Summertime Dream (11 page)

But she’d been into it too, right? Sensual memories swamped him. Her soft moans and eager kisses, yielding body. Yes.

Shit.

He turned the shower to cold.

An hour later, he met Margie outside the restaurant. Her summery blue dress perfectly skimmed every sweet curve and the light fabric of the skirt swirled around her calves with each step. Little pearl buttons running all down the front just called to be played with and he jammed his hands in his pockets against the urge. At her hesitant greeting, he blamed himself. He’d done nothing but throw mixed signals at her all day, behaving like a sex-obsessed teen one moment and a sour curmudgeon the next. Time to pull his act together and be the gentleman his parents had raised him to be.

“You look great. Sorry for my crappy mood earlier. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He brushed his lips over her cheek, ignoring the surge of desire at the light citrusy floral scent of her, and opened the door.

The shadows cleared from her eyes and she gave him a tender smile. “It’s okay. I understand. Come on in. Want a peek behind the scenes before we sit down?”

“Sure, if it’s no trouble.” Although intruding into Joe’s domain at the moment might be a dumb-ass move, he was curious.

The Olsson family’s restaurant filled a big old brick building with Langenscheidt & Sons 1871 carved into the stone façade peeping above Olsson’s own eye-catching yellow, white, and blue sign. A handful of patio tables squeezed onto the broad front sidewalk under cheery blue and white striped awnings.

Inside, the large, comfortable, family-atmosphere restaurant held a mix of tables and cushy blue booths, and the long breakfast counter looked like it had come from an old hotel bar with its polished wood and brass foot rail. Another dining area upstairs came in handy for large parties and busy days.

Unlike Southern Exposure, Olsson’s was BYOB, easily solved by the corner liquor store across the street. Their menu offered something for everyone, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with a touch of traditional Scandinavian food and downhome country barbecue, and the tables, booths, and counter were busy.

“I love working here. It’s a second home for me. I know hostessing seems like a nothing job, but there’s more to it than counting out menus and walking people to their table. I keep the load for the serving staff balanced. I handle questions and problems. I love making our diners feel at home.”

“You’re more a manager than simply a greeter.”

“Sort of, I suppose. Keeping things running smoothly out front lets Dad and everyone focus on the food.” Margie led him through the heavy swinging door boldly marked IN that cut off most of the kitchen noise from the dining area into a bustling commercial kitchen, packed with immaculate stainless steel appliances and counters, and noisy with the roaring exhaust fans, clattering china and servingware, orders, and some loud rocking country music.

Joe and Mats manned the stove and grill. Stig was wrestling with a raw turkey. Other kitchen staff bustled, stirring, slicing, loading plates, dodging and sharing space, and making it all look like some complicated dance.

Mats waved, breaking into a loving smile for his daughter. Joe glanced up, nodded, and returned his intense focus to the meats on the grill. The other employees smiled, waved, and called out, “Hey, Margie, sweetie,” and other greetings. This might be Joe’s domain to rule, but Margie was clearly the adored princess in this kingdom.

Christopher couldn’t claim to know how things worked in a restaurant kitchen, but he knew the vibe of a smoothly running workplace, and despite the heat, noise, and hustle, this was one well-run operation. And the place smelled awesome. His stomach growled obnoxiously loud.

Margie giggled and touched his shoulder. “Guess you’re ready for supper. Come on, let’s find our table. We’ll give you the real tour when it’s not so busy. “

At their booth, Margie’s requested bottle of wine waited for them, on ice and uncorked, beside the napkin-covered breadbasket. He poured the wine, a pinot grigio, and waited for her to taste.

She sipped and smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Delicious. I should have asked if you’d prefer a beer or red wine.”

He filled their glasses. “This is fine. Light and refreshing after a hot day. Does anyone else in your family work here?”

“Amy you met already. Grandpa Lars is mostly retired, but still likes to help out during the lunch shift. Mom loves to work at the counter for the breakfast shift because she can talk to everyone. Mom and Grandma June also help Aunt Ida with desserts. Their specialties are pies and cobblers. Aunt Ida is amazing with cake and everything decadent. The only dessert we don’t make onsite is the ice cream and that we get from Ruth’s Scoops.”

Margie ordered pytti panna, which turned out to be a kind of potato hash, served with apple stuffed roast pork, and Christopher settled on the Swedish meatballs, which came with mashed potatoes, pickled cucumbers, and a berry relish.

“So, what are the plans for tomorrow?”

“Keep clearing crap out once the Dumpster arrives. Hope your friend can get the water working in the house so we can stop bringing up buckets from the pond.”

She grinned. “At least that method works.”

“True.”

His gaze caught like a magnet on her mouth again.

And number one plan: Keep your hands to yourself, Gordon.

Chapter Five

Margie woke far too early the next morning. The sky outside her window was barely gray. Penny was missing from her dog bed, so someone was up and about. Too wound to go back to sleep, she followed the scent of coffee downstairs. She’d use the extra time for writing before heading over to Christopher’s.

Dad was in the kitchen, ready for work. He waved and poured her a cup. “Morning, sweetie. You’re up before the birds today. I let Penny out.”

She hugged him and took her mug. “Hi, Dad. Kinda excited to work on the house again today.”

“You’re having fun.” He handed her the sugar bowl.

“Oh, yes.” She set the sugar aside. Joe was the one who liked sugar in his coffee. “Just the milk, thanks.”

“Tell you what, I’ll send lunch over for you two again today. Sound good?”

“Thanks. Christopher really enjoyed the lunch yesterday.”

“He’s got his hands full there, even with your help. Just thought I’d be neighborly and give him a hand how I can, you know? You’re not getting up on the extension ladder or doing any heavy lifting, right?” Pinched fear crept in behind his smile. “And when you’re tired, you take a rest? Your mother worries, you know.”

And so do you
. “Christopher’s handling all the hard stuff. And we take plenty of breaks. I’m doing just fine. Honest.”

He sipped at his coffee, eyes still heavy with worries. “Ah…Angie Raymond said she saw Eddie talking to you Sunday evening at Southern Exposure. Angie said you looked upset.”

“I wasn’t upset. It was just really awkward.”

“I should have…I should tell him to stay away from you. I don’t want you upset.”

“I’m fine. We just bumped into each other. It’s going to happen around holidays. It’s going to be awkward for a while. Eddie’s just…Eddie. I can deal.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal. He, he—should have some respect and leave you alone.” He clanked his travel mug on the table like a cleaver, sloshing the coffee.

“Dad, really, it’s okay. It was uncomfortable, but probably worse for Jennifer. They left and I had a very nice rest of the evening with Christopher.”

He sighed wearily. “Just you’re my baby girl and I hate that I can’t fix things for you.”

“I know.” She kissed his cheek and snuggled into his bearhug.

He patted her back and let her go. “Suppose I’d better get going. Your brother already left in a mood. Won’t let me help or unload what’s on his mind. You have a good day, now, and take it easy, okay?”

“Promise, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetie.”

Margie arrived at the house first and parked out at the street to leave room for the container delivery.

Christopher pulled up behind her only a few minutes later, but he was preoccupied and tense as she lightly kissed him hello. Before she could ask if anything was wrong, his cell phone rang and he just handed her a baggie of donuts and the house keys and returned to his car to sit and take the call. Some work thing must be the problem.

After she set up the cooler, coffee Thermos, and donuts by the rockers on the back porch, she headed inside and busied herself scrubbing down every inch of the bathroom.

Both the Dumpster and Wes Green arrived early. Being able to efficiently toss broken junk helped Christopher burn off whatever was bothering him, although several more work calls interrupted his progress.

The well pump needed work and parts, but Wes promised them running water in the house by afternoon.

Finished with the bathroom, Margie moved on to the kitchen. Thinking about lunch coming up in a few hours, she started with cleaning the kitchen table and chairs. Christopher set up the old box fan he’d found and putting up with its rattling roar was worth the wonderful cooling blast of air.

Dad dropped off lunch just as Wes finished and they were celebrating the first clear water gushing from the kitchen faucet. He’d brought twice as much food as Christopher and she could possibly eat: Joe’s massive prime rib sandwiches, German potato salad, bottled water, a six pack of beer, and a whole apple pie, so Christopher invited Wes and Dad to join them for lunch. The three men talked up a storm while eating, talking about the house and repairs and the town, and every now and then all leaving the table to look at one thing or another around the house.

After lunch, all three disappeared to explore the basement and study the boiler system. Wes came up, went out to his truck, and headed back down with a toolbox. They returned dusty and trailing cobwebs, making her very happy she’d passed on their invitation to join them. Dad headed back to work, but not without reminding her to take it easy.

Christopher gave her a grin and rubbed a hand over his forehead, leaving a muddy smear. “We’ve got hot water for you. Boiler needs some work, but it’s good for the moment.”

“Really? Great! That will make cleaning easier.”

Wes left with a promise to drop off estimates on the boiler, Kent Shelton arrived with his crew and set to work on the second floor windows, and Christopher returned to doggedly sorting and tossing junk.

Margie returned to scrubbing the kitchen. She dragged the ratty carpeting outside, revealing old checkerboard black and white tiles, some cracked, but heavy duty cleaner and elbow grease brought the floor to tolerable condition.

The fridge nook was the last bit of floor to scrub. She wiggled the fridge out. Lots of dead bugs and mouse droppings littered the tiles, but good news, no mice, dead or alive. More good news, the fridge was simply unplugged. Bad news, tons of spider webs. And live spiders.

Skin crawling, she swallowed hard and backed away. But she stopped herself from calling out for Christopher. Time to put on her big girl panties.

She could do this. She was bigger and armed with a vacuum cleaner and a broom. Taking a steadying breath, she grabbed the vacuum and sucked down all the webs, crumbs, and debris, cringing the whole time. Then, one big-bellied black spider escaped, scurrying up the vacuum pipe toward her hand. She choked back a scream, frozen in her stupid panic.

Broom! Use the broom!

Dropping the vacuum, she grabbed for the broom, swept the spider off, and tossed the broom and spider out the back door.

She’d done it! She sank onto a kitchen chair. She’d dealt with a spider all by herself. And please, never again would be just fine.

After catching her breath, she finished scrubbing the whole nook and back of the fridge.

Now, time to see if the old fridge worked. She plugged the cord into the outlet. The fridge hummed into life. Okay, then, worth cleaning. She adjusted the temperature dials, crossed her fingers, and dove into scrubbing.

Christopher wandered in as she was setting two ice cube trays into the freezer. “Hey, it works?” He scrubbed the hem of his T-shirt up over his face, flashing trim, tanned abs, and a light, sleek trail of brown hair arrowing beneath his waistband.

Despite his sweaty and dirt-smeared state, a hot thrill leapt through her. She turned away and fiddled with the temperature knob to hide her blush. “It was just unplugged. The fridge part is getting cold, so I’m seeing if the freezer will make ice cubes. The stove and oven also work.”

“That’s great. Two fewer things to trash for now.” He turned slowly, surveying the clean kitchen. “You did an awesome job in here. Thank you isn’t enough.”

She was pleased with her job as well. The windows sparkled, every last speck of grease, grime, dust, and filth banished. She’d arranged a small bunch of yellow tickseed, purple coneflowers, and white roses in a small vase and set that on the now polished kitchen table with the placemats she’d found in the dish closet.

“You’re welcome. And no mice encounters.”
And I dealt with a spider all by myself!

“I took the lack of screams as a good sign.” Chuckling warmly, he turned on the kitchen tap. He splashed water over his face and dried off with a handful of paper towels.

He was so good-natured about her idiotic phobias. Mom and Dad had no explanation for why she was afraid, but had certainly overprotected her. Joe was grumpily resigned to the pest-defense chore, and, while Eddie had willingly dealt with intruding spiders for her, he’d also been a little impatient, as if she could magically choose to snap out of an irrational fear.

He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler and, after a long drink, gave her a quizzical glance. “I was thinking, want to take a break? I’ve been so fixated on the house, I haven’t explored the property yet. Would you like to take a walk with me and look around? I saw there’s an old dirt track heading toward the orchard.”

“Sure.”

The timeworn rutted track down to the riverbank began behind the barn and led past the old garden into the shady sun-dappled woods and out past the bright sunny stretch of a fallow field. While the property suffered from dismal neglect, nature’s efforts to reclaim the land were lovely, and birds and butterflies abounded in the wildlife-friendly weedy haven. Christopher was taking the views all in thoughtfully as they strolled, and she realized while he might recognize what a special slice of nature he had here, the walk was also proving the property was roomy enough for another option in his sale plans: a developer could want this to subdivide. Christopher would do what he must, but she hoped the natural beauty of his property and the river might help him, as a fisherman, as someone who appreciated nature, to consider his plans with care.