his hand when he’d nonchalantly rifled around in the box for those Ts and As. He was up to something and Ali didn’t know whether to feel relieved or challenged.
Who’s the therapist here, anyway?
Benjamin made a show of adding up his score. “That’s fifteen points for the old man.” He wrote it on the pad with a flourish.
Ethan reached around his father’s shoulder, scooted the H aside and pointed out the pink square underneath.
“Dad, pay attention. That’s a double-word space.”
“So it is! Thanks, buddy.” Benjamin erased and reentered his score.
“Hey, no assistance from the cheap seats.” Ali waved Ethan away.
“She’s right, son. Either pull up a chair and play or go back to bed, but don’t loom over us like Mount Rushmore.”
Ali watched for the boy’s response. His eyes glazed with confusion, like a dog caught in the middle of a busy road, not knowing whether to freeze on the spot or run for the safety of the curb. Instinct told her to intervene.
“Here, take my seat and see if you can do anything with these crummy letters I drew.” She stood and indicated the chair. When he continued to hesitate she walked around the desk, pinched the hem of his T-shirt and tugged Ethan forward. “Really, I could use the help. I’m much better at Monopoly but this was the only game in my closet that still had all the pieces.”
Ethan slumped down, shoved both hands through the mop of hair sticking outward from his scalp and held that pose while he studied the tray containing seven letter tiles.
Benjamin’s head popped up from where he’d been concentrating on his next move.
“I think I smell something burning.” He jumped to his feet. “Ali, would you mind taking my turn while I check on the pie?” Without waiting for her response or Ethan’s objection, Benjamin headed out the doorway. A moment later his head poked back into the room.“And no cheating,” he admonished, then hurried to the end of the hall and thumped down the staircase.
“I interfered upstairs, and I’m sorry for doing that without your permission.” Benjamin’s apology flowed the moment Ali appeared in the kitchen a couple of hours later.
She didn’t bother pretending she had no idea what he meant. “Yes, you did meddle in my business but it worked out well, so you’re forgiven.” And she had to admit, if only to herself, it had been heartwarming to watch his devious efforts to engage Ethan in the game.
“I warn you, it probably won’t be the last time,” Benjamin admitted.
“That’s okay, because I have every intention of sticking my nose into your professional affairs the first chance I get.”
“I held off on supper, hoping you’d join me. There hasn’t been a lady at my table in a long time, so my hosting skills are sorta rusty.” He waved a hand toward the bay window where he’d positioned a second place setting at the banquette. “If you’d prefer something more formal, we can move into the dining room.”
“Gosh, no. I wouldn’t know formal if it jumped up and bit me.” She walked to the table and counted the number of forks beside each plate. Four.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“If this is what you consider informal, I’d hate to see how much silver it takes to feed you by candlelight.”
Benjamin rested a fist at either side of his waist and stared at the table, considering his efforts.
“Cocktail, salad, dinner, dessert.” He pointed as he explained.
“This is a lovely kitchen, but it is not the Ritz Carlton. One fork will do, two tops.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.”
After nodding agreement he swept several utensils away from the table, dropped them into an open utility drawer and then placed a meal before them that Ali couldn’t have cooked on a dare. During Benjamin’s blessing her stomach rumbled like a diesel engine. She risked a peek and caught him smiling as he prayed. The more she knew of him the less by-the-book and more approachable he seemed.
He
Who’s the therapist here, anyway?
Benjamin made a show of adding up his score. “That’s fifteen points for the old man.” He wrote it on the pad with a flourish.
Ethan reached around his father’s shoulder, scooted the H aside and pointed out the pink square underneath.
“Dad, pay attention. That’s a double-word space.”
“So it is! Thanks, buddy.” Benjamin erased and reentered his score.
“Hey, no assistance from the cheap seats.” Ali waved Ethan away.
“She’s right, son. Either pull up a chair and play or go back to bed, but don’t loom over us like Mount Rushmore.”
Ali watched for the boy’s response. His eyes glazed with confusion, like a dog caught in the middle of a busy road, not knowing whether to freeze on the spot or run for the safety of the curb. Instinct told her to intervene.
“Here, take my seat and see if you can do anything with these crummy letters I drew.” She stood and indicated the chair. When he continued to hesitate she walked around the desk, pinched the hem of his T-shirt and tugged Ethan forward. “Really, I could use the help. I’m much better at Monopoly but this was the only game in my closet that still had all the pieces.”
Ethan slumped down, shoved both hands through the mop of hair sticking outward from his scalp and held that pose while he studied the tray containing seven letter tiles.
Benjamin’s head popped up from where he’d been concentrating on his next move.
“I think I smell something burning.” He jumped to his feet. “Ali, would you mind taking my turn while I check on the pie?” Without waiting for her response or Ethan’s objection, Benjamin headed out the doorway. A moment later his head poked back into the room.“And no cheating,” he admonished, then hurried to the end of the hall and thumped down the staircase.
“I interfered upstairs, and I’m sorry for doing that without your permission.” Benjamin’s apology flowed the moment Ali appeared in the kitchen a couple of hours later.
She didn’t bother pretending she had no idea what he meant. “Yes, you did meddle in my business but it worked out well, so you’re forgiven.” And she had to admit, if only to herself, it had been heartwarming to watch his devious efforts to engage Ethan in the game.
“I warn you, it probably won’t be the last time,” Benjamin admitted.
“That’s okay, because I have every intention of sticking my nose into your professional affairs the first chance I get.”
“I held off on supper, hoping you’d join me. There hasn’t been a lady at my table in a long time, so my hosting skills are sorta rusty.” He waved a hand toward the bay window where he’d positioned a second place setting at the banquette. “If you’d prefer something more formal, we can move into the dining room.”
“Gosh, no. I wouldn’t know formal if it jumped up and bit me.” She walked to the table and counted the number of forks beside each plate. Four.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“If this is what you consider informal, I’d hate to see how much silver it takes to feed you by candlelight.”
Benjamin rested a fist at either side of his waist and stared at the table, considering his efforts.
“Cocktail, salad, dinner, dessert.” He pointed as he explained.
“This is a lovely kitchen, but it is not the Ritz Carlton. One fork will do, two tops.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.”
After nodding agreement he swept several utensils away from the table, dropped them into an open utility drawer and then placed a meal before them that Ali couldn’t have cooked on a dare. During Benjamin’s blessing her stomach rumbled like a diesel engine. She risked a peek and caught him smiling as he prayed. The more she knew of him the less by-the-book and more approachable he seemed.
He
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