For some stupid, unnamed reason, as he’d shown Nimue to her room, he’d suggested maybe she get a camper for long-term temporary housing.After all, nothing like a house fire to...ignite a desire to travel?Oh brother.Clearly he had Flo on his mind.
No, not Flo.Harper.And her tight smile last week after the hockey game, as if she were lost in her book again.
Or hiding something from him?
No.Everything was just fine.
“Any leftovers?”Doyle asked.
“There’s always leftovers for you.”His mother caught Doyle’s wrist when he reached for a roll and eased it away.“But not these.Over on the counter.”
The entire industrial kitchen smelled of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls, a batch of oatmeal scotchies, and biscotti in anticipation of the weekend guests.His mom put a tea cloth over a basket and handed it to Jack.“Heat them up when you get there.There’s enough for everyone, a late-night treat.”
He took the basket and glanced at Doyle, who’d grabbed a cinnamon roll and set it on a napkin.His brother pressed a kiss on his mother’s cheek as he walked by.
“You keep making rolls, I’ll keep coming home.”
She laughed.
“You’re such a schmooze,” Jack said as they walked outside.The twilight had puddled over the far horizon, purples and oranges and reds washing through the evergreen and birch that surrounded the lake.On the beach, a fire popped and crackled, a few guests in Adirondack chairs watching the sparks wink out into the night.Warmth hung in the air, with just the slightest nip as the night deepened, a hint of autumn in the loamy wind.
It nudged a desire to take a walk to Harper’s place, a cottage at the other end of the trail, invite her out to sit under the stars under a blanket, hopefully in his arms.
He missed her.He hadn’t seen her since last week.She’d been trying to finish her book before her mother came home to invade the place, so he hadn’t wanted to bother her.
“Tia and I are professional fundraisers,” Doyle said as he got into the passenger’s side of the King’s Inn utility vehicle.“We know how to talk to people.”He grinned at Jack.“The grounds look nice.How are the chickens?They hated me.”He took a bite of the roll.
“It’s all how you talk to them,” Jack said.“You gotta say nice things.”
“They hate you too, then.”
“Pretty much.”Jack looked over.“You look good.How are things on the island?”
“Calm.Or calmer.It’s hard to be calm in a house with thirty kids, but you know...”
“And that group of pirates?—”
“The S7 gang?Their leader was arrested, along with a few other principals, and since then, they’ve sort of disbanded.We’re still rebuilding after the landslide.”
They pulled up to the Grover and Jack got out, went inside.A few guests sat in front of a fire in the hearth.“My mother sent fresh rolls.”
He set them on the counter.A woman walked in, mid-fifties, plump, blonde hair.“Those smell amazing.”
“My mother suggested nuking them.I’ll be by in an hour or so to bank the fire.However, if you want to sit outside, there’s a campfire on the beach.”
The woman had grabbed a napkin and a plate.“I love it here.My husband and I stay every year around this time.It’s such a treasure.”
He smiled at that, the words sinking in.
He liked it here too.Maybe too much, because weirdly, the idea of getting into a bus and tooling around the country...
Aw,anywhere he went with Harper would be home.
He returned outside to the UTV, where Doyle waited.“I’ll drop you at the Norbert and then I’m headed over to Harper’s place.”
He put the vehicle in drive, started over to the magnificent Victorian, the long table he’d made still on the front porch, twinkle lights dangling above.The King’s Inn estate at night could turn positively magical.
“So, you two are going to do the long-distance thing?”
