“One more.” Ivy touched her hand. “And what do you say?”
“Ple-ea-se.” The word was drawn out to three syllables, each one brighter than the last.
“Charmingandmannerly.” Hank passed the biscuit basket. “Better table manners than Brian, and I say that with affection.”
“Agreed.” Deliberately uncouth, Brian tilted back his head and popped a piece of biscuit into his mouth.
Cora rolled her eyes. But when she smiled at her betrothed, her expression glowed.
Torin found himself grinning and realized his face muscles felt stretched out by the unfamiliar position they’d been in since his friends’ arrival. He looked at Ivy and caught her watching him. The warmth in her hazel eyes made his breath hitch.
He looked away. But not before Hank saw. From his knowing expression, Torin knew he’d hear about his attraction to the governess sooner or later.
Hank reached for another biscuit and, under the table, knocked his boot against Torin's in a gesture that in the wordless language of their friendship meantI told you so.
Sooner.
Thank goodness, no one else noticed.
Luckily, everyone else was enthralled with Brian’s description of the final edits to his book. With his exaggerated expressions and animated gestures, his storytelling gifts were on full display. He recounted the battles with his New York publisher over word choices and chapter divisions and whether Sheriff Granger should be changed into a man, or two characters should be combined into one. “I had to keep reminding him this wasn’t a novel!”
Hank talked about the house plans, now professionally drawn up by Andre Bellaire’s architect.
Elsie added her own modifications with the eagerness of a woman who’d spent her young lifetime dreaming of a beautiful home.
Ivy listened with rapt attention, obviously enjoying the bustle and noise and overlapping voices of a group of friends at ease with one another. She asked questions, offered opinions, laughed at Brian's wit and Hank’s dry asides, and exchanged frequent glances with Cora that seemed to be their own conversations.
After they’d finished eating and the dishes were cleared, they continued talking, this time breaking into smaller conversational groups.
Torin unapologetically eavesdropped on Ivy and Elsie discovering a shared fascination with fabric and handwork through their focus on Jewel’s letters.
Jewel looked on with approval as Elsie examined each one with the professional eye of a seamstress, testing the stitching, feeling the stuffing. “These are lovely, but the felt will wear quickly.” Elsie turned theAover in her hands. “What if I made a second set from sturdier fabric? Cotton duck or canvas, with a layer of batting inside. They’d hold up better to Jewel's handling.”
“Would you?” Ivy’s face lit up. “That would be wonderful.”
“You two are going to be dangerous together,” Hank observed from his chair, obviously not at all bothered by Elsie’s feistiness.
“Extremely,” Ivy agreed, her expression aglow.
Torin couldn’t help but agree.Just what I’m afraid of.
In a quiet moment,when the men were occupied with Jewel chattering about Brave, Ivy pulled the other women into the kitchen to help her make coffee and tea and cut the chocolate cake Cora had brought from the bakery. She wanted a little female time.
“I can see you've done wonders for Torin and Jewel.” Elsie turned to Ivy with the kind of frank warmth that, apparently, was her personality. “And the house feels different from before. Alive.”
The word startled Ivy. “I haven't done much. Just—teaching. Some housekeeping. Really, Torin does most of the hard work.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Elsie tilted her head, shrewdness in her big, brown eyes. “I mean Torin himself. He’s lighter. Less clenched. As if he can finally breathe.”
Ivy’s cheeks heated, and she busied herself with pouring tea into delicate cups and saucers. She handed one to Cora. “I think spring did that. The winter was hard on him.”
Exchanging a knowing glance with Cora, Elsie made a small sound that was not quite agreement and not quite contradiction. She accepted her cup of tea and took a sip.
Ivy wondered why she couldn’t acknowledge the changes in Torin.Maybe because I’m not ready to admit how much I’ve changed.
She poured coffee into three mugs and stood for a moment, watching the dark liquid swirl. Through the kitchen door, she could hear Jewel’s laughter and the buzz of male voices.
This is what we’ll lose when our friends leave.The laughter. The noise of conversations. The feeling of being part of a family.In the kitchen, she wanted to grasp the hands of both women, so grateful for the feeling of feminine support.If only they would move here.
