Chapter Twelve
chapter-seperator
GWYNN PAUSED outside the kitchen door, Uncle Russ’s voice drifting through the crack as he romanticized his latest hunting trip.
Lord, please continue to blanket Cash’s vision, she prayed, imagining him with scales over his eyes like Paul on the road to Damascus. Let him not see who I was , but who I am.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen, her gaze drawn to where Cash relaxed against the counter in a button-up, midnight blue shirt tucked into black jeans over black cowboy boots. His arms were crossed, biceps bulging beneath the fabric, and his blue eyes popped. This man would cause the Mona Lisa to salivate. He looked. That. Good.
His expression brightened, and she offered him a tentative smile. “Sorry about all that hullabaloo when you walked in. So embarrassing.”
“Life happens, Gwynn. You look beautiful.” Cash held out his bouquet nestled in one of Aunt Maude’s vases. “So beautiful, in fact, that these flowers are jealous.”
Her cheeks heated as she took the vase. She inhaled the delicate notes of the amaryllis mixed with a hint of pine and cinnamon. Had the flower shop added essential oil for the holiday season? “Thank you. I love them.”
Aunt Maude made shooing motions with her hands. “Why don’t you kids put them on the table in the dining room? We’ll be in shortly with the food.”
“Do you want help carrying anything?” Cash asked.
“You’re a guest. You go sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gwynn held the swinging door with her foot as Cash followed her into the dining room. His proximity sent her pulse zinging. Too nervous. She must calm down. Centering the vase on the table next to the water pitcher, she nodded to the place settings. “Uncle Russ will sit there at the head. Aunt Maude usually sits here.” She indicated the chair closest to the kitchen then rounded the table to the two chairs across from her aunt. “Which means you and I are here.”
“You didn’t wonder why there was an extra place setting?” Cash asked, helping to push in her chair as she sat.
“Uncle Russ must have set the table while I was busy with the pie. He and Aunt Maude are sneaky when they want to be.” She fiddled with her knife as Cash took a seat on her right, scents of cedar and clove drifting past. “Though I don’t know why they felt it necessary to keep it a secret. You were already coming for dessert.”
“Whatever their reasons, they did it with good intentions.” Cash angled toward her in his chair and rested an elbow beside his place setting. “They clearly love you. Sang your praises after you left the kitchen earlier.”
Gwynn played with her spoon. “They’ve been a constant in my life for a long time. Before Mama Edith and Poppa Jeb died, we’d meet up with the Davisons for a few weeks each summer, always somewhere new. Cape Cod. New Orleans. Nashville. St. Augustine.”
Cash hooked his other arm over the back of his chair. “Did you ever visit out west? Estes Park? The Tetons? Las Vegas? The Grand Canyon?”
Gwynn shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. They’d purposely stayed east of the Mississippi River. For her sake. She swiped her hands down her jeans and stared at the door to the kitchen. Where were Uncle Russ and Aunt Maude? “What about you? Have you ever visited the east coast?”
“I made it as far as Kentucky once, seven years ago.” He studied her. She sensed his attention in her peripheral vision like the stroke of a paintbrush tracing her features, sending frissons across her skin. “Come tomorrow, there will be a blond-haired, not-green-eyed, compelling reason to make it all the way to New England.”
She smoothed a crease in her jeans with a finger. “Are you disappointed?”
“That your eyes aren’t naturally bright green? Gwynn …” His tone invited her to face him. When she did, he shifted closer. “That’s not why I’m attracted to you.”
She held his gaze. “Why are you attracted to me?” Because she intrigued him as Gwynn … or because she reminded him of Hadley?
The door to the kitchen swung inward, and Cash straightened as Uncle Russ entered, Brisket bouncing at his feet. He held open the door for Aunt Maude, who carried a wide platter heaped with steaming elk roast and vegetables from the slow cooker.
She set the platter next to the flowers. “We just heard on the radio that a storm is expected to arrive tomorrow.”
Gwynn’s stomach clenched, and she bent to scratch Brisket behind the ears. “Do you think that will affect my flight?”
“Shouldn’t hit until the evening.” Uncle Russ added a basket of rolls and a salad bowl to the table. “You’ll make it out all right.”
“The real question is”—Aunt Maude sank into her chair across from Gwynn—“will it affect Friday’s Christmas Jamboree preparations?”
Uncle Russ shook his head. “The storm will have blown through by then, and we’ve worked in worse conditions than freshly fallen snow.” He held out his hands to his wife and Gwynn. “Shall we say grace?”
Biting her lip, Gwynn glanced at Cash and extended her hand. He took it with a wink before bowing his head, but as Uncle Russ prayed, Cash rearranged his hold and slid his fingers between hers. She shivered from the electric charge and didn’t register Uncle Russ’s words until he said, “Amen.”
Sorry, Lord .
“Cash, are you and Gramps ready for the Christmas Jam?” Aunt Maude asked as they passed the food around the table.
Cash nodded, taking the meat platter Gwynn offered him. “Gramps has whittled extra Christmas trees and fat Santa figurines and bug-eyed reindeer for the children. And along with a few major pieces of furniture, I’ve got several small end tables and child-sized stools that should be easy sellers.”
Gwynn reached for her water glass, smiling at a sudden memory. “Will Gramps dress up as Santa Claus, like usual?”
“Uh, yeah.” Cash’s brow knit together as he cut into his meat. “But how’d you know that’s what he usually does? You haven’t even met him.”
Gwynn choked on her swallow of water then coughed into her napkin. “Sorry,” she wheezed, exchanging a look with the Davisons. “Went down wrong.”
Uncle Russ gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “We’ve probably told her about Gramps over the years. We share our news on the phone each week, don’t we, honey?”
She nodded, avoiding Cash’s gaze which was narrowed in thought.
After a moment he asked, “Do you sell your artwork at Christmas markets back in Boston?”
God was surely still in her corner for Cash to let the conversation move on. Gwynn smiled. “As a matter of fact, the gallery where I work, Gilded Editions, is taking part in an art show this Saturday. There’s a lot of prep work involved, hence why my job is kinda on the line. I left Irene—my boss—in the lurch this week to come visit.” She squeezed Uncle Russ’s hand. “Not that I regret my choice. It’ll pan out.”
“You’re selling your artwork, Gwynn?” Aunt Maude’s eyes crinkled. “That’s wonderful! You never said anything—”
“Only two of my prints will be for sale.” Gwynn broke her roll in half. “I’m blocked, remember? I’ve barely painted anything in the last six months.” Except for the landscape that Santa-double had bought last week.
“If you’d take me up on my offer …” Cash kicked her lightly under the table as he speared a chunk of potato.
“Oh?” Aunt Maude leaned over her plate, her loose-fitting shirt grazing her food. “What offer?”
“It’s nothing.” Gwynn returned his kick with one of her own. “It’s not feasible, nor would I have time for Cash’s flights of fancy.”
Cash smirked. “My feet are firmly planted.”
“But your head’s in the clouds.”
“I have grand ideas.”
“Dreams.”
“Where do you think ideas originate?”
She scoffed and buttered her roll. “Anyway, Saturday’s art gala ushers in the holiday season and all its busyness. There are other craft fairs to attend, shows at the Wang Center, work-related parties … Maybe after the New Year, I’ll reassess my own artwork.”
“Shows and parties, hmm? Need a date for those, Gwynn?” Aunt Maude pointed a loaded fork at Cash. “He might be willing to make you another offer.”