Page 45 of Arse Over Irish Teacup
When she returned, she wore the blue cotton nightgown. If she was trying to look less appealing her attempt failed. All her lack of finesse had done was make her appear relaxed and carefree and that look agreed with her.
Her fingers appeared from under the overly large cuff and tucked her wet curls behind her ear before speaking. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”
“Sure,” he said with a friendly smile.
Beth led the way indoors then filled the tea kettle with water and placed it over the burner on the stove.
Roan was filling the vase with water, not watching what she was doing. “You know, most girls would have been so embarrassed they would have run inside and avoided me at all costs.”
“I’ve had enough embarrassing moments in my life that I’m over it.” She opened a cabinet and pulled down the canister of tea and two cups and placed them on the island. “If I ran away every time something embarrassing happened to me, I would stay locked inside forever.”
Roan chuckled as he placed the vase in the center of the island and sat down.
Beth admired the flowers a moment and the vase they were placed in. She hadn’t noticed it before but it was hand blown teal glass. “Did your grandmother make this vase?”
“No, glassblowing was one thing she never did. I think one of her friends made it. Grannie knew all sorts of artists.”
“She must have been a fun lady.”
“She was,” he said thoughtfully. “Grannie died only a month ago at the ripe age of 97.” It was then an odor reached his nose that had him spinning around. The kettle was melting on the stove. In two long, strides he turned the fire off and dropped the kettle in the sink under running water.
It had all happened so quickly, Beth hardly realized what was going on.
Roan turned around from the sink with a dumbfounded look.
“I, I don’t know what happened! I’m so sorry!” Beth wrung her trembling hands.
“It’s all right. No real harm done. I’ll open this door to get the smell out.” Roan opened the sliding door, letting the fresh air do its work. “I suppose you don’t have electric kettles in America?”
Beth’s eyes darted around the room. “Yes, yes, we do. I made tea every day for years. My kettle goes on the stove. Roan I’m so sorry!” Her tears were fast and furious.
“Hey, it’s all right. No worries. Let’s chalk it up to force of habit. Accidents happen.”
“But I could have burned your house down!”
He placed his arm around her shoulders and walked her to the nearby rocking chair. “You wouldn’t have burned the house down. I’m sure of that. Everything is fine.”
“It’s not fine!” she wailed.
What he needed was a distraction. “Beth, love. Stall the ball.”
“What?”
“It’s an Irish phrase. It means slow down.” His distraction worked. In her confusion she stopped crying.
Then, of course, the phone rang. Seeing that Beth was in no condition to answer it herself, Roan did. “Hello?”
“Who the hell are you? Where is Beth? What have you done with her?” an irate Lauren yelled.
“Beth is right here. She’s crying. I didn’t hurt her! I swear! We had a minor accident in the kitchen is all and she’s shaken up.”
“Put her on the phone now!”
Roan eased Beth’s hand away from her face and placed the phone in it.
“Beth? Honey what happened?”
“Lauren! I started a fire!”
