Doreen Malek - Daddy's Choice

“I didn’t know that. We never had any trouble when I came here as a kid.”

“The weather pattern has shifted. A friend of mine is a meteorologist at a radio station in Atlantic City and he’s been tracking it.”

“I see.” Their eyes met, and Carol knew that neither one of them was thinking about the weather.

He held the ensuing silence for a long beat and then asked, “You doing anything for lunch?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” Carol suggested.

He grinned. “I’m not fond of peanut butter myself. I think I ate too much of it as a kid. Would you like to go out and get something?”

“Where?”

“The only restaurant in town is Cater’s, and it doesn’t open until three,” he said, laughing. “We’d have to drive to Avalon.”

“Why don’t we stay here? I could make lunch, if you’d like to join me.”

“Don’t go to any special trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.”

He rose, draining his mug. “Is twelve-thirty okay?” he said, setting the cup back on the table.

“Twelve-thirty is fine.”

“See you then.” He sauntered across the kitchen and out the back door, letting the screen door slam behind him.

Carol smiled to herself and began to clear the table.

The morning progressed with glacial speed; Carol kept glancing at the clock, only to discover that just a few minutes had passed. She finally gave up trying to study. She prowled the house, straightening things that didn’t need moving, shuffling books on the shelves, watering the plants she’d brought from her apartment, listening for Tay’s movements outside. At twelve o’clock she made the salad and sliced the strawberries for dessert. At twelve-twenty she heard the gush of the lawn hose and looked out the window to see Tay stripped to the waist, washing under its stream.

Carol stood to the side and watched as he let the water cascade over his hair and torso. There was a ring of sunburn around his neck and his whole upper body was a golden brown, his arms below the biceps several shades darker. Carol studied the movement of the muscles framing his spine as he thrust his free hand through his damp hair, then she looked away as he turned off the tap and hung up the hose. She ran to the mirror and fluffed her hair, checking her lipstick and looking up with a smile as he tapped on the door.

“Hungry?” she said.

“You bet.” He’d put on another shirt he must have had in the truck, a yellow polo that highlighted his water-darkened blond hair and contrasted with his tan.

He seemed to look wonderful in everything.

“Can I help?” he asked as she set the table.

“No, everything is done.”

“Looks good,” he said, sinking into the chair she indicated. Carol put a glass of iced tea in front of him and then sat across from him as he lifted a fork and dug into the salad. She waited for his reaction. He looked up and saw her watching him.

“Great,” he pronounced. “What is it?”

“Salade niçoise.”

“From a mix?” he said, and she laughed.

“No, that’s my own concoction.”

“And this?” he asked, gesturing to his other plate.

“Cold chicken. Doesn’t it look familiar?”

“Oh, I just wondered if there was anything fancy going on there. I liked to be warned.”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.