Page 27 of Hearts Aweigh
“What for?” He looked her over. “You’re beautiful the way you are. I appreciate a woman with a healthy appetite.”
“I …” Abby glanced at Claude and then the minister. “I don’t know.”
“Trust me. You’ll love the Alfredo.”
Abby searched her brain for a gentle refusal. Nada. Why couldn’t she generate a plausible excuse?
She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Okay. Why not?”
“Marvelous.” He slapped the menu closed. “Please give us two orders of chicken Alfredo.”
“Asparagus or potatoes au gratin as your side?” Claude waited with his pen poised.
Abby laughed. “Do you have to ask? Asp—”
“We’ll both have the potatoes,” Norville said at the same time.
More carbs.
Abby fought to keep her eyes from rolling up into her head. Instead, they shifted to the next table. Spencer’s mouth quirked as if he’d heard her dilemma and was judging her for caving to the pasta peer pressure.
Claude finished writing their orders and left. Norville unfolded the swan-shaped napkin and spread it across his lap. Abby followed suit, keeping her attention firmly fixed on her dinner companion. They chatted about favorite childhood memories until their food arrived.
“I’d like to give thanks.” He settled an open hand on the table. “If you don’t mind?”
Abby stared at his palm as she processed what he meant. Oh, right. He wanted to hold hands while they prayed. She scanned the dining room. It wasn’t that she minded saying grace over the food. She did that anyway. But her family had never been the type to join hands in a big circle at mealtime. They just bowed their heads and prayed. No ceremony about it.
Abby raised her fingers, hesitated, then thrust them into his grip before it got any more awkward.
He lowered his head. “Heavenly Father, we thank thee for thy bounty and those which prepared this meal.”
If Abby expected a short prayer, she was disappointed. Reverend Boynton remembered to bless everyone from the cook to the lowliest busboy. His hand grasped hers the whole time, and she tried not to think too hard about why it was wet.
What a sneaky way to hold a woman’s hand.
Spencer’s index finger tapped the table in a slow, steady beat as he witnessed the benediction. The food arrived, and he cut Madeleine’s steak into bite-size pieces, but then his attention returned to the table nearby. A light whimper distracted him. He looked at his daughter, who sat with her fork frozen in midair.
“Do you need something?” he asked.
She pointed at the meat in front of her.
Spencer scrutinized the steak. “I don’t understand, Madeleine. What’s the matter? Do you want smaller pieces?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.” Her lips pinched tight.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong. How else will I know?”
“It’s … I …” Madeleine turned her head and peered wistfully at Abby.
Spencer followed his daughter’s gaze.
“Hold on.” He winked at Madeleine. “I’ll be right back.”
Spencer tossed his napkin down and walked to the neighboring table, where the prayer meeting was still in full swing.
“We ask thee to remember those less fortunate than us,” the reverend droned.
“Excuse me.” Spencer broke into the flowery speech.
