Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
A manda got ready to go over to Connor’s, still questioning her decision but knowing she never could have refused Brooklyn’s pleas. Connor would just have to get over himself. And she liked his sister. She was so friendly and nice. Quite the opposite of her surly brother.
She selected a bottle of pinot noir to bring with her. Gathering her courage—which was silly because she was just going to a neighbor’s house for dinner—she crossed the distance to Connor’s cottage.
She knocked on the door and Brooklyn tugged it open and threw herself into a hug. “You came. Yay. We’re gonna have the best dinner ever. And Momma makes the best spaghetti too. You’ll love it.”
Brooklyn grabbed her hand and tugged her inside, dragging her into the kitchen. Megan stood at the stove, stirring the sauce. The enticing aroma of onions, garlic, and a hint of oregano filtered through the cottage.
“You made it. Great.” Megan flashed her a smile.
Connor lounged against the counter, a noncommittal expression on his face.
“I brought some red wine.” She held up the bottle.
“Oh, that was thoughtful. Connor, will you open it and pour us some?”
He scowled as he took the bottle from her and turned away. But not before she heard him mutter under his breath. “More of a beer drinker, myself.”
Megan shot her brother a pointed glare, but he ignored it and busied himself with the task of opening the wine. Amanda shifted self-consciously as the tension in the room clung to all of them like a soaked blanket.
“I set the table,” Brooklyn piped up, cutting through the awkwardness. “And Uncle Connor doesn’t have placemats like we have at home. He should have some, shouldn’t he?” The girl looked up expectantly.
“Uh…” Amanda hesitated. How should she answer that? Connor was already plainly displeased with her presence. She couldn’t imagine critiquing his table settings on top of that.
“I told Momma we should get some for him for his birthday,” Brooklyn continued, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.
“That would be a nice gift.” She glanced over at Connor, but his back was to her.
He finally turned around and handed a glass of wine to Megan and one to her. He pulled his hand back so quickly when he handed it to her that she almost dropped the glass. He strode over to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and popped the top. Then he lounged back against the counter, taking a long swig as if to prove his point.
She stifled a sigh. It looked like she could do nothing to please this man. She took a sip of the wine but its rich, vibrant flavors did little to soothe the knots in her stomach. She had half-hoped that coming here for dinner would break down the wall to Connor’s gruff exterior. But as each moment crept by, the wall between them grew higher and more impenetrable.
“Amanda, why don’t you take a seat? I just have to drain the spaghetti noodles and take up the sauce. And Connor, will you grab the salad out of the fridge?” Megan’s cheerful voice forced its way through the brittle friction in the room.
Grateful for the distraction, she took a seat as Megan served up dinner. Connor sat directly across from her, his expression a careful mask of neutral indifference.
“So, how is the festival coming along?” Megan asked after everyone filled their plates.
“Pretty well. I have most of the things nailed down. Still need to get more for the art show.” She deliberately didn’t look at Connor when she said that. “And if the fundraiser at Beverly’s raises enough, I’m hoping to have a fireworks display as the grand finale of the festival.”
“Fireworks. I love fireworks.” Brooklyn bounced in her chair, almost spilling her milk. Megan steadied the glass.
“I do too. There were fireworks when I went to the festival a long time ago. I was just a few years older than you are. I’d love to bring them back and recreate the magic for a new generation.”
“If Uncle Connor gives you one of his carvings, I bet it would sell for a million dollars. Then we could have fireworks.” She bounced in her chair again.
“Uh…” Connor had a deer-in-the-headlights look as he scrambled to turn down Brooklyn’s request.
“Uncle Connor, you’ll do that, won’t you? We want fireworks at the end of the festival, don’t we? And Momma will let me stay up late and watch them, won’t you, Momma?” Brooklyn turned those pleading eyes on Connor.
Megan smothered a smile as she looked over at Connor, then turned to Brooklyn. “Yes, fireworks would be wonderful, honey. I agree.”
“So, you will give her one, right?” Brooklyn pinned Connor with a non-wavering look.
Connor let out a long, resigned sigh. “Yes, I’ll donate a carving. I don’t think it will bring in quite a million dollars though, Princess.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“It will, you’ll see.” Brooklyn jumped and gave him a hug.
He wrapped his arms around her and still couldn’t quite hide his smile. Brooklyn sat back down. “It’s gonna be the bestest festival ever.”
Watching Connor interact with his niece gave Amanda a tiny hope that the man would one day soften. Maybe. Or maybe it was just her who rubbed him the wrong way.
They finished their meals with Connor mostly remaining silent save for the occasional yes or no answer if he was asked something directly. She couldn’t help but notice the annoyed glares Megan was throwing toward her brother.
As they stood, Amanda offered to help with the dishes. “No, I’ll get them,” Connor insisted, taking her plate from her hands.
She wasn’t sure if he was being helpful or just wanted her to leave. “Okay, then I guess I’ll be going. I have a busy day tomorrow getting the fundraiser set up.”
“I’m glad you came, Miss Amanda.” Brooklyn hugged her tightly.
“I had a really nice time.” She hugged her back, basking in the little girl’s enthusiasm and affection.
“Brookie, time to go get ready for bed.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.” Megan gave her daughter a no-nonsense look.
“Ooooo-kaaaay.” Brooklyn’s shoulders slumped as she trudged from the kitchen toward the bedroom.
“Connor, you should walk Amanda back to her cottage.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She looked quickly over at Connor. He looked relieved at her words.
Megan walked her to the door. “Thanks for coming. And I can’t wait to come back for the festival. Brooklyn is so excited. It’s really wonderful all you’re doing for the town and the festival.”
“Part of it is selfish. I want to recreate the festival that I remember from all those years ago.”
Megan smiled. “And I have no doubt you will.”
Connor methodically scrubbed each plate, the rhythmic motion a soothing balm for his chaotic thoughts. He carefully placed each item in the dishwasher. The faint sound of bedtime stories being read filtered down the hallway.
Megan returned to the kitchen and sank wearily onto a chair. “I read her three books, and she still wanted more. I think she’s just wound up from all the excitement of being here. And she can’t quit talking about the festival. I hope it’s okay if we come back for it.”
“Of course it is. You know I love having you two here.” He started the dishwasher, and it hummed to life before he crossed over to sit across from his sister. He could tell by the look on Megan’s face she had something on her mind. And he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it. Distracting her seemed like a better option. “Your spaghetti really is the best, you know.”
“You want to talk about food. I want to talk about… Amanda.”
“Why?” His voice was sharper than he intended.
“Because I like her. And I’m glad you gave in to Brookie’s pleading and offered to donate one of your carvings. I hate how you keep all of your beautiful art tucked away in your workshop.”
“Can we not discuss this, Megs?”
“Not discuss Amanda or not discuss your art?”
“Both. Let’s not discuss either one.”
Megan leaned forward, ignoring his remark. “I think it’s great that Amanda is jumping in to help make sure the festival happens this year.”
“I thought we weren’t talking about Amanda.”
“No, you thought we weren’t talking about you. I’m talking about her. You should be friendlier toward her.”
“I’m friendly,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Megan laughed. “As if. And you barely said a word during dinner.”
“The three of you had enough words for everyone.”
His gruff, defensive manner didn’t fool her. She reached out and gently touched his arm. “Connor, I don’t know why you act like this. All gruff and grumpy. Because you’re really not like that. You’re kind and generous. Or you used to be before you decided to become this reclusive artist.”
He sighed. So much for not talking about his art, either. “I just like my solitude, Megs. Like to work alone. And… well, I’m pretty much done with showing my artwork. I can’t believe I gave in to Brooklyn. Those eyes of hers. Who can say no to them? And I felt like if I said no, I would be personally responsible if she didn’t get to see her fireworks.”
“You would have been.” Megan’s lips twitched as she tried to hide her smile.
“I just hope they raise enough, or it all will be for nothing.”
Megan’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand. “You know, Connor, someday you’re going to have to get over it and put it behind you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, hesitating before answering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But, of course, he did. But they sure weren’t going to talk about that . Not now. Not ever.