Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
A manda wrestled with the folding table, huffing in frustration as she tried to get it set up where Beverly had made space for her. But no matter what she did, the fourth leg stubbornly refused to open. Her cheeks flushed with exertion and annoyance, and she just barely restrained herself from kicking the exasperating thing. She didn’t know if she was annoyed more at the table itself or at Connor for the way he’d acted so dismissively and cold toward her last night. The man had an uncanny ability to infuriate her.
Stepping back, she took a deep breath and then turned her attention back to the table, determined to conquer the thing one way or another.
She looked up in surprise to see Connor standing before her, hands causally tucked into the pockets of his well-worn shorts, watching her. “Need help?”
Before she could answer, he reached down and flicked the lever—the very same one she’d been messing with for over five minutes—with a deft movement. With a smooth pull, the last leg opened obediently. He flipped the table over and set it in place effortlessly.
“How’d you do that? I’ve been working on it forever,” she blurted out, unable to hide her exasperation.
“I pushed the lever?” he answered matter-of-factly.
“I did too. But it wouldn’t open for me.” She stepped back and crossed her arms defensively. “Anyway, thanks for the help,” she added, not wanting to sound ungrateful.
Then he reached behind him and retrieved a carving from a table near them. “Here.”
He thrust it into her hands. She caught her breath as she examined it carefully, turning it this way and that. Two doves sat on a curved magnolia branch. Their feathers were meticulously carved with intricate detail. A delicate magnolia blossom adorned the branch, its petals unfurling with lifelike grace. “Connor, it’s beautiful.” Her fingers traced the smooth contours of the wood.
He shrugged again, his expression nonchalant. “Just a little something for the fundraiser since I promised Brooklyn.”
“Well, thank you. This will really help.”
“I doubt it helps much.” He dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his hand.
She frowned for a moment, studying his guarded expression. “You don’t take compliments very well, do you?”
“I—what?” He scowled, obviously caught off guard by her observation.
“You should be proud of your work. It’s wonderful.”
“I am proud of it.” His jaw tightened ever so slightly.
“Then why don’t you show it?” she challenged, her gaze holding his.
He ignored her question. “If that’s all you need, I’ll be leaving. Taking Brooklyn for a swim.”
He strode out of the cafe, and she stood there holding the carving, marveling at its delicate curves and the beautiful tones on the wood. He was amazingly talented. And all that talent was hidden in his workshop. It didn’t seem right. But then, it wasn’t her decision to make, was it?
Connor eased himself down onto his worn couch cushions and put his feet up on the coffee table. The old wood table creaked under the weight. He truly enjoyed it when his sister and Brooklyn came to visit him. He did. But Brooklyn was a whirlwind of activity—though he adored her—and his sister asked entirely too many questions. He settled back on the couch and took a moment to savor the stillness broken only by the steady ticking of an old antique clock hanging on the wall.
The peace was short-lived when an insistent knock sounded at the door. He reluctantly pushed up off the couch, annoyed to have his solitude interrupted again so soon. Who needed his attention now?
He crossed to the door and flung it open. His eyes widened in surprise to see Amanda standing there.
“Hi, Connor. I brought over slices of peach pie for the three of you for your dessert tonight. Just a thank you for Megan inviting me over last night. I’m still learning how to bake pies. I hope it’s good.” She held out a plate.
“Uh… they just left.”
Disappointment crept over her face. “Oh, I’m sorry I missed them.”
The rich aroma of the freshly baked pie wafted toward him, enticing him. And he swore he felt his sister nudging him. Chiding him. Her voice rattled in his brain, insisting he ask Amanda in. Be nice to her. “Would you like to come in? We could, uh… each have a piece of pie?”
Amanda’s eyes widened slightly and a flicker of surprise crossed her face at his unexpected offer. Well, fine. He was startled by the words that had tumbled from his lips too. Why on earth had he invited her in?
A warm chuckle reverberated through the room as if Megan was offering an approving “Good Man.” Now he was imagining things.
“Um… sure. I could come in.” She gave him a tentative smile.
He stepped back to let her pass, then closed the door behind her. He took the plate from her, its sweet contents enticing him as she followed him into the kitchen. He got out two plates and placed the pie on them, then dug in the silverware drawer for forks. He handed her a plate.
“Thank you.”
“Here, take a seat.” He cleared off a stack of Brooklyn’s books from the table.
Amanda took a seat, and he sat across from her. He took a bite of the pie and tasted its sweet and tangy flavor. He didn’t bake pies and rarely ate out, so this was a nice treat. “This is really good.”
She blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. I keep trying to improve the crust.”
“Not sure you could improve on this crust.”
Her eyes lit up in pleasure, then she ducked her head, concentrating on her pie. They sat in silence for a bit, eating. She finally broke the silence. “I do appreciate you donating for the festival fundraising.”
He nodded. Then he swore his sister kicked him under the table . “You’re welcome. Hope it helps.”
“I really want to be able to have the fireworks.” She set her jaw in a determined line.
“Everything going okay with the planning?” The words seemed foreign as they left his lips. Chitchat. He was making an effort, just like Megan requested.
“It is. But I’m afraid I’m not going to get everything finished in time. I only had a few weeks to plan all this. Usually, I plan out my events way in advance.”
Another phantom nudge from Megan, and he had to look at the empty seat to make sure his sister wasn’t sitting there. “So you need help?”
She looked at him skeptically, one eyebrow arched.“Are you offering?”
He hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath. “I guess I am.” What? Was he crazy? Did he really want to do this?
Amanda’s skepticism was replaced with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Do you have time tomorrow to go through pieces for the art show? I need to figure out a way to display them all. We’re going to have the show at the large pavilion at the park. And we’ll save an area for some of the historical items to be displayed too.”
“I could do that.” A sense of begrudging resolve settled over him.
“They’re all at my cottage.”
“I’ll come over in the morning and we’ll look through them.” His offer lent a hint of purpose that he didn’t even know he’d been lacking.
No, his life was fine the way it was now.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll need some easels for paintings and I’m not sure what all else.”
“We’ll figure it out.” We? We? How did he get involved in this whole festival thing? He could only blame his sister’s phantom pokes and her words echoing in his mind, urging him to open up and quit being such a recluse.
Amanda finished her piece of pie and stood up. “I don’t want to keep you. But thanks for asking me to join you. I’m glad you liked the pie.”
“Pretty great, if you ask me.” He stood, his chair scraping lightly against the wooden floor. He collected their plates and set them in the sink with a soft clatter. As he escorted her to the door, the gentle scent of jasmine wafted in. A familiar scent that seemed to follow in Amanda’s wake.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for offering to help.” She slipped out the door, giving him a parting smile.
A smile that stirred something deep inside him, long hidden. But he ignored it as he softly closed the door, already warring with his decision to help. Hadn’t he told her repeatedly he liked his solitude?
And did he want to get involved with anything dealing with the art world again? No, he didn’t. He knew that answer deep in his soul with unwavering certainty.
But he’d help her this one time, a reluctant concession to Megan’s nagging. And he’d tell Megan about it too. That should give her—and him—a temporary reprieve.
Yet, even as he agreed to help this one time, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of encouragement that would accompany Megan with her impending return in a few short weeks. Her determination to coax him out of his shell and prod him into sharing his art with the world would undoubtedly resurface when she returned.
He knew his sister was just worried about him. She cared about him, he knew that. But sometimes she pushed him a bit too much.
He picked up the stack of Brooklyn’s books and put them back in the guest bedroom. He couldn’t believe the amount of books and toys he’d accumulated over the years for her visits. And that didn’t even count the ones he sent home with her. Oh well. What’s an uncle for if not to spoil his niece?