Free Guilty Pleasures by Bertrice Small Page A

acknowledged.
    Their meal came. The food was good as always. East Harbor Inn was noted for its cuisine. They finished the bottle of white wine, then ordered dessert, unable to resist the warm homemade peach-and-raspberry cobbler with fresh churned vanilla ice cream. Outside the bow window, the moon was now bright and high over the bay. They lingered over their fresh brewed coffee.
    “You folks going to close up for me this evening?” Felicity Clarence, the inn’s owner, was tableside. “Don’t mean to rush you, but it’s ten o’clock.”
    “Oh, my,” Nina said. “It’s been such a pleasant evening. I can’t believe it’s so late.” She smiled up at the innkeeper. “Sorry, Felicity.”
    “Haven’t seen you out on the town in quite a while,” Felicity noted. She turned to look straight at Bob Talcott. “You’re a nice-looking gentleman,” she said. “Where did Nina find you? And about time she had a fella. Charlie’s been gone forever.”
    “Oh, he’s not my fella, Felicity,” Nina quickly said. “He’s the Mulcahys’ guest, and they invited me to dine with them this evening.”
    “Too bad,” Felicity Clarence said tartly. “ ’Bout time you had a fella again, Nina. Now go home, please, so I can close up.”
    They rose, laughing. The tab had already been paid, so they went out to the car, where Bill, the Mulcahys’ chauffeur, was waiting for them. He helped them into the vehicle, and then began the drive home.
    “Is there somewhere in Egret Pointe where you can get breakfast?” Bob Talcott asked as the car sped through the moonlit night.
    “Mrs. Byrnes fixes a great breakfast,” Ryan said. “Whenever you get up.”
    “I know she does, but if you don’t mind,” Bob said, “I’d like to invite Nina to breakfast.” He turned to her, inquiring, “Do you go to church?”
    She was surprised. “Yes,” she managed to say.
    “Do you want to eat before or after?” he asked her.
    “I suppose we could eat around nine, and I’ll go to noon mass,” Nina heard herself say. Was this a date? Did breakfast count as a date? She honestly didn’t know. Oh, damn. If she was going to meet him at nine for breakfast, there could be no Channel tonight. It was already after ten, and the Channel closed at four a.m. At her age she didn’t want to meet a man with only four hours’ sleep. Even for breakfast.
    “Then you’ll come. Great! I’ve got my own car. Bill can give me directions to your house, and you can navigate me to”—he paused—“where?”
    “The luncheonette,” Nina said, laughing. “The place to go for weekend breakfast is the Egret Pointe Luncheonette.”
    “It’s a date then,” Bob Talcott said.
    A date! Breakfast obviously did count as a date these days. When was the last time she had had a date? Before she and Charlie were married, and that meant not since the 1970s. She almost gasped aloud. She wasn’t used to thinking of time in such huge chunks for herself. “I’ll look forward to it,” Nina replied, and to her surprise, she was looking forward to it.
    They reached her cottage on Maple Lane, and Bob got out to escort her to the door. “Do you have your keys?” he asked.
    “Door’s open,” Nina told him. “We don’t lock our doors in Egret Pointe.” Then, giving him a smile, she said, “It was the nicest evening I’ve had in a long time, Bob. See you tomorrow morning.” With a final smile she opened her door, slipped inside, and closed it behind her. Oh! My! God! She had just had dinner with her favorite movie star. “How about that, Charlie?” Like all widows, she often talked aloud to her deceased husband. “Lyon Roberts in the flesh. I think he’s better-looking in person, and he is certainly aging well. Guess I better hit the sack if I’m going to look decent in the morning. I’ve got a date for breakfast before mass. Good night, dear.”

    At two minutes after nine the next morning Nina opened her door to greet Bob Talcott. “Good morning,”