Driftwood Lane (Nantucket #4)(14)

The deep-roasted smell filled the kitchen. It would be rude not to offer the man a cup. His legs sprawled across the kitchen floor, extending from the dishwasher’s side. She followed the length of them down to the white sock where his second toe peeked through a hole. Somehow that little detail made him very real.

She shook her head. Silly.

“Coffee?”

“Maybe later, thanks.”

He was making noises under there with his tools. She hoped he knew what he was doing. While he worked, Meridith retrieved Eva’s tattered cookbook. They had guests arriving that night for the weekend. Max had said Eva’s cinnamon rolls were always a hit, and the repeat guests expected them.

In preparation for the guests, she’d had a talk with the children about Piper. No amount of explaining about food and dog hair or dander was enough to satisfy them, so she’d finally just stated the rule: Piper was now an outdoor dog. She made a nice comfy bed of old quilts in the garage, but even that wasn’t enough to soothe the children, especially Noelle.

Now Meridith opened the cookbook to the cinnamon roll recipe.

She needed a reason to stick around and make sure Jake wasn’t cutting corners.

She set the ingredients on the counter, including the packet of yeast. “Is it okay to run the water?”

“Sure.”

She filled a bowl with warm water, then moved away.

“You the new owner then?” Jake’s voice carried from the cabinet’s cavity.

“How’d you know there was a new owner?”

He strained, grunting, his legs shifting for better hold. “Small island.”

Just because it was a tourist destination in the summer didn’t make it immune to small-town gossip, she supposed.

She wondered if Jake had known Eva and T. J., then decided she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to know anything about him. Best to keep it—

“Where you from?”

She ripped open the yeast packet and dumped it into the water, then added a teaspoon of sugar. “St. Louis.”

“The ‘show-me state.’ Where’d that phrase come from anyway?”

“There are several theories.” None of which she wanted to discuss. She read the directions again. “Let the yeast sit until it dissolved.” No mention of how long.

“How are the kids coping?”

She sighed. It really was a small island. “As well as can be expected. How’s that leak coming?”

He slid from under the sink and stood, a hose dangling from his hand. “There’s a crimp. Looks like—someone—tried to tighten it.”

His hands were large and dark-skinned. Long fingers, tapering down to squared-off tips. Nice hands.

Back to the hose. “Oh.”

Two seconds later he was under the sink again. She turned back to the yeast. It looked the same, so she started on the dough.

“What did you do in St. Louis?”

Well, wasn’t he Mr. Chatty today. “Safety inspector.”

“Aaaahh.”

There was something more to that aaahh, but she didn’t care to know what.

“Commercial, residential . . . ?”

“Restaurants and hotels mainly.” Maybe she should hand him her résumé and be done with it. She poured in the flour and dumped in the yeast mixture.

“That’s handy.”

She set the beaters into the mixture and turned it on. She smiled as a nice loud buzz filled the room. She worked the beaters around the dough, adding flour as she thought necessary. When it was well blended and stiff, she turned off the mixer. Now for the kneading. She removed her engagement ring and placed it on the counter.

“Nice rock.”

She jumped at the voice, nearer than she expected.

Jake wore a crooked grin. “All fixed.” He had a cleft camouflaged by the stubble on his chin.

She stepped around him. The dishwasher was back in place, the cabinet closed.

“Should I run it through a cycle to make sure?”

“It’s fixed. I’ll take a look under the cabinet later to see if there’s rotting. You wanted those partitions up first, right?”

“Right.”

He made some measurements at the base of the stairs, then exited the room, taking his woodsy scent with him. It was a relief to have him gone. Meridith reheated her coffee, added a dash of cream and sugar, and took a deep sip.

Jake might be convinced the leak was fixed, but she wanted to be certain. She punched the button, starting the wash cycle.

She was up to her wrists in dough when he returned with lumber. He set down the wood, and a few moments later he began hammering, the loud, sharp thwacks echoing off the walls. She cast occasional glances at the dishwasher base.

“Leave your fiancé back home?” Thwack, thwack, thwack.

“Yes.”

He grabbed another nail. One side of his mouth twitched as he lined up the nail. Thwack, thwack, thwack. “What’s he do?”

“He’s an accountant.”

“Aaaahh.”

That same tone. She didn’t know what it meant, but it was annoying. She shook the thought and checked the dishwasher. Satisfied it was fixed, she began loading the breakfast dishes.

“Must be hard to be apart.” Thwack, thwack, thwack.

She gave a tight smile, then returned to scrubbing the plates. How she felt about being apart from Stephen was none of his business. The fact was, it hadn’t been too hard. He called every couple days, and it wasn’t as though they saw each other daily at home. His schedule this time of year didn’t allow for that. It was tax season, after all.