Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(71)

“So even grandmothers think carpenters are hot.”

Zoë laughed. “I guess so. And Alex is very patient with her. Very sweet.”

“Ha. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone call Alex Nolan sweet.”

“He is,” Zoë said. “You can’t imagine what a difference he’s made to Emma.”

“And to you?” Justine prompted, looking at her closely.

“Yes. He’s going to be here for dinner on Saturday night. I asked him for moral support, since my dad’s going to be there.”

“You’ve got me for moral support.”

Zoë started to scrub a baking pan in the sink. “I need all the support I can get from as many people as possible. You know how my dad is.”

Justine sighed. “If it makes Saturday night easier for you, Alex Nolan is welcome. I’ll even be nice to him. What are you going to make, by the way?”

“Something special.”

Justine had bounced on her heels in anticipation. “Your dad does not deserve the dinner you’re making for him. But I’m glad I get to reap the benefits.”

Zoë refrained from telling her cousin that she wasn’t really cooking for her father’s benefit, or even for Emma’s. It was for Alex. She was going to speak to him in a language of fragrance, color, texture, taste … she was going to use all her skill and instinct to create a meal he would never forget.

Justine met Alex at the front door of the inn and welcomed him inside. Her hair was a loose curtain of dark silk, as opposed to the usual ponytail. She was strikingly attractive in slim cigarette pants and flats, and an emerald top with a deeply scooped neckline. But there was something subdued about her this evening, her usual vibrancy diminished.

“Hi, Alex.” Her gaze went to the glass jars in his hands, filled with lavender bath salts and tied with filmy purple bows. “What are those?”

“Hostess gifts.” He handed them to her. “For you and Zoë.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking surprised. “That’s nice. And lavender is Zoë’s favorite smell.”

“I know.”

Justine studied him intently. “You two have been getting close lately, huh?”

He was instantly wary. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. The fact that you’re here for this dinner makes it pretty clear. Zoë’s relationship with her dad is an emotional minefield. He’s never given a damn about her. I think he’s the reason she’s always been attracted to men who are guaranteed to let her down.”

“Are you leading to a point?”

“Yes. If you hurt Zoë in any way, I’ll put a curse on you.”

Justine looked so sincere that Alex couldn’t help asking, “What kind of curse?”

“Something lifelong and incapacitating.”

Although Alex was tempted to tell Justine to mind her own business, part of him was touched by her fierce concern for her cousin. “Understood,” he said.

Seeming satisfied, Justine led him toward the inn’s private library.

“Is Duane here tonight?” Alex asked.

“We broke up,” Justine muttered.

“Can I ask why?”

“I scared him.”

“How could you … never mind, let’s change the subject. When did Zoë’s dad get here?”

“Late last night,” she said. “He and his girlfriend, Phyllis, spent most of the day with Emma.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s having a pretty good day—every now and then she got a little mixed up and kept asking who Phyllis was. But Phyllis has been really nice. I think you’ll like her.”

“What about James?”

Justine gave a snort. “No one likes James.”

They entered the library, where a long mahogany table had been set with crystal and white linen, and decorated with a row of green hydrangea blossoms floating in glass bowls. Emma stood with her son and his girlfriend near the fireplace, which was filled with lit candles set in assorted mercury glass candlesticks.

Emma beamed as she saw him. She was wearing a plum silk dress, her light blond hair shining in the candle glow. “There you are,” she exclaimed.

Alex went to her and bent to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, Emma.”

“Thank you.” She turned to the brunette by her side. “Phyllis, this handsome devil is Alex Nolan. He’s the one who’s remodeling the cottage.”

The woman was tall and large-boned, her hair cut in an efficient bob. “Nice to meet you,” she said, giving Alex a firm handshake and a friendly smile.

“And this,” Emma continued, gesturing to a squarely built man of medium height, “is my son, James.”

Alex shook his hand.

Zoë’s father greeted him with all the pleasure of a substitute teacher who had just been assigned to a misbehaving classroom. He had the kind of face that appeared boyish and aged at the same time, his eyes flat as pennies behind heavy-rimmed glasses.

“We visited the cottage today,” James told him. “You seem to have done a competent job.”

“That’s James’s version of a compliment,” Phyllis interceded quickly. She smiled at Alex. “It’s a terrific lake house. According to Justine and Zoë, you’ve transformed the place.”