Read Online Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) by M. Kate Quinn - Free Book Online
Authors: M. Kate Quinn
Tags: Contemporary
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you.”
“You’re nuts,” Sarah spat. “He was toying with me that night at the Pier House. Got his jollies. He’s a sicko.”
“No, Sarah.” She held up a hand. “Hear me out. But just as a sidebar, I love how pissed you sound. Usually you try to see the rainbow side of everything.”
“There are no rainbows in the sewer, my friend.”
“Listen. I say tomorrow you doll yourself up a little, go over to his place and cozy up to him, appeal to his brain, the one below his belt. You can make nice-nice and get him to withdraw the complaint.” Gigi lifted her hands into the air like she’d just discovered the nose on her face.
“Oh, I intend to pay a little visit to the man at Sixty Ocean tomorrow, before I go file the damned applications. But there will be nothing nice-nice about it.”
Chapter Five
Sarah drank her morning coffee while pacing around the kitchen. She didn’t care what it took, she’d handle this. It was one thing for Benny to formally complain about the wedding for whatever business it was of his. It was entirely another matter to shove a mysterious message under her door in the dark of night.
She spilled the rest of her coffee into the sink, rinsing it away with a forceful spray of water, enjoying the weapon-like feel of the nozzle’s trigger in her hand.
She knew if she showed up at his door and barked at him like the rabid dog she felt like, it might make matters worse. About that much, Gigi had been right. She needed to finesse the situation, use a soft approach, appeal to his kinder side. She clucked her tongue. That was assuming, of course, that he had one.
She decided to bring him muffins. She opened a box of bran muffin mix she had in the cupboard and dumped it into a bowl. Following the directions, she added the egg, water, and corn oil. She put the pan in the oven and dashed to get dressed.
As she lined a plate with the moist little buns it made her smile to think that maybe he’d get the subliminal message that an offering of fiber balls might relieve what he seemed to be full of.
Sarah carried the foil-covered dish with one hand on top to shield against the ocean breeze. She walked down the avenue toward his house wondering why she’d never really taken notice of the place before.
Sitting back from the street, it was a small, squat little structure with weathered brown cedar shakes. Next to the Morrison’s refurbished three-story stunner the Benedetto man’s house looked like an outbuilding.
She opened the front, loudly-squeaking gate. Crumbs of rust peppered her fingers. She shoved it closed behind her with her hip. She stepped up onto the cement porch and rapped on the aluminum storm door’s frame.
As she waited her eyes scanned the small yard. The sandy patch was decorated with a small weathered wooden lighthouse bearing a rectangular plaque boasting “Welcome” in bold lettering. Ha.
The inside wooden front door opened. And there he stood, speechless, staring at her through the glass of the outer door.
Her ignorant body had an immediate reaction, as if to say I remember you. She squared her shoulders. There was no reasoning with a chemical reaction.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said curtly, yet politely.
She had all she could do to keep her eyes focused on the small scar on his forehead. Any other part of his face was too dangerous to take in. The eyes were a killer, to say nothing of the man’s mouth.
Wordlessly, he opened the door, bracing it with his thick, sculpted arm. “Come in.”
She carefully stepped across the threshold, heart quickening. Maybe he was crazy. Images of scary newspaper headlines flashed in her mind. She hovered close to the door.
The aroma of some delicious-smelling confection, something with cinnamon and sugar, wafted in the air. It had not occurred to her that perhaps there was a Mrs. Benedetto. Dear God, had she really made a total fool of herself with a married man?
“I’m sorry, are you in the middle of
“You’re nuts,” Sarah spat. “He was toying with me that night at the Pier House. Got his jollies. He’s a sicko.”
“No, Sarah.” She held up a hand. “Hear me out. But just as a sidebar, I love how pissed you sound. Usually you try to see the rainbow side of everything.”
“There are no rainbows in the sewer, my friend.”
“Listen. I say tomorrow you doll yourself up a little, go over to his place and cozy up to him, appeal to his brain, the one below his belt. You can make nice-nice and get him to withdraw the complaint.” Gigi lifted her hands into the air like she’d just discovered the nose on her face.
“Oh, I intend to pay a little visit to the man at Sixty Ocean tomorrow, before I go file the damned applications. But there will be nothing nice-nice about it.”
Chapter Five
Sarah drank her morning coffee while pacing around the kitchen. She didn’t care what it took, she’d handle this. It was one thing for Benny to formally complain about the wedding for whatever business it was of his. It was entirely another matter to shove a mysterious message under her door in the dark of night.
She spilled the rest of her coffee into the sink, rinsing it away with a forceful spray of water, enjoying the weapon-like feel of the nozzle’s trigger in her hand.
She knew if she showed up at his door and barked at him like the rabid dog she felt like, it might make matters worse. About that much, Gigi had been right. She needed to finesse the situation, use a soft approach, appeal to his kinder side. She clucked her tongue. That was assuming, of course, that he had one.
She decided to bring him muffins. She opened a box of bran muffin mix she had in the cupboard and dumped it into a bowl. Following the directions, she added the egg, water, and corn oil. She put the pan in the oven and dashed to get dressed.
As she lined a plate with the moist little buns it made her smile to think that maybe he’d get the subliminal message that an offering of fiber balls might relieve what he seemed to be full of.
Sarah carried the foil-covered dish with one hand on top to shield against the ocean breeze. She walked down the avenue toward his house wondering why she’d never really taken notice of the place before.
Sitting back from the street, it was a small, squat little structure with weathered brown cedar shakes. Next to the Morrison’s refurbished three-story stunner the Benedetto man’s house looked like an outbuilding.
She opened the front, loudly-squeaking gate. Crumbs of rust peppered her fingers. She shoved it closed behind her with her hip. She stepped up onto the cement porch and rapped on the aluminum storm door’s frame.
As she waited her eyes scanned the small yard. The sandy patch was decorated with a small weathered wooden lighthouse bearing a rectangular plaque boasting “Welcome” in bold lettering. Ha.
The inside wooden front door opened. And there he stood, speechless, staring at her through the glass of the outer door.
Her ignorant body had an immediate reaction, as if to say I remember you. She squared her shoulders. There was no reasoning with a chemical reaction.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said curtly, yet politely.
She had all she could do to keep her eyes focused on the small scar on his forehead. Any other part of his face was too dangerous to take in. The eyes were a killer, to say nothing of the man’s mouth.
Wordlessly, he opened the door, bracing it with his thick, sculpted arm. “Come in.”
She carefully stepped across the threshold, heart quickening. Maybe he was crazy. Images of scary newspaper headlines flashed in her mind. She hovered close to the door.
The aroma of some delicious-smelling confection, something with cinnamon and sugar, wafted in the air. It had not occurred to her that perhaps there was a Mrs. Benedetto. Dear God, had she really made a total fool of herself with a married man?
“I’m sorry, are you in the middle of
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