Hometown Series Box Set

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Hometown Series Box Set Page 72

by Kirsten Fullmer


  Beatrice snorted, raising her glass once more. “Obviously…”

  Tara glanced from face to face for backup, her confidence sagging. “It was well worth saving,” she added, determined not to give in to the older woman’s opinions.

  “I think it’s lovely,” Julia chimed in, glancing toward Lizzie in support.

  Beatrice sniffed and peered once again into her glass with one thin eyebrow arched.

  “It’s a classic example of early American architecture,” Elliot added. “Nearly all the original trim is intact, and the fireplace in the kitchen was built by a true craftsman.”

  Justin agreed. “That fireplace is mammoth, isn’t it?”

  The group nodded to each other, glasses lifting to mouths.

  Taken aback by Elliot’s admiration for Lizzie’s house, her mother squirmed, her mind spinning. “Well, I suppose it was built to last…” she finally said. Then she grinned at Elliot, trying to please him with the near grimace of a smile.

  Julia and Tara exchanged glances with Lizzie, each offering little shrugs and nods of support and encouragement. Lizzie sank deeper into her chair, her eyes on the drink in her lap. Did the girls both know Elliot had spent the night? And had they told the guys? Heaven help her…

  “Oh, indeed it was,” Elliot assured. “And that barn! I was amazed to see what good shape it’s in too. There aren’t many mail-pouch barns left, you know. It’s a real gem.”

  Beatrice glanced from Elliot to Lizzie, who was now staring vacantly at the wall of the house. The older woman blinked a few times. “Yes…the barn…” She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “So, Elliot, Tara here tells me you are an architect in Washington, D.C., is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And how large is the architectural firm?”

  “Mother!” exclaimed Lizzie. She slammed her empty glass onto the coffee table. “Really!” Was there no end to her mother’s interfering? What was next, his shoe size?

  Elliot patted her knee. “It’s all right, Lizzie, I don’t mind.” He turned back to the older woman. “It’s my father’s firm, ma’am, and it was his father’s before him. I’m very lucky to be born into such a prestigious family.”

  Thrilled, Beatrice turned to her husband. “Did you hear that, Harold? He’s from a prestigious family.” Her eyes glowed with what Lizzie could only describe as anticipation.

  Harold nodded absently. “Yes, yes.” Raising his glass toward Justin, he continued. “Young man, do you have something with a bit more— kick— than this lemonade?”

  Justin stood with a grin. “Yes sir, come with me.”

  The heavy man huffed as he rose from his chair, puffing out his floppy mustache, and the group watched him and Justin head toward the front door.

  Once the screen bumped closed behind the men, Beatrice tried again. “Elliot, tell me about your house in D.C.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sakes,” Lizzie snorted, jumping up from the loveseat. “I’m going to help Winnie with dinner.” In a snit she headed for the house. She couldn’t take this another minute. What must she do to get away from her mother’s meddling? She felt as if her only option was to escape.

  Tara half rose to stop Lizzie as she marched past, but finally decided to let her go.

  Settling back into her seat, she glanced helplessly at Elliot, inquiring whether she should end the conversation and take everyone inside. But Elliot just gave her a nearly imperceptible headshake, to indicate all was well. He appeared unperturbed, perhaps even contented.

  Julia’s eyes darted nervously from Elliot to Beatrice, and then to Tara. Chad grinned like the Cheshire cat, enjoying himself immensely.

  “I have a brownstone,” Elliot answered Beatrice. “I can’t really take the credit, I inherited it from my grandfather.”

  “Oh!” the older woman exclaimed, her eyes glowing. “It sounds beautiful.”

  Elliot smiled. “Thank you, it is.”

  Even though the conversation was skipping along, Tara felt the need to change the subject. “Julia, tell me about your flower shop. What wreaths will you have available for Thanksgiving?” Tara turned to Beatrice. “Julia makes the loveliest things in her shop.”

  “I assume people do such things.” Beatrice shrugged, tipping her glass up to drain it completely. As she lowered the empty glass and licked her lips, she raised a brow toward Tara, ignoring Julia all together.

  Julia appeared to be at a loss after that statement so she remained silent. Chad patted her knee again in reassurance.

  “What do you think of Lizzie’s alpacas?” Elliot interrupted.

  Tara and Julia both jolted as if slapped to stare at him. Chad choked on a laugh, lifting his glass of lemonade to his mouth as cover.

  The older woman glanced from Elliot to Chad, then to Tara. “I – her what?”

  “Alpacas,” Elliot repeated.

  “Maybe it’s time for dinner…” Tara mumbled, standing, wringing her hands. “I’m going to check.”

  Julia jumped up and nearly tripped over the coffee table in her haste to join her friend. “I’ll help.”

  The women got to the door in record time, and the screen door banged closed behind them. Elliot turned to Chad, the only two now left with Beatrice. “You staying?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this...” Chad replied, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

  “What are you talking about, alpac—?” Beatrice demanded, placing her glass on the coffee table.

  Elliot grinned wickedly. “You know, her farm animals. Well, her pets really.”

  The older woman glanced back and forth between the two men. “I knew she had sheep…”

  “Oh, Ingrid is no sheep, I assure you,” Elliot continued.

  “Ingrid?” at the end of her patience, Beatrice shifted in her seat. “What do you mean, young man? Out with it!”

  “Ingrid is an alpaca; it’s like a llama, but shorter,” Elliot explained.

  “Llama?!” Beatrice cried, rising to her feet.

  Chad watched the exchange in amusement, his eyes darting back and forth as if at a tennis match.

  Tara pushed open the screen. “Dinner’s ready.”

  All heads swiveled toward Tara, Beatrice with a wide, wild expression, Elliot with a wicked glint in his eye, and Chad looking disappointed at the interruption.

  Tara paused. “Dinner…” she muttered, motioning toward the kitchen with a slight toss of her head, apprehension written all over her face.

  “Well, drat,” Chad muttered under his breath as he stood and drained the last of his lemonade.

  Tara tossed a questioning glance toward Elliot, concerned about the expression on Beatrice’s face.

  “Shall we go in to dinner?” Elliot asked, standing to offer Beatrice his arm.

  The pale woman paused, finally nodded and took his arm, then reached down to snag her empty glass.

  Tara stepped aside to allow the odd couple to pass through the door.

  Chad chuckled, bringing up the rear.

  “What happened?” Tara hissed as he passed.

  Reaching over her to hold the door and let her go first, Chad whispered. “Oh, I’m sure we’re just getting started…”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lizzie stood stiff and miserable beside the table, watching the group make their way through the kitchen to the dining room. Winnie and Becky had laid a beautiful table, and the sunset shone softly though the French doors from the deck. It should have been a lovely dinner with her friends followed by another enchanting night with Elliot, but all Lizzie could think of was getting the whole thing over with and finding a way to make her parents to go home.

  With a concerted effort, she unclenched her fists and took a deep breath. Her hand rose to smooth her hair and she froze, knowing full well that her curls were not frizzy or out of control, even as a voice deep down insisted they were.

  She swallowed hard, trying to find her center. Some comfort. Her mother was planning to push her to return hom
e, as well as hook up with Elliot, that much was obvious. Well, it wouldn’t happen, she decided, not even a little bit. She squared her shoulders and glared at the table.

  Tara pointed out seats for each of the guests, placing Justin at the head of the table with Lizzie’s father at his right. Next to Harold was Lizzie’s mother, then Becky and Winnie. Tara took the foot of the table with Lizzie at her right, to offer her comfort as needed. Elliot was seated next to Lizzie, then Chad, with Julia near the head at Justin’s left. A few moments of chair shuffling followed and finally silence settled over the table.

  Scowling at her parents, Lizzie wondered how her perfect situation had come to this. Her new friends were now subjected to her mother’s wrath, not to mention the situation with Elliot. She’d barely decided to relax and enjoy his company, among other things, and now her mother was shoving him down her throat. She’d known getting involved with him had been a bad idea, and with all the craziness, there hadn’t been even a moment for her and Elliot to talk privately since earlier that morning by her car. She glanced up at Elliot, her heart dancing a little flip-flop in her chest when he grinned down at her. She turned away.

  Tara reached for the serving spoon in the salad, but Winnie cleared her throat, causing Tara to pause. “Who will say grace?” the old woman asked.

  Justin spoke up. “I’d be happy to, thank you, Winnie.”

  Winnie nodded with a smile.

  All heads bowed as Justin said the prayer, thankful for Winnie and Becky, who’d prepared the meal, and also for the visit from Lizzie’s parents. Lizzie nearly snorted out loud but covered it well with a little cough. It was a short blessing and soon Tara began dishing food and passing it to the left.

  “This looks lovely and smells wonderful,” Julia sighed happily as she surveyed the table. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  Justin took the bowl of potatoes Harold offered. “We love to have company, don’t we, Tara. Especially when great cooking is involved.”

  Tara agreed. “This is fun. We don’t use the formal dining room nearly enough.”

  Lizzie’s mother silently took the dishes as they came her way, carefully scooping small portions onto her plate, her bright eyes missing nothing. Her attention was focused primarily on Elliot: his comments, his clothes, his hair, his movements. The more she saw the more her eyes glowed.

  Becky dropped a large helping of cornbread stuffing onto her plate. “Winnie, you sure can stuff a bird.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Winnie chuckled.

  Beatrice sniffed and took a sip of her lemonade.

  Julia carefully ladled gravy over her potatoes. “I’m surprised you had time to cook a turkey with such short notice.”

  Winnie drizzled dressing into her green salad. “I’d planned to cook it Sunday, so it was no trouble.”

  Lifting her drink, Beatrice glanced over the rim at Elliot, noting the way his eyes caressed her daughter.

  Justin looked up, knowing full well what Beatrice was thinking. “Do you need a refill on your drink, Beatrice?” he asked, passing the green beans to Julia.

  The older woman glanced at the nearly full glass in her hand. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

  He nodded as he picked up his fork, ready to dive in. “Well, you just let me know if you do. There wasn’t room on the table for the pitcher. I’d be happy to grab it for you.”

  Beatrice grimaced a smile in reply.

  Justin chuckled and Tara eyed him suspiciously, but he shoved a heaping bite of turkey onto his fork, tossing her an innocent grin.

  Harold raised his rocks glass, now containing only ice. “I could use more scotch, young man.”

  “Certainly,” Justin nodded, lowering his full fork and laying his napkin beside his plate. He stood and collected Harold’s glass, his eyes scanning the table. “Anyone else?”

  “I’ll take one of those,” Chad said with his finger up.

  “Me too,” piped in Becky. “Only make mine a vodka and cranberry, please.”

  Julia, Elliot, and Tara shook their heads.

  “You got it,” Justin replied, turning toward the kitchen.

  Lizzie frowned as she pushed her food around her plate with no appetite whatsoever. Any moment now the roof would blow off, she could feel it coming. Her mother would jump on Elliot with more interrogation, or, worse yet, focus on Lizzie herself, and find fault with her table manners or her hair. It would be something.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, Elliot patted Lizzie’s leg under the table. “You look beautiful tonight,” he whispered.

  She offered him a weak smile, wishing for the hundredth time that he weren’t so charming.

  Catching the interaction between her daughter and the handsome man, Beatrice spoke up. “Elliot, you look dashing this evening.”

  “Thank you, Beatrice,” he replied.

  “But… Lizzie, dear,” she continued. “Wherever did you find that jacket? I can’t imagine.”

  “Here we go…” Lizzie sighed under her breath. The ball was rolling and it would gain speed as it crashed downhill, like a boulder, right through the dinner table. A knot formed in her stomach like a rock. “I got it at a boutique in Boston, Mother.”

  Beatrice sniffed and gestured with her hand. “That’s interesting, because I’m sure I’ve never seen it— and the fit…” She snorted. “It’s obviously wrong for your body type.” The older woman speared Lizzie with an arched brow. Sure that she’d hit her mark when Lizzie squirmed, Beatrice pursed her lips in triumph and lifted her glass of lemonade for a long sip.

  “Well, I like it,” Julia blurted, feeling sorry for her friend, then immediately sank back in her chair, embarrassed, her fork dropping to her plate.

  “Me too,” Tara and Becky agreed, heads nodding.

  Beatrice cleared her throat loudly as she set down her glass.

  Miserable and tense, Lizzie chewed on her lip and longed to disappear into a poof of smoke. How could her mother still make her feel too skinny after all these years?

  “What do you do for a living, Harold?” Elliot interjected, lifting a fork full of green beans to his mouth.

  Tara, the concerned hostess, tossed him a thankful glance as she poked at her salad.

  “Insurance, whole life mostly,” the heavy man huffed as he reached up to take his refilled drink from Justin. Once the drinks were all delivered Justin headed back to the head of the table.

  Elliot nodded in reply to Harold as Justin settled into his seat.

  Beatrice licked her lips and patted her hair. Lizzie recognized her mother’s battle tactic and braced herself.

  “So, Elliot,” the older woman began. “What are your plans for the future?”

  Lizzie groaned inwardly.

  “I’ve been enjoying Smithville and talking business with Justin,” he replied casually, tossing a grin to Justin.

  Catching his cue, Justin lowered his overloaded fork. “That’s right. We’ve got the spa going, and we’ve had some time to hatch a few plans.”

  Lizzie’s mother arched a brow, curious.

  Justin glanced at Elliot, wondering if he should continue, but Elliot’s attention was on Lizzie.

  “Your flowers still look lovely, dear,” Winnie said to Julia. “The fall color in your yard is inspiring.”

  Julia paused to swallow. “Thank you,” she said. “Your yard is lovely as well.”

  Lizzie sighed. The small talk was getting more difficult. She almost willed the bomb to drop so she could pick up the pieces and move on.

  “Justin, I forgot to get the blue cheese dressing. Would you grab it?” Tara asked.

  With his fork halfway to his mouth, Justin froze.

  “I’ll go,” Winnie said, beginning to rise.

  “No, no, I’ve got it,” Justin assured with his hand up. He put his fork down and stood. “Anything else?”

  Tara shook her head.

  Glancing around the table in question, Justin silently asked the group if they needed anything, but everyone seemed
fine so he headed to the kitchen.

  Silence fell over the table as everyone chewed.

  “I can’t imagine what business you’d have to talk about in this burg…” Beatrice mumbled a bit too loud, surprised when everyone’s attention turned to her. “With Justin, I mean.” She grimaced another smile and lifted her glass to drink deeply.

  Everyone was silent, shifting their attention anywhere else in an attempt to ignore the older woman as she gulped from the glass. When Beatrice had finished her lemonade, she lifted the glass toward Tara. “This is a different type of lemonade, who made it?”

  Unsure, Tara glanced to Winnie and Becky.

  “It’s my recipe,” Becky answered tentatively. “Do you like it?”

  An uncharacteristic pause hung heavy as Beatrice regarded her empty glass. Finally she spoke. “You know, I believe I do.”

  Becky smiled but Lizzie stared hard at her mother.

  Justin returned and handed Tara the bottle of dressing, but before he could get to his seat, Tara grasped his wrist. “Honey, Beatrice has finished her lemonade.”

  “Right.” Justin acknowledged, turning to collect the older woman’s glass. “Anyone?” he asked, the glass raised.

  The group shook their heads, so he returned to the kitchen.

  “How’s the spa doing?” Chad asked Tara and Lizzie.

  Tara’s mouth was full so Lizzie responded, thankful for her new friend’s attempts at conversation. “It’s going very well. We’ve had a wonderful turnout already.”

  “Wonderful…” Beatrice smirked, clearly unimpressed.

  “That’s good news,” Chad said, ignoring the negative comment.

  “I’m certainly very pleased,” Elliot added, clearly poking a stick into Beatrice’s spokes.

  Lizzie’s mother glanced up in surprise. “Why would you be pleased?”

  Elliot grinned, smooth and cold, ready to take her down a peg or two. “I designed the spa with the rest of the resort.”

  “Oh my, you did all this?” The older woman wheezed in disbelief.

  “Tara designed the inside, I designed the structures,” he answered, his face the very picture of serenity. Lizzie, however, could feel the cold, hard granite beneath his answer and wished she could be as calm and collected with her mother.

 

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