Free Five Days in Skye: A Novel by Carla Laureano Page A

everyone around the table when he returned with the first of the dinner plates. He was pleased to see she’d left him a seat beside Andrea, though that was dulled slightly by the fact that Ian sat directly across from her. He set the first plates before Muriel and Andrea.
    “Fresh fettuccini with a traditional tomato and basil sauce,” he said, as if he were reading from one of his menus. “Caprese salad, of course. And Serena’s legendary garlic knots.”
    “Hardly legendary.” Serena rolled her eyes.
    “You should have been a baker, sis.” Serena had a touch with breads and cakes he envied. He had never been able to get his baked goods to come out right, but then again, unless he was writing a cookbook, he rarely measured ingredients. Baking was far too precise for his taste.
    Once he brought the rest of the plates to the table with a second bottle of wine, Muriel looked to his brother. “Ian, will you bless the meal?”
    James stole a glance at Andrea from the corner of his eye, wondering what she thought of the gesture. She just bowed her head and folded her hands, but whether out of respect for their traditions or her own reverence, he couldn’t tell.
    Ian prayed simply and quickly. “Almighty Father, thank You for Your blessings of health, family, and fellowship. Amen.”
    The rest of them echoed Ian’s closing, including Andrea. James waited for her reaction while she took her first bite.
    Her eyebrows flew up. “Are you sure Italian isn’t your specialty? This is amazing.”
    He looked across the table at Muriel. “Auntie loves Italian food. I always make it when I come to Skye.”
    “You two have always been close?”
    “Aunt Muriel raised us,” Serena said, bouncing Max on her knee. “When our parents divorced, Mum moved back to London, and Auntie came to stay with Dad. She just forgot to leave.”
    Muriel chuckled. “What did I have to go back to? Besides, heaven only knows what Jamie would have gotten up to without supervision.” She leaned toward Andrea with a conspiratorial expression. “Ian was always the responsible one. Serena, the quiet one. Jamie, on the other hand, good Lord help us, is responsible for every bit of gray hair you see now.”
    “That’s not fair,” James protested. “Ian and Serena got up to their fair share of trouble. They just always blamed it on me.”
    “We did not!” Serena laughed and reflexively moved a milk glass out of the way of Emmy’s elbow. “You didn’t need any help from us. Do you remember the time you wrapped the parish minister’s car in cling film?”
    “You didn’t!” Andrea said.
    James rubbed his forehead ruefully. He’d forgotten about that one. “To my everlasting shame, I did. Now, to be truthful, it was a dare, and I never could resist a dare. I’m fairly certain Reverend Stewart told me I was going straight to hell for my wickedness. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
    “No,” Serena said reprovingly. “He hasn’t forgiven you for spiking the communion chalice with hot sauce.”
    James smiled sheepishly. That one he remembered clearly. Not his proudest moment. It really was a miracle he’d not grown up to be a delinquent after all. “Another dare. Let’s say I had an uneasy relationship with organized religion as a boy. Auntie thinks I’m a heathen.”
    “Nonsense.” Muriel caught Andrea’s eye. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a good Christian man, no matter what he says. He and the parish church just clashed a bit over his high-spiritedness when he was a child.”
    “As he did with every headmaster he ever had,” Serena said, snickering.
    Ian glanced at Andrea, then quickly lowered his gaze back to his plate.
    What was that all about? James wondered. Trying to judge her reaction to his youthful indiscretions? Or trying to convey his disapproval over the fact Muriel still made excuses for him?
    Andrea delicately lowered her fork to her plate. “What about you, Ian? Serena says you attended school in London.