Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(15)

“Yes.” Mesmerized by his warm blue-green eyes, Maggie struggled to regain the thread of conversation. “What were we were talking about?…Oh, coffee. I’ve never had coffee that tasted as good as the roasted beans smell.”

“Someday I’ll make you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had. You’ll follow me around begging for more hot water percolated through ground robusta.”

As Maggie laughed, she sensed that something had come alive in the air around them. Attraction, she realized in wonder. She had thought somehow that she’d lost the capacity for this, the vibrant sensual awareness of another person.

The ferry was moving. She hadn’t even noticed the blare of the ferry horn. The powerful engine sent vibrations along the bones of the vessel, softer thrums milling through the floors and seats, as regular as a heartbeat.

Maggie thought she should take an interest in the view as they headed across the strait, but it had lost its usual power to entice her. She looked back at the man opposite her, the relaxed strength of him, the splayed knees and the long arm propped on the back of the bench.

“How are you spending the weekend?” she asked.

“Visiting a friend.”

“The woman who was at the store with you?”

His expression became guarded. “Yes. Shelby.”

“She seemed nice.”

“She is.”

Maggie knew she should have left it at that. But her curiosity about him was growing beyond all casual boundaries. As she tried to summon an image of the composed, attractive blond woman—Shelby—she remembered having thought that they looked right together. Like the couples in jewelry commercials. “Is it serious between you?”

He pondered that. “I don’t know.”

“How long have you been going out?”

“A few months.” A contemplative pause before he added, “Since January.”

“Then you already know if things are serious.”

Mark looked torn between annoyance and amusement. “It takes some of us longer to figure it out than others.”

“What’s left to figure out?”

“If I can overcome the fear of eternity.”

“I should tell you my motto. It’s a quote from Emily Dickinson.”

“I don’t have a motto,” he said reflectively.

“Everyone should have a motto. You can borrow mine if you want.”

“What is it?”

“‘Forever is composed of nows.’” Maggie paused, her smile turning wistful at the edges. “You shouldn’t worry about forever…time runs out faster than you expect.”

“Yes.” Somewhere in his quiet tone there was a bleak note. “I found that out when I lost my sister.”

She gave him a sympathetic glance. “You were close to her?”

There was an unaccountably long pause. “The Nolans have never been what anyone would call a close-knit family. It’s like a casserole. You can take a bunch of ingredients that are fine on their own, but put them all together and it turns into something really terrible.”

“Not all casseroles are bad,” Maggie said.

“Name a good one.”

“Macaroni and cheese.”

“That’s not a casserole.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s a vegetable.”

Maggie burst out laughing. “Good try. But it is a casserole.”

“If you say so. But it’s the only casserole I like. All the others taste like something you put together to empty out the pantry.”

“I have my grandmother’s recipe for mac and cheese. Four kinds of cheese. And toasted bread crumbs on the top.”

“You should make it for me sometime.”

Of course that would never happen. But the idea of it caused heat to rise from her neck, spreading up to her hairline. “Shelby wouldn’t like it.”

“No. She doesn’t eat carbs.”

“I meant me cooking for you.”

Mark said nothing, only looked out the window with a distracted expression. Was he thinking of Shelby? Anticipating seeing her soon?

“What would you serve with it?” he asked after a moment.

Maggie’s grin fractured into a laugh. “I’d serve it as a main course with grilled asparagus on the side…and maybe a tomato and arugula salad.” It seemed like forever since she’d made anything beyond the simplest meals for herself, since cooking for one rarely seemed worth the effort. “I love to cook.”

“We have something in common.”

“You love to cook, too?”

“No, I love to eat.”

“Who does the cooking at your house?”

“My brother Sam and I take turns. We’re both terrible.”

“I have to ask: How in the world did you end up deciding to raise Holly together?”

“I knew I couldn’t do it alone. But there was no one else, and I couldn’t put Holly into foster care. So I guilted Sam into helping.”

“No regrets?”

Mark shook his head immediately. “Losing my sister was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but having Holly in my life is the best. Sam would say the same.”

“Has it been what you expected?”