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Mollie brought clean cups. “Chocolate’s all gone, but the coffee’s fresh and free. Enjoy.”
“So, about this adventure. What would you like to do?” Tucker sipped his coffee, then gave it a suspicious look. “This might keep me awake.”
Libby gave the question some thought. “I’d like to go skiing. I’ve never done that. I mean—it is winter.”
“I noticed that. The snow was a dead giveaway.” He nodded, his lips pursed as if he were in deep thought. “What else?”
“Parasailing. Zip-lining. Niagara Falls. Go to a casino with a whole two hundred dollars I don’t mind losing. Can you imagine that? I’ve whined over a twenty before.” She leaned in close again and whispered into his good ear. “Skinny-dipping. Of course, I’d wear a swimsuit, because I wouldn’t want to scare the fish or anything.”
He squinted at her. “It’s not skinny-dipping if you wear a swimsuit.”
She straightened, offended. “It is if I say it is.”
He started to answer but must have thought better of it and nodded.
“What’s your birthday wish?” She took a drink of coffee, reflecting that it tasted better than the chocolate had. Maybe she wasn’t meant to drink alcohol. Although that buzz—which was already settling down into a quiet little hum—was kind of fun.
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
He shrugged. “Okay. But I’ve never told anyone this.” He raised a peremptory finger. “Don’t laugh, either. You know how easily I cry.”
She snorted. She could count on one hand the times she’d seen him cry, not counting when they were in the same room in nearby Sawyer Hospital’s newborn nursery—and anything she said about that would be pure conjecture. The last time had been at Arlie and Jack’s impromptu engagement party only a few days before. Libby had been the one who brought him to tears, and she’d loved it. “Let’s hear it, big boy. Your secret will be safe with me.”
After clearing his throat, finishing his coffee and clearing his throat again, he said, “I want to get married. I want to have a kid. I want to buy a house that’s just a house—you know, four bedrooms, two baths and a basketball hoop in the driveway. With a garage that’s too full of sports equipment and garden tools to get the cars in it.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You have the Alba...the Hall. It’s a mansion. Why do you want a house?”
“You can call it the Albatross—Jack and I do. We both hate it, but I’m the one stuck living in it since Grandmother died in the spring. We’re thinking about selling the whole estate. That’s what I wanted to talk to Marie about this morning—she’s a Realtor.”
“Oh.” Libby was a little pleased by that, although she couldn’t have said why. “So, why don’t you do all that? You’re rich. You always have a beautiful girlfriend. Or more than one.” She grinned at him. “You know where babies come from.”
“No.” His voice was quiet suddenly. Serious. “I want to love somebody, Lib. I don’t have to be completely over-the-top about it, but I want to care about someone and have a family with her. I want her to care about me and having kids and maybe planting flowers. Someone’s gotta use those garden tools in the garage.” He smiled as widely and charmingly as ever, but his eyes remained solemn. “I’m thirty-four—no one knows that any better than you, since you’re even older than I am—and if I’m going to umpire my kids’ baseball games, I need to do it before my knees give out. I don’t want to wait on the kid thing.”
“What if this woman you care about has a career? What then?”
He put an arm around her shoulders and spoke patiently, just as though she were a small and not-too-bright child. “I do believe two-career families flourish all over the world, even on the shores of Lake Miniagua, Indiana.”
“What if she doesn’t want kids?” What if this woman he cared about was like Libby? She wasn’t going to think about that. Not on her birthday. Or his. For this day, her secret would just stay in the dark place she kept it.
He hesitated, and she sensed his withdrawal. It was as if a cold breeze shot between them, leaving gooseflesh on her arm.
When he spoke, his voice was stiff, as chilly as the air outside the windows that looked out over the six hundred frozen acres of Lake Miniagua. “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. You asked me what my wish was, and that was it.”
He had been her friend her whole life. When no one asked her to dance in the seventh grade, he had—and he’d seen to it his friends followed suit. When she’d had her appendix removed during freshman year, he’d brought her homework and helped her do it. Her mother died when she was fifteen, and he’d supported her through all the stages of grief—over and over again—until she could bear it. Her father’s suicide a few years later had thrown her right back into the maelstrom of mourning, and Tucker had been there for her again even though life had dealt him some hurts of his own.
He’d bought her the telescope that time. “See the stars?” he’d said. “They’re still there. Wish on them if you want, but they’re their own reward. No matter what happens, the stars will guide you to a safe place. You’ll be able to see Venus up close and talk to her whenever you like.” He’d never laughed at her assertion that Venus was indeed her guardian planet—and feminine in the bargain.
Seventeen years later, most of which he’d lived in Tennessee, she still wished on stars, talked to Venus and counted on Tucker to be there if she needed him. The least she could do was try to make this one wish come true for him.
“I’ll help.” She nodded and smiled thanks at Mollie when the bartender topped off their cups. “I’ll introduce you to women. I know you better than most anyone, and I see people every day. What are your specs?”
“My what?” The coolness was gone, but now he looked befuddled.
“You know, specifications. Blonde? Brunette? How old?”
He shrugged, and she knew the I-don’t-care gesture was legitimate. While Tucker had dated a lot of beautiful women, he’d dated even more who weren’t.
“You know me as well as I know myself,” he said. “If you want to play matchmaker, I’ll go along for...oh, say six months. Provided.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Provided?”
“Provided we use the same six months for me to grant your wish. You introduce me to prospective wives and mothers to my children and I’ll introduce you to adventure. What do you say?”
She arrowed a look at him. “I say you had one too many of those hot chocolates.”
“Hey, if I know anything, it’s adventure. That’s why when Jack and I divided up the CEO job at Llewellyn’s Lures, I got all the travel parts. Even when I headquartered at the Tennessee plant, I traveled to Michigan at least a half dozen times a year. That meant I stopped at all points in between just in case I’d missed something along the way.”
“I can’t travel. I can’t afford it, for one thing, and I have the tearoom, for another—which I’m going to enlarge this year by making the carriage house into a smallish event center. I need my adventures to be of the cheap, two-hour variety.”
“You have Sundays and Mondays off and an assistant manager who’d love to have some time in there without her micromanaging boss.”
As much as Libby hated to admit it, that part was probably true. Neely Warren had owned her own tearoom in Michigan before retiring to the lake with her husband a few years before. She’d been one of Libby’s most loyal customers, and when her husband asked for a divorce, Neely asked Libby for a job. Libby had agreed hesitantly, but it had been one of the best decisions she’d ever made.
“All right,” Libby said cautiously. “Let’s try it. You need to come to my church tomorrow. There’s someone there I want you to ask out. She’s a single mom, and she’s really nice. She has a beautiful garden, so I’m sure she likes planting flowers, too. I’ve never been to her house, but if it doesn’t have the four-and-two combination, you can buy a new one.”
“Tomorrow is New Year’s Day. It’s my birthday.” He looked at the clock behind the bar. “Well, actually, it’s already my birthday. I think people should sing to me again.”
“It’s also Sunday. St. Paul’s has never yet closed due to hangovers within its congregation. And you don’t need to be sung to anymore.”
He sighed so deeply she felt its vibration in the arm that lay alongside hers. She got gooseflesh again. “Okay. Fine. Ten o’clock service?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet. The Grill would close soon, and Jack and Arlie already had their coats on.
“I’ll be there.” Tuck finished his coffee and stood, holding her coat for her to slide her arms into. “Ground rules. I won’t hold you responsible if you introduce me to entirely unsuitable women—”
She planted her hands on her hips, her coat hanging loose from one shoulder. “I would never—”
He talked right over her, tucking her arm into the empty sleeve. “—and you won’t screech and get all girly when I choose adventures. Shall we shake on it?”
She extended her hand, then snatched it back. “I never screech.” Except for that time there had been bats in the attic of the tearoom and Tuck and Jesse had come to get them out. She’d cowered under a table in one of the dining rooms. Screeching the whole time.
“Then you won’t have a problem agreeing not to.” Tuck grinned at her, and she knew he was remembering the bat incident. The fact that he didn’t mention it was only one of the things that endeared him to her.
“Okay.” She slipped her hand into his, her breath catching a little at the warmth of his touch. They might have been just friends forever, but he was still an attractive guy and she was a girl who hadn’t had a boyfriend for a while. She withdrew her hand, pulling on her gloves. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right.”
“Actually, you’ll see each other in the car. Arlie’s the designated driver, remember?” Jack, a bearded, glasses-wearing replica of his ten-months-younger brother, grasped Tuck’s scarf and towed him along, gesturing for Libby to precede them toward the door.
When they reached Seven Pillars, Tucker walked Libby to the back door. “Happy birthday, older-than-me.” He scrubbed a hand through her hair, which she’d worn down for the occasion. The friction created sparks.
“Happy birthday, sweet young thing.”
He hugged her, then kissed her cheek. She thought she felt a few more sparks, but that must have been leftover effects of the hot chocolate. Had to have been.
“Tomorrow, after church and once I meet your friend, you and I are taking off.” He smiled cheerfully. “You’ll want to dress warm and bring an overnight bag.”
Libby’s mouth dropped open, although she didn’t realize it until his tap on her chin prompted her to close it. “Overnight bag?”
“Yup.” He winked. “The adventure begins.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_2ca9c05c-a7c9-5a2b-9b74-abdce3dd9306)
“CHEMISTRY? HOW CAN you possibly know there was no chemistry? You talked for all of two minutes in the fellowship room.” Libby sat sideways in the passenger seat of Tucker’s Camaro, her hands lifted in supplication. “It was barely long enough to exchange phone numbers.” And how could anyone female possibly be with Tucker and not feel chemistry? Other than herself, of course. She never felt anything—the sparks the day before had been purely imaginary. Even if they hadn’t been, the knowledge that he wanted kids and that he would drive her insane within minutes was enough to put out any fires.
“Which we did not do, because her kid bit me.” Tuck held out his hand to show Libby the barely visible teeth marks. For the third time. “Fasten your seat belt.”
“It is fastened. He probably felt threatened.”
“After he bit me, he called me something I’d have gotten my mouth washed out for saying when I was in high school, for heaven’s sake. Then he threw his cookie on the floor and stomped on it. Calling me a name is one thing, but wasting one of Gianna Gallagher’s cookies is just ridiculous. I’m pretty sure I saw Father Doherty cross himself.”
Libby rolled her eyes. “He’s a priest. That’s his job.”
Tuck snorted. “He did it to keep himself from hiding the rest of the cookies.”
“What did Allison do?”
“Nothing. She said it was nice to meet me but that it probably wasn’t a good idea right now. I agreed. We smiled pleasantly and I ate another cookie. I must admit your church has excellent cookies and coffee.”
“Doesn’t yours?” She knew it did—she’d been there with him.
“I don’t know. When I do make it there, I’m usually late. I sort of slip in after everyone’s done shaking hands and sit in the back pew.”
“Where are we going?” She frowned when he turned onto the highway heading south.
“You’ll see.”
“You do realize I’m hungry, right? Do I get lunch on this adventure?”
“How long do you think you can wait before you expire from hunger?”
“Probably about ten minutes.” She gave him a pointed look. “If there’d been any cookies left by the time I finished applying first aid salve to your hand, I probably wouldn’t be that hungry.”
“Think so, huh? Well, then.” He turned the car sharply so that her shoulder bounced against his.
“What are we doing here?” She frowned at the Hall as he drove around to the back of it. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in the Llewellyn mansion, although she probably knew every inch of its grounds. Tucker and Jack’s grandmother had never welcomed their friends inside.
“Having lunch.”
“You’re cooking?” As far as she knew, Tucker’s culinary skills started and ended with microwave popcorn and takeout menus.
“No. Even my sense of adventure has limits.”
By the time she had her seat belt unfastened, Tucker was opening her door for her. She stared at him. “What’s this? The last time you opened a door for me was when I fell out of a tree and broke my arm.”
“I had to then. It was our tree and I felt guilty because I might have pushed you a little. Now I’m doing it because it’s part of the adventure.” He led the way to the back door of the huge house and opened it for her, too. “Don’t get used to it.”
The kitchen of the Hall was outdated and gloomy, even more than the one at Seven Pillars had been before Libby gutted it. Frowning at the worn linoleum, she was glad she didn’t have to cook here. “I thought you had the Hall remodeled last year.”
“We did, but we left the kitchen so that whoever ended up buying the hall could oversee its design.” He pushed open a door to their left. “This is the breakfast room, but the dining room is a nightmare in formality, so we’re eating here.”
“Oh.” The space was charming, with yellow walls, white-painted trim and a hardwood floor. A small round table sat in front of the large mullioned window, dressed in white linen and set with what Libby was certain was Royal Copenhagen china and sterling silver flatware. Not that she had anything like it at the tearoom.
“Have a seat.” Tucker pulled out a chair for her, then sat across the table. “Colby, one of the college kids who works summers and vacations at the plant, is studying culinary arts, and this semester is French cuisine. I think today we are his term paper. He was hiding in the pantry when we came in and will be serving any minute now. Wine?” He held up the bottle at his elbow. “It’s not French. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all.” Libby recognized the label from Sycamore Hill, the local winery. She served their wine at private parties in the tearoom, but beyond the specifications of red and white, she didn’t know one from another. “Actually.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Actually?”
“I’d rather have ice water. With lemon.”
His eyes lit, and his smile broadened. “I thought maybe. Wait here.”
He was back in a couple of minutes, carrying two glasses and a pitcher of ice water garnished with lemon slices. “Colby assured me that drinking l’eau glacée avec citron with our meal wouldn’t lower his grade.”
“Well, I’m impressed. The only French I know is merci beaucoup, which I only know because the French teacher at the high school comes to the tearoom for lunch every Saturday and she says that. Quiche is a French word, too, and I say that a lot. Every now and then someone will say ‘kwitchee,’ and I’ll have to stop myself from doing that the rest of the day.”
“Don’t be too impressed. Colby had to say it to me three times before I got it even close to right—he kept flinching at my pronunciation—and I couldn’t repeat it now. ‘Kwitchee’ works well for me.”
The food and presentation were excellent. The student was earnest in his descriptions of the appetizer, the soup, the main course and the dessert. His service was impeccable. Although he was respectful, he wasn’t obsequious. The experience made Libby wish aloud that she’d taken classes instead of poring over cookbooks and using her friends as guinea pigs when she developed Seven Pillars’s menu.
Tucker stayed her hands when she started to stack dishes. “Leave them. You’re the guest today, and it may be the last time—surely to heaven someone will buy the Albatross soon. Let’s get going on our first adventure.”
Back in the car after heaping praise and a substantial tip on Colby, Tucker headed north and east. “Why didn’t you take classes?” He frowned at the hovering clouds.
She shrugged, thinking back to those putting-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other days. “Jess was out of the navy, but still in vet school. We’d just sold part of the farm’s acreage to the Grangers for the winery and were finally out from under the threat of foreclosure. I was still living on the farm and managing the dairy, but I hated every minute of it. I only intended to stay until he finished school and came back there to live, but one weekend when he was home, he found the realty poster for the house on Main Street. It wasn’t a tearoom then, just a grand old lady who needed some new clothes, but I had all the plans written out for making it one.” She laughed, remembering. “I had a business plan, too, written in longhand in a spiral-bound notebook, and even paint chips for the outside and the trim. I’d never even been inside the house, but it was my dream and Jesse knew that. He suggested we sell the cows and invest the profit in Seven Pillars. Inside of a week, that’s what we’d done. I suppose I should have given things more time and more thought, but it had been rough since my mother died. I couldn’t wait to start a new life.”
She stopped. “Why did I just tell you that? You were there for the worst of it.” Tuck had been there with her the whole way, flying home from wherever he was at the time on weekends to scrape and steam wallpaper until he swore he’d never get either the paste or the moisture-induced curl out of his hair.
“I was,” he agreed. “But you never let anyone see how bad things were. You just kept laughing.”
“That was how I kept going. Jesse just clammed up. I couldn’t do that—I’d have gone out of my mind—so I stayed social and laughed a lot.” She smiled at him. “It’s a tactic you recognize.”
She didn’t have to say more. Of course he recognized it. It was a coping mechanism they shared. There was more to her story, too—things Tucker didn’t know. And she wanted to keep it that way.
“Where are we going?” Libby loved farmland, but she saw it every day—Lake Miniagua sat smack in the middle of it. Driving through it wasn’t all that adventurous.
