announced, “I’ll be right back!”
Jill cocked her head. I don’t know who she sounds like more. Her father or her grandmother.
As lunchtime drew near, Olivia went with Baines to wash up and Gavin joined Jill in the sunroom. “I believe we’re having your favorite for lunch.” His mouth spread into a big smile.
“My favorite?” Jill could only stare. Gavin shifted his weight, his blue-gray eyes brightened and his typically erect posture made him look impossibly tall.
“I have it on good authority that egg salad on rye with a dill pickle and curly fries is your favorite.”
Jill gulped, unable to mask her horror at the prospect of egg salad. “You think that’s my favorite ?”
Gavin’s posture slipped a notch. He edged toward the door. “It’s not?”
“Egg salad and curly fries?” Why couldn’t she stop saying that?
His tic returned. “Liv and I agreed this morning she’d learn what you like for lunch and we’d surprise you.” He ran a hand through his hair, and turned.
She half expected him to bolt.
Instead, he faced her, his body rigid. “I’m sorry if we got the choices wrong.”
At the sight of his embarrassment, Jill couldn’t help but giggle. “You didn’t.”
His tic jumped. “I don’t understand. Just now you acted as if you don’t care for those things.”
Jill tried without success to stop laughing. “Now I understand what Olivia was up to this morning.” Why couldn’t she stop laughing?
Gavin shoved his hands deep into his pockets, “Do you or do you not like egg salad?”
His voice a half-measure short of a growl Jill wondered, could anyone be stiffer than Gavin Fairfield when he was embarrassed?
“And what the devil are you laughing about?” he demanded.
Still choking back laughter she sputtered, “Don’t care for egg salad, am allergic to dill pickles, and I’ve never tasted curly fries.”
Red-faced, he murmured, “Then clearly we got the menu wrong.” He pivoted.
Jill caught his arm, aware of his corded muscles beneath her fingers. “Wait, Gavin. Your daughter is highly creative and connects unrelated concepts in intriguing ways, evidence her brain is compensating for the damaged areas that no longer function. She’s quite the little sleuth because when we were working this morning, I had no idea what she was up to. I fouled up things because I turned her little investigation—which I thought was just her being playful—into an assessment. And, because she worked so hard to remember her words, I rewarded her by agreeing egg salad on rye with a dill pickle and curly fries sounded fine.”
“I see.” He stared down at her, rocking back and forth on his heels. At last, he said, “And will you be laughing this hard when your mouth is full of egg salad?”
She drew back horrified at the idea. “You wouldn’t expect me to eat the stuff!”
He grinned, a telltale twinkle in his eye. “I’ll be curious to see how you explain to Liv you don’t actually like egg salad.”
Chapter Six
Without bothering more than tossing a robe over her shoulders, Jill stepped out into the cool morning air to collect the mail. Much like her voice mail, the mailbox had been stuffed full over the past week. She piled bills, invitations, donation requests, a check from one of her publishers, and a landslide of seed, lingerie, and shoe catalogs into her arms, when a car honked. She turned just in time to see Gavin drive up in his black BMW.
The passenger’s window slid down. “Thought I’d give you a lift.”
Caught in my robe. I haven’t even brushed my hair yet. Is there no justice? Her mouth gaped open. The mail in her arms shifted, sending the catalogs on top spilling to the ground. She bent over to collect them, making strategic use of her chin to keep the rest of her mail from getting away. Yet, each time she reached for a fallen piece of mail, more mail slipped out of her grip.
Dressed in black jeans, a black sport coat and a crisp light blue shirt,
Jill cocked her head. I don’t know who she sounds like more. Her father or her grandmother.
As lunchtime drew near, Olivia went with Baines to wash up and Gavin joined Jill in the sunroom. “I believe we’re having your favorite for lunch.” His mouth spread into a big smile.
“My favorite?” Jill could only stare. Gavin shifted his weight, his blue-gray eyes brightened and his typically erect posture made him look impossibly tall.
“I have it on good authority that egg salad on rye with a dill pickle and curly fries is your favorite.”
Jill gulped, unable to mask her horror at the prospect of egg salad. “You think that’s my favorite ?”
Gavin’s posture slipped a notch. He edged toward the door. “It’s not?”
“Egg salad and curly fries?” Why couldn’t she stop saying that?
His tic returned. “Liv and I agreed this morning she’d learn what you like for lunch and we’d surprise you.” He ran a hand through his hair, and turned.
She half expected him to bolt.
Instead, he faced her, his body rigid. “I’m sorry if we got the choices wrong.”
At the sight of his embarrassment, Jill couldn’t help but giggle. “You didn’t.”
His tic jumped. “I don’t understand. Just now you acted as if you don’t care for those things.”
Jill tried without success to stop laughing. “Now I understand what Olivia was up to this morning.” Why couldn’t she stop laughing?
Gavin shoved his hands deep into his pockets, “Do you or do you not like egg salad?”
His voice a half-measure short of a growl Jill wondered, could anyone be stiffer than Gavin Fairfield when he was embarrassed?
“And what the devil are you laughing about?” he demanded.
Still choking back laughter she sputtered, “Don’t care for egg salad, am allergic to dill pickles, and I’ve never tasted curly fries.”
Red-faced, he murmured, “Then clearly we got the menu wrong.” He pivoted.
Jill caught his arm, aware of his corded muscles beneath her fingers. “Wait, Gavin. Your daughter is highly creative and connects unrelated concepts in intriguing ways, evidence her brain is compensating for the damaged areas that no longer function. She’s quite the little sleuth because when we were working this morning, I had no idea what she was up to. I fouled up things because I turned her little investigation—which I thought was just her being playful—into an assessment. And, because she worked so hard to remember her words, I rewarded her by agreeing egg salad on rye with a dill pickle and curly fries sounded fine.”
“I see.” He stared down at her, rocking back and forth on his heels. At last, he said, “And will you be laughing this hard when your mouth is full of egg salad?”
She drew back horrified at the idea. “You wouldn’t expect me to eat the stuff!”
He grinned, a telltale twinkle in his eye. “I’ll be curious to see how you explain to Liv you don’t actually like egg salad.”
Chapter Six
Without bothering more than tossing a robe over her shoulders, Jill stepped out into the cool morning air to collect the mail. Much like her voice mail, the mailbox had been stuffed full over the past week. She piled bills, invitations, donation requests, a check from one of her publishers, and a landslide of seed, lingerie, and shoe catalogs into her arms, when a car honked. She turned just in time to see Gavin drive up in his black BMW.
The passenger’s window slid down. “Thought I’d give you a lift.”
Caught in my robe. I haven’t even brushed my hair yet. Is there no justice? Her mouth gaped open. The mail in her arms shifted, sending the catalogs on top spilling to the ground. She bent over to collect them, making strategic use of her chin to keep the rest of her mail from getting away. Yet, each time she reached for a fallen piece of mail, more mail slipped out of her grip.
Dressed in black jeans, a black sport coat and a crisp light blue shirt,
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