
“Good morning, sleepyheads. Come to the table. Mr. Warren and Ginny are here for breakfast, and then Mr. Warren is going to fix the locks on the doors.”
Not budging a step farther, Grace glanced at the back door. “Did that man come back?”
“No. No, he won’t come back. The police took him away, remember?”
“C’mon, dummy, move!” Connor pushed from behind and stomped past his stumbling sister into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.” In the middle of the room, though, he stopped short and pointed at Ginny. “She’s in my chair.”
Valerie nodded at the space next to Rob. “We brought in a new chair for you. Grace, come sit beside me.”
“I’m not sitting next to her.” Connor walked around to his usual place. “Give me my chair.”
Ginny stared at him with a challenge in her eyes. “No.”
“Ginny—” Rob started.
“Mommy,” Connor whined, “I want my chair.”
She took his hand and led him to the other side of the table. “You will sit here. Or you won’t eat.” Her son slouched into the disputed seat. With his arms crossed over his chest, his cheeks puffed and lower lip stuck out, he resembled a grouchy frog.
Ignoring him, Valerie looked at her daughter. “Come sit down, Grace, before the food gets cold.” After another moment of hesitation, Grace sidled in behind the table to sit next to her brother, who promptly blew a raspberry at her.
“Hey.” Rob’s hand closed over Connor’s shoulder. “That’s no fair.”
Connor turned his freckled face toward Rob. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t blow raspberries without a reason.”
“Who says?”
“It’s the rule.”
“Whose rule?”
“Everybody knows raspberries don’t count unless the other guy—or girl—did something to you first.” With a shrug, Rob sat back in his seat. “That’s the law of the land.”
With eyebrows lowered and lips pursed, Connor stared at him for a long time. At last, he turned to Valerie. “Can I have some eggs now?”
“Please,” she reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “Can I please have some eggs now?”
“Good man,” Rob told him with a grin.
Valerie watched as Connor started to smile back, then quickly reverted to his standard belligerent attitude. After a year of his moods, she’d begun to wonder if the cheerful little boy she’d once known would ever reappear. Thanks to Rob Warren, she now saw that he still lurked beneath the mask—daunted but not gone forever.
Once the kids cleared the table after breakfast, Ginny returned to her chair and Grace and Connor went to get dressed. Valerie attempted to load the dishwasher without Rob’s help.
“I can do that,” he insisted. “You cooked. I want to clean up.”
“I will finish the kitchen,” she said through gritted teeth. “Sit down and drink your tea or go for a walk around the block. But don’t stand here in my way.”
A knock at the front door forestalled his answer. She started to leave the kitchen, then turned back. “Don’t touch the dishwasher,” she warned. “Or heads will roll.”
He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Ginny and I will come along so you can keep an eye on me.”
“Good idea.” When she reached the door, she found two good-looking guys in shorts, T-shirts and sneakers standing on the porch.
The taller one spoke first. “Ms. Manion? I’m Dixon Bell, and this is Adam DeVries. Rob Warren gave us a call about your doors?”
Rob stepped up behind her. “About time y’all showed up. I was beginning to think I’d have to hang these doors by myself.”
“God f-forbid,” Adam DeVries said. “You’d never get them square.”
“Wait a minute.” Valerie shook her head. “I thought I read in the paper…saw somewhere…that the name of the mayor is DeVries.”
The dark-haired man smiled at her. “That’s me. And on b-behalf of New Skye, I’d like to w-welcome you and your f-family to the city. We’re glad to h-have you.” His gaze dropped to the doorknob and he scowled. “Although this is not at all the kind of reception you should have gotten. I’ll be talking to the police chief.”
“Adam owns a construction business,” Rob said over her shoulder. “And when he’s not putting down other people’s best efforts, he does a good job. Dixon has done a lot of restoration work on his own house, so he’s another one you can trust to get your doors hung right.”
She felt as if she was being swept along by a river of masculinity. “I really don’t want to bother you—”
“It’s no bother.” Dixon smiled, and she realized he was nearly as handsome as Rob, with a moonlight-and-magnolias accent all his own. “We’re glad to help a new neighbor.”
Adam pulled a tape measure out of his pocket and reached to the top of her door. “All we have to do is m-measure, then we can get the right-size d-doors and get on with the j-job.” The mayor seemed quieter than his friends, but his steady gaze was reassuring. Valerie decided he had her vote.
“We’ll
