Chapter Eight #2
“Yes, although a pie generally has a top and bottom crust while a tart has one only on the bottom, and the tart crust has a different texture,” she replied.
“I like pie better than almost anything on earth, but I’m willing to try a tart on your recommendation.”
She raised an eyebrow. “If you already know you like pie, why should my recommendation keep you from getting some? I would never stand between you and something you already know you enjoy.”
“I’m willing to take the risk, however, knowing that if I don’t like the tart, there’s an entire pie on the counter, and all will be set to rights.”
She glanced around. “You can see the pie on the counter from here?”
“I’m always keenly aware of the presence of pie, Miss Smith. You might consider it one of my talents.”
Now that Mr. Kendall was speaking to her directly, Anastasia began to enjoy the meal much more than she had before, and by the time she’d finished eating, she’d forgiven him for seeming to ignore her. She must have been misreading the situation.
As they parted ways, Mr. Kendall took Leola’s hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Smith. I’m only sorry that I didn’t have the chance to meet your husband as well.”
“If you aren’t tired of our company, why don’t you join us at our hotel tonight?” Leola suggested. “They serve a nice supper, and I believe my husband would appreciate having another man to speak with after spending his time with only females lately.”
“He did speak with a man at the museum,” Anastasia reminded her.
“Yes, but that didn’t end so well.”
Mr. Kendall looked amused. “Yes, I think I’d like to meet you for supper. What time?”
“Six o’clock.”
“I will be there.” He turned to Anastasia. “Until then, Miss Smith.”
“Until then.”
Leola waited until he was out of sight, then gave Anastasia a wide smile. “My goodness. Who would have imagined it? Miles from home.”
“Imagined what?”
“That he would be here of all places.”
“Mother, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Leola shook her head as she began walking toward the hotel. Anastasia was about to object, saying that she wanted to visit the train station, but she was rather tired after lunch, and she supposed she could always go the next day instead. “Mr. Kendall, of course.”
Anastasia planted her feet and didn’t take another step. “What about Mr. Kendall? I’m no good at your guessing games, Mother. Please just tell me whatever’s on your mind.”
Leola looked exasperated. “That young man is interested in you. Genuinely interested. I always thought you’d marry someone from back home—in fact, I’ve counted on it so we could be near each other—but if this is meant to be . . .”
“He’s not interested in me. Didn’t you see how he practically ignored me all through lunch? He only spoke to me toward the end of the meal—he was focused on you the rest of the time. Maybe he’s interested in you.”
Leola laughed merrily. “Of course he’s not.
And don’t you know what he was doing? He was ingratiating himself with me so I would support him in courting you.
It’s something young men have done since the dawn of time—they instinctively know that if the mother likes them, they’re less likely to be opposed to the father, thereby clearing the path to the daughter. ”
“That sounds more like a military strategy than a romance.”
“Doesn’t all romance have at least some element of strategy?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before.”
“Then it’s about time you did. Let’s hurry back so we can prepare your father for supper. He doesn’t like having things sprung upon him at the last minute, but I do think he’ll find our guest a welcome surprise.”
Anastasia thought about that as they finished their walk.
Was romance really a matter of strategical moves, point and counterpoint?
That sounded so planned, so calculated, not at all spontaneous and joyful.
But then she realized the rest of what her mother had said.
Mr. Kendall was interested in her? Surely that couldn’t be right.
They’d only had a few conversations, mostly about art.
That wasn’t the basis for any sort of relationship—there had to be much more than that.
Although, a relationship that began through art was exactly the sort of relationship she would like the best.
The thought nearly made her stop short again, and she had to force herself to keep walking.
This change in perspective was almost more than she could fathom.
Mr. Kendall . . . Well, he was handsome, as her mother kept reminding her.
And he was kind and intelligent, clearly well established, and he made her laugh.
And he’d made her nervous when she’d seen him earlier.
Was it possible that she could fall in love with him?
The idea wasn’t as preposterous as she’d first thought.
In fact, she rather liked it, but that didn’t mean it was right. After all, they were leaving soon . . .
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t come back.
It also didn’t mean that she couldn’t just stay.
She was quiet as they entered the hotel, and she went into her room with only a quick comment to her mother about needing to rest a bit.
Then she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, not caring if she was wrinkling her dress because she’d be changing out of it soon anyway.
She needed to think, and thinking required relaxation.
If her mother was right and Mr. Kendall was interested in her, and if she found that idea more fascinating than scary, what did that mean? Would she truly move to Denver to join her life with that of a man she’d just met?
Women did that all the time. They placed their trust in the men who chose them, and they hoped and prayed they would be happy all the rest of their days.
So risky.
So much at stake.
And yet, so much to gain.
She thought about the way Mr. Kendall had looked at her that last moment before they parted ways, and she could almost imagine a flicker of caring there. What would it be like to see admiration on his face, adoration, even love?
Her heart gave another thump at the thought.
It wouldn’t be so terrible.
But she refused to think about it any further.
She was basing this entire line of thought on her mother’s opinion, and while her mother was an intelligent woman who often had great insight, that didn’t mean she was right about Mr. Kendall.
He was a businessman, after all. Maybe he saw the Smiths as being potential clients, and that’s why he was being so attentive.
It might have nothing to do with Anastasia at all, and it would be silly for her to build these castles in the air when she had no proof either way.
She would go to supper with her parents, she would politely respond to anything Mr. Kendall had to say, and she would excuse herself early. That way, she’d be keeping the social obligation without having or creating any expectations.
And with that decided, she felt much better.