26. Penny #2
“I am.” She nodded. “What good luck. And good company.” She waved her now empty hands toward us. “Between you and these fine gentlemen, we could have quite the dinner party, don’t you think?”
With a giggle, Rosie hefted her basket up for Tessa’s inspection. “I brought the tart order.”
As Rosie started to lift the kerchief covering, Tessa swatted her hand. “We can take them to the back later. For now, let’s sit. Get to know one another.”
With a flounce of her apron, Tessa shimmied into the wooden booth seat beside Kit, scooting over until her hip bumped into his.
He startled from sipping his whiskey and slid closer to the wall, creating a gap Tessa immediately closed.
Once she had him thoroughly pinned in, she propped her elbows on the tabletop and motioned for Rosie to follow suit.
“Do you mind, Penny?” Rosie looked at me, her warm brown eyes wide.
I fumbled for reply long enough that Tessa snapped, “Rosie, sit!”
Resting the tart basket on the floor, Rosie sat beside me. We were often in close quarters in her kitchen, elbow to elbow over the counter or stove, so I didn’t mind as she crushed against me, following Tessa’s hand flapping encouragement to trap me the way Kit was.
Satisfied at last, Tessa gave the loose strands of hair framing her face a toss. “Kit,” she chirped and turned toward him so they were nearly nose to nose. “I’ve heard so much about you from Penny’s ramblings. Perhaps you’d like to tell me a bit about yourself?”
While he’d retained his grip on the tin cup of whiskey, Kit had been pushed nearly a foot away from his plate. It was in front of Tessa now, wisping trails of steam into the air.
He shifted and frowned. “Currently, I’m hungry and would like to enjoy my meal while it’s warm.”
I huffed a laugh and dragged my own plate closer so I could stab my fork into a lump of roast. The sooner I finished eating, the sooner we could get out of here and I could admit to Kit he was right and we should have spent the evening at home.
“I know all the recipes here,” Tessa bragged. “Plus more. A good woman is a good cook, my mother says.”
Kit grunted and made a feeble grab for his plate.
Tessa caught his outstretched hand in hers and clasped it on the table.
A growl crept up my throat and got caught on the piece of onion I was trying to swallow.
I coughed and sputtered until my eyes watered, and Rosie handed me my stein of ale to wash the food and bad feelings down.
When I looked out again, Kit had removed himself from Tessa’s grasp.
She seemed undeterred, though, and continued to ply Kit with questions.
“I hear Penny brings home all kinds of pastries, but a fine man like you needs meat to stick to his bones. Perhaps I could make dinner at your house sometime. Roast duck, or a basted turkey, or ooh!” She clapped her hands with delight. “I make the most succulent ham!”
Kit tipped back his whiskey, emptying the last of it in a single swallow. When he set the cup down, it clinked loudly against the table.
“Think I’ll get another,” he muttered, then stared pointedly at Tessa. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll refill it for you!” She made a grab for the cup, but Kit swung it out of her reach.
“No need. I’d like to stretch my legs.”
Tessa frowned, crestfallen, and slid out of the booth seat to allow Kit a speedy exit. I scooped another forkful of stew and put it in my mouth as he dipped into the crowd.
Tessa dropped back into her seat with a huff. “You could help, you know,” she said to me.
I swallowed. “Help? With what?”
Tessa turned her glare on Rosie beside me. “Rosie, tell your beau to make me look good here.”
“Beau?” I echoed, raising a brow.
Rosie blushed burgundy red. “Tess, I think you’re doing fine?—”
“He’s not very fun, is he?” The other woman crossed her arms and aimed a pouty scowl across the dance floor.
“You said yourself that you don’t fancy chatty men.” I tried to suppress a smirk as I went in for another bite of vegetables .
Tessa’s frown deepened as she stared toward the bar where Kit had gone. Finally, she made a move toward standing. “Maybe a dinner party wasn’t the best plan. Could be he prefers his company one on one.”
The sour feeling from earlier returned, and I thumped my fork-bearing hand on the tabletop. “ Could be he’s had a long day of work and just wanted to enjoy a meal. In peace. With me.”
Beside me, Rosie seemed to wither in her seat. “I’m sorry, Penny, I didn’t realize we were intruding…”
“Nonsense.” Tessa huffed. “He sees you all the time, and he’s likely sick of your prattle. Maybe he doesn’t talk much because he can’t get a word in edgewise.”
Angry heat pulsed through my body. My grip tightened on the fork, and for a moment, I thought to throw it. At the ground, at Tessa, anywhere. She was already turned away from me, making a speedy exit from the booth.
Rather than call after her and further a pointless argument, I swept my hand in a gesture I hoped looked more careless than calculated and struck my stein of ale.
It toppled over and sent a river of foamy alcohol racing across the table and sloshing over onto Tessa’s side.
It soaked her dress through to the skin, and she yelped as she leaped up.
The wet spot spread from her waist down her thigh and across her backside, and she gaped down at it.
“You did that on purpose!” She jabbed her finger at me.
“He did not!” Rosie protested. She blushed again as her head whipped between Tessa and me.
When the women looked my way, expecting argument or protest, I gave none. Silence stretched until Tessa let out a cry of frustration and spun to stomp toward the kitchen.
I watched her retreat as the ale continued to run and drip, racing off two sides of the tabletop and nearly into Rosie’s tart basket.
She saw the danger and sprung up to rescue the baked goods.
Standing, she peeked into the basket and checked its contents with a sigh of relief.
Then she slid the handle over her arm and tucked it safely to her chest.
“I’m going to take these to the cook,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With both women gone and the musicians taking a break from playing, the dance floor had thinned.
I saw Kit straddling a stool at the bar, his shoulders hunched like he could hide in plain sight.
With a heavy breath, I maneuvered out of the bench seat, dodging spilled ale.
Crossing the room, I came up and took the stool beside Kit.
He cocked his head toward me, then glanced at our vacant table and the food going cold. “What happened to our dinner guests?” he asked.
“Tessa was going to come talk to you, and I…” I swallowed. “I spilled my ale on her.”
“On purpose?” Mischief twinkled in his dark eyes.
I tried to be indignant but couldn’t quite manage. “Why would you assume that?”
He raised one shoulder in a shrug.
After a moment, I nodded. “It may have been on purpose.”
“Seems like a waste of good ale,” he said as he swirled the whiskey in his cup.
“It wasn’t a waste.”
Kit watched me; I saw him staring in the corner of my vision. He was so much better at keeping his thoughts in his head than I was.
“Well… thank you.” Kit set down his drink and pushed it to the other side of the bar. Then he swiveled toward me. “You ready to get out of here? ”
“And go home?”
My defeat must have been plain on my face because Kit’s expression softened.
“Maybe not home,” he said. “Not yet. I thought we could visit the pecan orchard.”
He was so casual about the offer that I struggled to keep from appearing overeager. “Are you sure?” I asked. “You didn’t get to eat.”
“I’ll eat later.” Kit slid off his stool and beckoned for me to do the same. “Come on. You wanted to celebrate, and I don’t think this counted.”
I was more than happy to follow him out and put as much distance between us and Tessa as possible. If I never saw her again, it would be too soon.