He backed away from that thought like a horse spooking at a plastic bag.
“Wow.” She brushed past him, the air she disturbed leaving behind the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Gently, she set her cat down on the daybed to her right. “This is stunning.”
Blue. His wife’s favorite color. On the walls, billowing down in drapes, echoed in the quilt on the bed.
Why hadn’t he been up here before now? Why had he waited until it was time to show Saedra to her room to make the trek upstairs?
So you could put off facing Kimberly’s hideaway and be reminded of her and all that you lost.
“Enjoy.” He brushed past her.
“Wait!” He heard her take a few steps. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Out the door, to the right.”
He couldn’t get away fast enough.
“But I thought we could go over a few things. You know, for the wedding.”
He should have let her stay in one of the guest bedrooms. He shouldn’t have allowed her up here. And he definitely should have ignored his instincts to keep her far away.
“Can’t,” he shot over his shoulder. Keep walking. “Things to do.”
“Cabe.”
Ignore her. Don’t look back. There’s no need to pretend you like the woman. She’s not a guest.
But years of playing the polite host proved impossible to ignore. He paused near the top step, slowly turned to face her despite the inner warnings to do the exact opposite. The sight of her standing there, sunlight framing her silhouette, blond hair set aglow—it did things to his insides.
So much like Kimberly.
Saedra was taller, of course, but everything else seemed the same, from the length of her hair to the shape of her body, even down to what she wore: the stone-washed jeans and formfitting long-sleeved top. He could just picture Kim standing there, a smile on her face as she chastised him for interrupting her while she’d been in the midst of writing. Usually those interruptions led to something else, something that would quickly change her teasing grin into sighs of pleasure....
“I just want to say thanks again for inviting me to stay in your home.” She rubbed her hands together, as if nervous. “I know you and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye, but I promise to make this as painless as possible.”
It wasn’t her fault he’d never gotten over the death of his wife. Not her fault at all.
Run.
He turned away before he could say something he might regret because although he might not be interested in women, his body didn’t seem to know it. And that presented one tiny little problem.
He was attracted to her.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she called out after him.
Not if he could help it.
Copyright © 2013 by Pamela Britton
ISBN-13: 9781460321775
A SMALL TOWN THANKSGIVING
Copyright © 2013 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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A Small Town Thanksgiving Page 19