life. She wasn’t sure how well the dog would adapt to a new environment, but the moment Grace brought her into the house, it was as if Buttercup recognized it as her home and prepared to settle in.
“Well, Buttercup,” she said, releasing her from the leash. “What do you think?”
With her tail wagging, the golden retriever examined each room, paused in the middle of the living room and then jumped into the old recliner that had been Dan’s chair. Dark eyes watching Grace, she rested her chin on her paws.
Grace couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. Of all the places for Buttercup to claim as her own, she’d chosen Dan’s chair. Somehow she’d instinctively known that space was available.
“We’re going to be good friends, aren’t we, Buttercup?” Grace murmured to the dog.
This, too, Buttercup appeared to understand.
Grace poured herself a cup of coffee, reached for a crossword puzzle book and settled down in the chair next to that of her newfound friend and companion.
Life continued without Dan. He’d apparently found someone else and—Grace smiled over at Buttercup—so had she.
Eighteen
Olivia felt good. Better than good. She felt confident, successful, at the height of her powers. She’d put in a fabulous day in court, and, since summer was now apparently in full bloom, she intended to enjoy what remained of her afternoon.
This was perfect weather for sitting at a café along the waterfront and enjoying a bottle of wine and some delectable Hood Canal shrimp. She could think of no one she’d enjoy doing that with more than Jack Griffin.
He’d proved to be delightful company. In the three weeks since the Fourth of July picnic, they’d attended a political rally, on which Jack had written an article. Then she’d tagged along while he interviewed the lady who crocheted beautiful tablecloths for the Saturday Farmers’ Market. That article had appeared in Wednesday’s edition of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. Last Friday night, Jack had taken her to dinner at Willcox House, a B-and-B in Seabeck that Bob and Peggy Beldon had recommended. The house boasted a room Clark Gable had once stayed in, and the food was incredible. Once again, Jack was writing an article. It was high time they went out just for pleasure, she decided, instead of combining it with business.
Leaning back in her office chair, she reached for the phone and punched out his number. “Hi,” she said when he picked up.
“Hi, yourself. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her.
“I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“I promise you it will be.” Olivia loved the banter between them.
Jack chuckled. “I can hardly wait. What do you have in mind?”
“Close your eyes,” she whispered seductively. “Think of sitting out on the Cove.”
“Am I with anyone?” he interrupted.
“Naturally. You’re with me.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Jack!”
“Well, it’s important.”
She sighed in mock annoyance. The teasing was all part of the Jack she enjoyed most. “Okay. I’ve got on a sleeveless top and walking shorts, a big sun hat and dark glasses.”
“I like you in dark glasses. They make you look mysterious.”
She laughed; there wasn’t a thing mysterious about her—certainly not her growing attraction to him.
“Next, consider the background music.”
“Dire Straits? Guns n’ Roses? Red Hot Chili Peppers?”
“No,” she said with a beleaguered sigh. “I was thinking more along the lines of Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, Henry Mancini.”
“Barry Manilow? Please, not Barry Manilow.”
“I happen to like Barry Manilow,” she chided.
Now it was his turn to sigh. “I don’t know if there’s hope for this relationship.”
“All right, we’ll compromise on the music.”
“If you like Manilow, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Okay, Eric Clapton,” she suggested.
“Bob Dylan’s better. Agreed?”
“All right. May I continue?”
“Go ahead,” he urged, as if she’d been the one holding up the proceedings.
“We’re together on the Cove watching the sun set, music is playing softly in the background and we’re sipping glasses of wine.” She hesitated, certain he was about to launch into a discussion regarding the wine. “Do we need to argue about the wine, too?”
“No,” he assured her, “you choose.”
“All right. A nice fruity Gewürztraminer.”
“Hmm. Isn’t that a little sweet? Are you sure you wouldn’t be interested in something—”
“I thought we weren’t going to argue about the wine. You can drink what you want and I’ll drink what I want.”
“Fine with me.” He was certainly amicable all of a sudden.
“A waiter appears with a menu,” she went on.
“If the menu’s got tassels, I can’t afford to eat there.”
“No tassels.”
“Good.” Jack said immediately. “Now, did the waiter bring the bread basket yet? I’m getting hungry.”
“Don’t rush him, we’re still enjoying our wine.”
“While you’re drinking the wine, I want the warm bread and butter.”
“You’re making this difficult, Jack.”
“Okay, okay, continue, but I should tell you I worked through lunch today, so if you’re going to start listing the specials of the day, I’ll have to make a run to the candy machine.”
Olivia heard drawers opening and closing. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I’m looking for something to eat.” A grumbling sound followed his explanation. “The best I could come up with was a roll of Tums.”
“Poor baby. I guess that means you don’t want to hear about the seafood fettuccini, dripping with spicy shrimp, seared scallops and bits of lobster, stirred together in a creamy Alfredo
