“Yes, I am. And there will be plenty.”
“Miss Amanda, come to dinner. Please, please, please.” Now Brooklyn turned those pleading eyes on her.
She glanced at Connor’s stony face but couldn’t say no to Brooklyn just to please him. “Yes, I’ll come. What can I bring?” She turned from Connor’s glare to Megan.
“Nothing. Just yourself. About six?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Yay!” Brooklyn twirled around.
“Brookie, be careful.” Megan stopped her daughter’s spinning. “We should get a table. See you tonight.”
“See you then.”
The three of them walked toward an open table in the back. Brooklyn skipped through the tables as Megan tried to keep up with her. Connor trailed behind, his shoulders set. He slid onto his chair and gave her one last frosty glare.
Connor had a nice sister and a cute niece, but the man himself was impossible.
CHAPTER 11
Amanda got ready to go over to Connor’s, still questioning her decision but knowing she never could have refused Brooklyn’s pleas. Connor would just have to get over himself. And she liked his sister. She was so friendly and nice. Quite the opposite of her surly brother.
She selected a bottle of pinot noir to bring with her. Gathering her courage—which was silly because she was just going to a neighbor’s house for dinner—she crossed the distance to Connor’s cottage.
She knocked on the door and Brooklyn tugged it open and threw herself into a hug. “You came. Yay. We’re gonna have the best dinner ever. And Momma makes the best spaghetti too. You’ll love it.”
Brooklyn grabbed her hand and tugged her inside, dragging her into the kitchen. Megan stood at the stove, stirring the sauce. The enticing aroma of onions, garlic, and a hint of oregano filtered through the cottage.
“You made it. Great.” Megan flashed her a smile.
Connor lounged against the counter, a noncommittal expression on his face.
“I brought some red wine.” She held up the bottle.
“Oh, that was thoughtful. Connor, will you open it and pour us some?”
He scowled as he took the bottle from her and turned away. But not before she heard him mutter under his breath. “More of a beer drinker, myself.”
Megan shot her brother a pointed glare, but he ignored it and busied himself with the task of opening the wine. Amanda shifted self-consciously as the tension in the room clung to all of them like a soaked blanket.
“I set the table,” Brooklyn piped up, cutting through the awkwardness. “And Uncle Connor doesn’t have placemats like we have at home. He should have some, shouldn’t he?” The girl looked up expectantly.
“Uh…” Amanda hesitated. How should she answer that? Connor was already plainly displeased with her presence. She couldn’t imagine critiquing his table settings on top of that.
“I told Momma we should get some for him for his birthday,” Brooklyn continued, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.
“That would be a nice gift.” She glanced over at Connor, but his back was to her.
He finally turned around and handed a glass of wine to Megan and one to her. He pulled his hand back so quickly when he handed it to her that she almost dropped the glass. He strode over to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and popped the top. Then he lounged back against the counter, taking a long swig as if to prove his point.
She stifled a sigh. It looked like she could do nothing to please this man. She took a sip of the wine but its rich, vibrant flavors did little to soothe the knots in her stomach. She had half-hoped that coming here for dinner would break down the wall to Connor’s gruff exterior. But as each moment crept by, the wall between them grew higher and more impenetrable.
“Amanda, why don’t you take a seat? I just have to drain the spaghetti noodles and take up the sauce. And Connor, will you grab the salad out of the fridge?” Megan’s cheerful voice forced its way through the brittle friction in the room.
Grateful for the distraction, she took a seat as Megan served up dinner. Connor sat directly across from her, his expression a careful mask of neutral indifference.
“So, how is the festival coming along?” Megan asked after everyone filled their plates.
