“Brock,” she said against his throat, causing heat to build in him at a volatile level. “Are you finished with your experiment?”
“Yes,” he rasped, trying to hang on to his control. After all, this was their first official date. A gentleman would walk her to the door, thank her for the best evening he’d ever had, and take his leave. A sweet, gentle kiss was the appropriate way to end the evening.
Come to think of it, though, Brock had never been overly concerned with what was appropriate or about being a gentleman.
“Then would you mind kissing me again?” Brenna asked so quietly, Brock was sure he misheard her. Leaning back to look at her face, her smile of invitation made him forget all about what was appropriate.
“I wouldn’t mind at all, coffee girl.”
Chapter Seven
Brock whistled an upbeat tune, sporting the grin he hadn’t been able to wipe off his face since his date with Brenna Friday night. After her request that he kiss her again, he obliged not once or twice, but a dozen times before they steamed up the windows of his truck. The remaining speck of sense he had niggled at his conscience, finally forcing him to get out and walk her to the front door.
He was completely taken with the intriguing woman. From her willing responses to his kisses, Brock thought she might just like him a little as well. Pleased with himself for his little before and after taste game that provided the perfect opportunity to kiss her, thoughts of her eager lips made a wave of heat pool in his belly.
One long, lingering kiss at the door ended their date Friday night, but Brock didn’t waste any time Saturday morning going to Letty’s shop. Although he didn’t generally work on Saturday, he had some details he wanted to leave for her approval and used it as an excuse to stop by, hoping to run into Brenna. Although Letty kept him chatting for a few minutes and offered him some pastries Brenna made, the sweet girl who continually invaded his thoughts didn’t materialize.
Letty walked him to the door with a knowing smile and a pat on his arm.
“Brenna promised a friend she’d cater a party tonight so she’s in Portland today,” Letty said as Brock cast one more longing glance around the store, straining to hear Brenna’s voice.
“Am I that obvious?” Brock asked as red crept up his neck.
“Only to a mother.” Letty laughed and waved as he sauntered back to his truck.
Sunday morning, Brock drove to the church the Smith family attended in hopes of seeing Brenna there. After the service, her mother told him Brenna decided to stay in Portland to help her friend clean up following the party the night before.
Disappointed by her absence, Brock decided to take advantage of the sunny Sunday afternoon to do some painting on the outside of his house. If he could get it finished today, the exterior renovations would be complete.
Along with the new shingles on the roof, newly installed windows gleamed in the sunlight. The place was really starting to look like a nice home.
By the end of the week, he should be able to move in. Although none of the rooms were finished like he wanted, he hoped to have the work he was doing in the downstairs bathroom completed Wednesday. A plumber was coming Thursday to make sure everything was working properly.
Once he finished the interior, Brock planned to spend the summer months working on landscaping. Greg, Brenna’s brother-in-law, agreed to help him in exchange for some carpentry work at his place.
Lost in thoughts of his house and Brenna, Brock didn’t hear his neighbors approach until a throat being cleared alerted him to their presence.
“Mr. McCrae?”
Turning to greet the resident busybodies on his street, Brock kept his smile in place and wondered what the two old women wanted this afternoon.
“Good afternoon fair ladies of Aspen Lane.” Brock doffed his ball cap and poured on his charm. So far, these two had brought a steady supply of coffee cake, cookies and pie whenever they found him working on the house. Today, Mrs. Hearst carried a basket covered by a napkin and wafts of cinnamon drifted his direction. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We were surprised to see you out working on a Sunday,” Mrs. Phillips said, glancing down her thin nose at him. It required her to tilt her head so far back she would have risked drowning if it had been raining, but she had the maneuver down pat.
The worrisome widows, as Brock thought of them, were as different as two women could possibly be. Mrs. Hearst was short and round with a pleasant face and soft white hair, looking just as a jolly grandmotherly-type should. Mrs. Phillips was bony and thin with a long face that quite often appeared as though she’d taken a bite of something most unpleasant.
Regardless of appearances, both of the widows had been kind to him. However, any activity at his house was still considered suspect until proven otherwise.
“It’s such a beautiful afternoon I had to take advantage of the sunshine to finish my painting project. Don’t you think it makes the house look more inviting?” Brock used a word he’d heard Mrs. Phillips bandy about on several occasions. She had previously informed him their neighborhood looked inviting, her flowers looked inviting, the way the street curved around in front of his house looked inviting, but his house did not.
Given enough time and effort, it would get there.
“Much more so, Mr. McCrae,” Mrs. Hearst said with a cheery smile. “I like the color you choose for the trim.”
“Thanks.” Brock stepped back to admire the crisp white paint on the siding as it contrasted with the dark green trim. “I kind of like it myself.”
“Well, of course you do or you wouldn’t have painted it that color.” Mrs. Phillips huffed, crossing her bony arms over her scrawny chest.
Brock turned and winked at the woman, laughing inwardly as her face flushed red.
“Mr. McCrae, I don’t…” Mrs. Phillips started to say, but Mrs. Hearst interrupted.
“We certainly don’t want to keep you from your work, but we brought you some cinnamon bars. Thought you might need a little afternoon nourishment,” Mrs. Hearst said, handing Brock the basket. He lifted the napkin and sniffed appreciatively.
“Thank you for thinking of me.” He took a cookie from the basket and bit into it. Fresh from the oven, the treat was laden with cinnamon and butter. He closed his eyes in pleasure as he chewed the bite. “Delicious.”
Both old women twittered and fussed.
“Enjoy, Mr. McCrae.” Mrs. Hearst looped her arm around Mrs. Phillips thin one as they turned back down the street.
“I will and thanks again. And please, call me Brock!”
“You’re welcome, Brock.” Mrs. Hearst sauntered back toward her house with her friend.
Brock heard them talking as they walked.
“If I was fifty years younger, I’d do my best to turn that young man’s head, Betty. Such a nice boy,” Mrs. Hearst said. “And so nice looking.”
“Fifty years? Shoot, Myrna, I’d give it a run if I was thirty years younger,” the stodgy Mrs. Phillips said. “You suppose he’s one of those boys who lift those weight things. Those muscles are quite impressive. Why I bet...”
Brock grinned as he ate two more bars then set the basket inside the front door.
Wondering what the two old women looked like fifty years ago, he renewed his whistling along with his efforts at painting and soon had the job done.
He was anxious to show Brenna his home, but wanted to wait until he had at least finished remodeling the main floor. When he brought her to see the house, he was hoping she would stay for dinner and watch a movie, or something.
It was thoughts of “or something” that made heat radiate through him.
He glanced around, picturing Brenna there with him, envisioning her welcome presence and cheerful laughter filling the house with her own special kind of light.
At that moment, the dream he’d had so many times in the past flit through his thoughts and he felt that unsettled, confused feeling it usually brought.
Uncertain what it m
eant, his musings were interrupted by the arrival of his uncle Andy.
“Brock, my boy, do you ever rest?” Andy asked as he ambled down the sidewalk toward the porch.
“Sure I do, but as my dear ol’ uncle taught me, you’ve got to take advantage of cooperative weather when it’s being cooperative.” Brock grinned at his uncle. “If you don’t have anything better to do, I’ve got an extra brush.”
“Do I look like I came over here so you could use me as free labor?” Andy’s eyes held a teasing gleam.
Brock eyed his uncle’s paint splattered shirt and pants along with well-worn work boots. “Yep, you do.”
Andy laughed and picked up a brush. “What’s in it for me?”
“The satisfaction of helping your favorite nephew make his house into a home,” Brock said as he climbed the ladder to finish the upper trim work.
“You need more than some paint and a few new fixtures for that, son. You need a woman.” Andy hoped to goad Brock into talking about the woman he’d reportedly been out with Friday night. “From what I hear, you might even have found one.”
“Where did you hear that?” Brock twisted around so fast on the ladder to scowl at his uncle, he almost lost his balance.
Andy looked up at Brock and chuckled. By Brock’s reaction, what he’d heard was true. His friends said Brock made calf eyes at the girl all evening and held her hand as they strolled through town. “News travels fast in a small town, you know. Heard you took some pretty little gal out to dinner and a movie, and a stroll around Mt. Angel.”
Brock glared at Andy. How could he possibly know all that? Irritation kept him from saying anything as he applied the paint with a little more force than was necessary.
“From what I hear, you were holding hands and looking at her like a love-sick pup.” Andy raised a bushy gray brow Brock’s direction. “Is she a local girl?”
“You mean you don’t already know that? It seems you are quite well informed of everything else.” Unable to swallow down all his annoyance at his uncle’s teasing, Brock inwardly fumed. “Remind me, what did I have for dinner?”
Andy stopped painting and slapped his leg as he burst out laughing. He glanced at Brock, pointing the paintbrush at him. “You’ve got it bad, my boy. Let’s hear all about this girl.”
Brock admitted defeat. Uncle Andy would pester him until his curiosity was satisfied. “Her name is Brenna Smith. Her mother is Letty Smith and she owns the home interior store that I’m remodeling...”
The pile of restaurant supply catalogs on her lap lost Brenna’s interest shortly after she opened the first one. Instead, her gaze focused on some unseen spot in the distance as she stared out the window from the bench seat in her bedroom.
No matter what path she directed her thoughts, they continually returned to Brock.
Although they’d only been on one date, she felt like she’d known him for a long time. Given the right opportunities, she thought he could easily become someone very important to her. He’d already claimed more than his fair share of her thoughts since the day he first bought her a coffee and gave it to her along with his entirely charming smile.
Content and happy, Brenna played over each moment of their date Friday night. After his little tasting game, she was worried one sweet kiss was all she was going to get. Thrilled when he lavished many more on her before walking her to the front door, he had kissed her once more, taking her hand in his and pressing his lips to the palm of her hand. It was all so exciting and romantic.
A knock on her door brought her out of her musings as her mom walked into the room with a collection of fabric swatches.
“Hey, honey, I hardly got a chance to ask about Kathleen’s party. Did it go well?” Letty asked as she strode across the room.
“Yes, it did. Everyone seemed to enjoy the food,” Brenna said with a tired smile. She spent all day Saturday cooking then helped serve at Kathleen’s party. She stayed much later than she planned to help clean up and Kat insisted she spend the night. After arriving home just an hour ago, she retreated to her room with the supply catalogs, but so far hadn’t accomplished anything other than daydreaming about one handsome construction guy. “Kathleen made sure everyone knew I’m opening the bistro in a few months.”
“That’s great,” Letty said with a big smile. “I came to bug you for your opinion. I want to put up new valances in the store windows before our grand opening. What fabric do you like?” Letty held out a pile of samples to Brenna.
Fabrics and colors had never been her thing. Avery was much better at helping their mother with those kinds of details.
“Have you asked Avery?” Brenna flipped through the selections, drawn to one simple pattern more than the others, but uncertain what her mom and sister would like.
“Well, of course!” Letty grinned and reached out to stroke a hand over Brenna’s hair. “But I wanted your opinion, too.”
“Why don’t you tell me which ones the two of you like and I’ll choose from those?”
Avery and Letty had very similar tastes. Over the years, Brenna had learned it was faster and easier to let them narrow down the options to two or three and then make a choice.
Letty grabbed the swatches from Brenna and pulled out three. One was the simple plaid Brenna preferred, the second was a dark damask, and the third was a bright floral pattern. Brenna considered how they were blending three separate businesses in one store — a flower shop, an interior design studio, and a bistro. She thought the plaid would best serve them all neutrally and handed it to her mother.
Letty beamed and took the swatches then kissed Brenna on the forehead.
“Excellent choice, honey. I’ll order the fabric tomorrow.” Letty looked at the pile of catalogs around Brenna. “Are you finding what you need for the bistro?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you need some help? What aren’t you finding? You don’t sound very sure about it.” Letty pushed aside a stack of catalogs containing serving pieces and dinnerware as she sat next to Brenna.
“It’s fine, Mom. My thoughts are just wandering elsewhere this afternoon.” Brenna hoped her mother wouldn’t suspect her thoughts wandered just far enough to land on their attractive construction guy.
“That’s easy to understand. After all, Brock is quite handsome and that smile would distract most any female.” Letty patted Brenna on the knee as she stood. “He dropped by the store yesterday morning under the pretense of delivering some design ideas and even came to church this morning. I’m pretty sure it was the thought of seeing you, and not Reverend Mosley’s sermon, that drew him in.”
“Mother!” Embarrassment turned Brenna’s cheeks pink.
“He’s easy on the eyes, honey, a really nice man, and he seems to be quite taken with you,” Letty said, walking to the door. “I’d milk it for all it’s worth if I were you.”
“Mom!”
Letty fluttered her hand at Brenna as she left the bedroom. “Milk it, honey.”
Despite what her mother said, Brenna had no intention of milking anything. Forcing herself to look through the catalogs, she marked pages, made notes, and added up expenses. By the time the afternoon turned to evening, she felt good about her selections. When she went downstairs for dinner, she took the catalogs with her, eager to run her choices by her mom and Avery for their feedback before she placed the orders.
As she joined her parents in the dining room, she wasn’t surprised to find Greg and Avery already seated at the table. However, she was shocked to see her old boyfriend, Will, there.
“Hey, I’m glad to see you Avery and Greg.” Pointedly, she excluded Will from her greeting. The guy just didn’t give up. They started dating in high school and were an on-again, off-again couple as the whim suited Will. Fed up with his wishy-washy attitude, she ended things at the start of her freshman year of college and told Will not to darken her doorstep again. Her declaration would have worked great, except Will didn’t take her seriously and he was a friend of Greg’s.
The last several years, he randomly pursued her, gave up and left her alone for a while, then started all over again. Brenna didn’t know what to do to get it through his head she was not interested in him. The more she ignored him, the more interested he seemed.
“What have you got there?” Avery asked, giving Brenna a hug that conveyed both love and support.
“Some catalogs for the serving pieces and dinnerware for the bistro. Would you mind taking a look after dinner?” Brenna set the catalogs on the china cupboard before taking a seat across the table from Avery.
Since Greg wouldn’t budge from Avery’s side, it left Brenna sitting next to Will. Letty shot her a sympathetic look, knowing how much Brenna disliked being around her former boyfriend. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy, just not the guy for Brenna.
“I’d be happy to.” Avery caught Brenna’s eye and inclined her head toward Will with an angry shake, indicating inviting him to dinner had not been her idea.
Will scooted his chair closer to Brenna’s, so she quietly inched her chair closer to her dad’s place at the end of the table. When Will leaned her direction, she jumped up from the table with an excuse of getting a pitcher of ice water.
By the time she returned, Will shot daggers at her with his eyes. She didn’t really notice since she threw a few of her own at her brother-in-law.
Brandon and Greg carried the bulk of the conversation with the women adding in comments. Will sat sullen and quiet through most of the meal.
After dinner, the three women made quick work of the dishes then retreated to the breakfast nook in the kitchen with the catalogs, avoiding their uninvited guest. Greg and Will joined Brandon in the family room where they discussed sports and local happenings.
“I’m sorry, Rennie,” Avery whispered as she looked at the pages Brenna had marked in the catalogs. “We were just leaving the house when Will showed up and you know how hard it is to get him to go home. Greg mentioned we were coming over here and the next thing you know, he was tagging along.”
The Coffee Girl Page 8
