Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(56)

“Get out of here!” Alix said, eyes widening.

“Really?” This came from Margaret.

“How sweet,” Lydia said next. “Pun intended.”

“The company’s been in the family for three generations. This is a new product we’re about to launch nationally. Please take one. I’d appreciate your comments.”

“You mean you’re giving us these?” Margaret grabbed a second bar.

“You are kidding, aren’t you?” Alix sounded shocked. Hutch was amused by their reactions. He knew his chocolates were popular, but the members of his knitting class looked at him as if he were handing out hundred-dollar bills. “Take as many as you’d like. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“How come this is our f ifth class, but only now do you reveal who you are?” Margaret asked.

“Is it important?” Hutch returned.

“Not in the least,” Lydia said, staring openly at her sister. Margaret tore into one of the bars, and after the f irst bite, declared, “I hate to say it, but this is probably the best chocolate bar I’ve ever tasted.”

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “Why do you hate to say that?”

“Because I love chocolate, and I could eat one—no, two or three—of these every day for the rest of my life. I’m struggling with my weight as it is.” She slapped her legs. “I have the thighs that ate Seattle.”

Margaret wasn’t generally one to crack jokes, and Hutch laughed appreciatively at her unexpected remark. Women were his target audience, although he didn’t announce the fact. Research showed that women consumed far more chocolate than men; not only that, they were the primary purchasers within the family. Once everyone had eaten a chocolate bar and murmured or groaned happily, they all resumed their knitting and that day’s new stitch.

Class time sped by. All too soon it was eight o’clock, and they gathered up their things. Hutch and Phoebe crossed the street to the French Café.

Phoebe had said very little during class. Hutch waited until they were settled in their chairs and had taken their f irst sips of coffee.

“Do you feel like talking about what happened earlier this evening?” he asked. He didn’t want to pry or prod her to talk if she felt uncomfortable. But conf iding in someone could help, and he was a good listener.

Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Hutch, it was awful.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached across the table and took her hand in a consoling gesture.

“His name—my f iancé’s friend—is…oh, it doesn’t matter. I thought, you know, that if I showed him I was getting on with my life that he’d…that he would, too.”

Hutch waited a moment, then said, “Apparently he wasn’t ready to hear that.”

Shaking her head, she frowned. “He went ballistic.”

Hutch felt that was excessive. The guy’s friend was dead. It wasn’t as though Phoebe could dedicate the rest of her life to the memory of the man she’d loved.

“Was he especially close to your f iancé?” he asked. She didn’t meet his gaze and simply nodded. “I’m still so upset that I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Hutch respected that. “Then we won’t. Let’s discuss something cheerful instead.”

She grinned weakly. “Do you have any ideas?’

He’d considered this earlier. “What about a trip to the beach this weekend?” he asked. “My family owns a condo in Westport.”

Hutch hadn’t been there in years. His sister and her family were the only ones who really took advantage of the place. His mother made the trek once every summer with a few of her friends. Hutch f igured he should have a turn, too.

Phoebe instantly brightened. “I’d love that.”

He did want to clear up one thing. “Not to worry—there are three bedrooms. No pressure.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Hey, my masculinity’s suffering here. I was hoping you’d be so tempted by my wild sexuality that you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

Phoebe laughed.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Yes, you were.”

He laughed, too. “Well, maybe, but not all that much.” Hutch wanted to be far more than friends. Still, he’d never coerce her into a sexual relationship, although the subject was on his mind constantly.

“A weekend at the beach sounds like exactly what I need.” She smiled at him gratefully. “It would be wonderful to get away for a couple of days.”

“Then I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at eight if that’s not too early, and we’ll drive back Sunday afternoon.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll do the cooking.”

“No need. There are wonderful restaurants in town.”

“Please, I insist. I make a good seafood linguine.”

“If you want to cook, f ine, but it really isn’t necessary.”

“Yes, it is. And I’ll make brunch on Sunday. My cheese omelet will melt in your mouth.”

Hutch couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Maybe we should leave tomorrow instead of waiting for the weekend.”

For the f irst time all evening, Phoebe looked relaxed and carefree. “I’d love to,” she told him, “but I have clients scheduled.”