Page 51 of Taking a Chance on Charlevoix
“Trust me this is no laughing matter.” She lifted her chin. Did the girls think that Cate was too old to go out on a date?
“He calls her every week,” Izzy said. “And he stops in at Coffee and Cupcakes all the time, asking me about Aunt Cate.”
“He does? I’m so sorry, dear.” Cate’s stomach sank. She did not want Winston to become a pest.
“As I recall that man was pretty dapper,” Samantha said thoughtfully.
“Dapper.” The word sounded old when applied to Winston. Had Samantha really said that?
“He was the man with the red silk kerchief in his pocket.” Samantha ran a hand over her shoulder. “Very well turned out.”
“Right. Well, what is the problem with Winston, Aunt Cate? Now I do remember him.” Oh, would Marlowe please quit pressing the subject?
“He's, well, old,” she said just as the front doorbell rang. Samantha jumped up and spun into the hall to answer the door.
Lips pressed tight, Marlowe kept her eyes on her dinner plate. Izzy looked as if she didn’t know what to say. Cate had been truthful and her nieces might not know what to do with that. An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen.
Cate was relieved to see Josh appear. That man always looked so wonderful. Face ruddy from being outside, he was thepicture of health. And she loved the way he looked at Samantha. Such a gentleman and so distinguished with just a brush of gray at his temples. He would age well, or so she thought. Her goal, although she'd never voiced it, was to get these girls married off to appropriate men, sooner rather than later.
She smiled imagining what they would say if they knew about her game plan.
“Who’s doing the cooking tonight, Josh?” Cate asked.
“I’m going to grill steaks.”
“Have a great evening.” Getting up, Cate walked them both to the door. Sam was positively glowing, and it was wonderful to see her so happy. They both disappeared into the cold night. Happy thoughts filled her mind as she sauntered back to the kitchen.
“Aunt Cate,” Marlowe said in a businesslike tone as Cate sat down. “How old is Winston?”
My word, that girl was a dog with a bone. She had to think about that for a minute. “I would say in his seventies.”
Frowning, Marlowe sat back. “What’s wrong with that?”
Did they need a road map? “He's losing his hair.” Frustrated, she gestured with her hands. “And he's paunchy. Oh, come on, girls. Winston is probably just looking for a woman to cook for him and do his laundry.”
With that Marlowe and Izzy broke into raucous laughter. That was another cue for little Holly to throw her head back and laugh along with them. Feeling hurt, Cate sat back.
“Sorry, so sorry.” Reaching over, Marlowe squeezed her hand. “Please don’t take this the wrong way.”
“How should I take it?” Drawing her hand away, Cate played with her fork.
“Do you mean,” Izzy began after throwing Marlowe a warning look, “that he isn't ‘rough hewn’?”
They’d hit the nail on the head. At last they understood. “I hadn't thought about it but yes, he's not. Definitely not rough hewn. Not like this.” Cate straightened and expanded her shoulders to demonstrate what she meant. “In any case, I have no intention of going out with Winston.”
The very idea. Why think about dating anyone? But she wasn't about to admit that to them nor would she explain why. They'd find out soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-One
MARLOWE
“Marlowe, what did you mean when you said that knowing Josh longer would be a good thing? You said thatthenI would know that this was really real. You know, what we have together.” Her sister's words came out slowly. They’d gone round about this before, but Sam still didn’t see it and maybe she never would. Marlowe wanted to kick herself for saying anything. She could not risk hurting Sam’s feelings. “I feel like I’ve known Josh forever,” Sam said in a dreamy, little girl voice.
Oh boy. Despite their gentle coaxing about staying, Sam had decided to go back to Chicago after dropping Marlowe at the airport. The snowy landscape was flying past as Sam drove toward the airport. Marlowe wanted to bite out her tongue. She had these precious moments alone with her sister. Had she blown it with this stupid but well-intentioned question? When would she learn to think first? Her older sister analyzed everything four times and got four different meanings. Why had Marlowe thrown out that comment last night in the kitchen? Now Sam would worry.
“I didn't mean anything. Forget that I said it. It was stupid.”
Sam’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Your opinion means a lot to me. Please don't brush this off. You said it, but what did you mean?”
