Secrets Between Them. C.J. Carmichael

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СКАЧАТЬ She only had fifteen minutes until she was supposed to serve breakfast to her five guests, plus her father and aunt.

      She pulled herself out of her warm, lavender-scented sheets. Winced. Her head ached.

      Then she remembered the wine she and Nick had shared last night.

      When was the last time she’d had more than one or two glasses? She couldn’t remember.

      She grabbed jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then slipped out to the bathroom. Sounds of someone cooking came from the kitchen. Miracle of miracles, her father must be up preparing the breakfast. She washed quickly, then hurried out to help him.

      “Good morning, Jennifer.” Her father peered over his bifocals at her, then blinked as if he couldn’t quite focus this early in the morning.

      He looked like a crotchety old man with his disheveled gray hair and whiskers bristling on his chin. His lean frame was lost in an oversize sweatshirt and pants that seemed as if they’d fall to the ground given one good tug. But he was definitely her hero this morning.

      “Thanks, Dad.” She gave him a kiss, then checked the coffee machine. Good, he’d already switched it on. She pulled out place mats, then set the table. Her father tossed a spoonful of salt into a big bowl of batter. “What’s on the menu?”

      “Pancakes with fresh blueberries. I picked ’em this morning.”

      “That sounds great.” Jennifer pulled out the blender to make smoothies…one of the B and B specials. She grabbed bananas and strawberries from the freezer and blended them with vanilla yogurt and milk.

      The first of the guests came into the kitchen just as she was pouring thick smoothies into tall glasses. Steve and Laura Waterton were looking forward to renting kayaks and heading for the Broken Islands.

      As Jennifer answered their questions about the weather forecast, the Tisdale sisters came down.

      “How did you sleep?” Jennifer asked as she poured them each a cup of coffee.

      “The birds were dreadfully noisy,” Ruth said. “The racket started before dawn.”

      “I thought the singing was lovely,” Eileen said. “We have so few songbirds in the city, anymore. Just robins and sparrows, really. The odd chickadee.”

      Jennifer wasn’t surprised that they each felt differently about the morning birdsong. The sisters seemed to be direct opposites in everything from looks—Ruth was long and lean with angular features, while Eileen was short and plump and pretty—to temperament.

      “I suppose I’ll have to sleep with the window closed tonight.” Ruth slid into the chair with the best view of the gardens.

      Eileen, unperturbed by her sister’s grumbling, smiled and took the seat across from her sister.

      The final guest appeared then. “Good morning, everyone.”

      Nick’s entrance immediately brightened the mood of the room. Jennifer didn’t think she was the only one who felt it. Even Ruth managed a smile and a word of welcome.

      He helped himself to coffee, then sat at the one remaining place setting. Jennifer passed around glasses of smoothie and when she reached him, he touched her arm.

      “When are you free?” he asked.

      She felt the blood shoot up to her face. “I need to clean the kitchen and wash a few loads of laundry.” The Waterton’s room had to be prepared for new guests. “Then I have my morning yoga class. I’m finished around eleven-thirty.”

      Most afternoons she gardened. But today, she would make an exception.

      “I saw the sign to the yoga studio on my drive from the ferry. Orange-and-blue colored building?”

      “That’s the one.”

      “How about I pick you up and we go on from there?”

      “That would be fine.” Fine? Talk about an under-statement. She couldn’t remember when she’d looked forward to something as much as this. She’d had so much fun talking to him last night. Once they’d gone to their separate rooms, she’d stayed up for hours replaying their conversation. After his awkward question about the forget-me-not song—she always hated when that subject came up—they’d discussed travel. Nick had been to a lot of places. Not overseas, but he’d visited almost every state, as well as much of Mexico and Central America.

      She’d drunk in every story, every detail.

      “Pancakes are ready,” her father announced, bringing a laden platter to the table.

      The pancakes were thinner than usual, with crispy edges. A little concerned, Jennifer went to the stove and sampled one of the pancakes still on the griddle.

      She couldn’t tell what was wrong, but it didn’t taste right. She glanced back at the table and watched as Nick lifted a forkful of pancake to his mouth. He chewed, then stopped. A look of mild surprise crossed his face. He reached for his cup of coffee.

      “These are different,” Steve Waterton said.

      “They certainly are.” Ruth pinched her mouth and set down her fork.

      “I did a little improvising today,” her father said proudly, clearly taking the comments as compliments. “Tossed in a few splashes of white wine. What do you think?”

      Jennifer’s gaze shot to the spot on the counter where she’d left the bottles after her late night conversation with Nick. There’d been about a third of a bottle left when she went to bed, but now both bottles were empty.

      At the table, everyone was silent for a moment. Nick scooped more pancake onto his fork. “Very Parisian,” he pronounced.

      “They say you can add white wine to anything,” her father said.

      Obviously he’d been watching too many cooking shows.

      “That may be true, but I hope you didn’t add any to the coffee.” Ruth picked up her mug and sniffed the steaming liquid suspiciously.

      Her father laughed and Jennifer forced herself to join in, though she strongly suspected Ruth had not meant her comment as a joke.

      “Eat up,” her father said. “I’ve got plenty more in the kitchen.” He joined her by the griddle, picked up the spatula. “Why don’t you sit down at the counter and eat, too, Jennifer? I’ve got this covered.”

      She’d been about to suggest she defrost some muffins she kept in the freezer for emergencies. But she could just imagine how her father’s face would fall if she did that. He was so pleased with himself, with his efforts to save her the trouble of preparing breakfast for once.

      His intentions were good. But why, oh why, couldn’t he have followed the recipe that she, and her mother before her, had been using with great success for the past thirty years?

      “Thanks, Dad. I’d love some pancakes.”

      He carefully flipped three onto a plate and handed it to her. “You work too hard, Jennifer. I should handle breakfast for you СКАЧАТЬ