Free Home for the Summer by Mariah Stewart Page B

suppose I have to live in St. Dennis before Carlo’s wife makes me a mug with my name on it?”
    He pointed to the shelf behind the counter where a line of handmade mugs stood.
    Clay shrugged. “She only makes them for regular customers.”
    “I could be a regular customer.”
    “Put up or shut up.” Clay turned his mug around so that his name was front and center.
    “Or we could buy mugs with our names on them and hold our morning meetings out at the farm, or over at my place. Steffie makes her ice creams early, so she’s usually at Scoop before seven.”
    “True enough, but we both make lousy coffee.”
    “Good point. Okay, tomorrow. Same time. Same place. See you then.” Wade nodded in the direction of the kitchen, where Carlo, the owner, was bellowing at one of the busboys. “A real friend would put in a good word for me where it counts.”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    Clay waved off the waitress who roamed the room offering refills.
    “Your friend’s leaving already?” the waitress asked.
    “He has to pick up his son from school.”
    Before Wade’s late business partner died, he’d married her to give her young child a home and a parent who could be counted on. Austin had just turned two, and had been welcomed into the MacGregor family—and all of St. Dennis—with open arms.
    Clay returned the sketch of the hop barn to the folder and was just about to drop it into his briefcase when the door opened and Grace and Lucy came in. They were both a bit windblown by the wind coming off the Bay, and they both paused to chat with Wade. Lucy having served as planner on Wade’s recent wedding, Clay figured there would be a round of thankyous all over again.
    Well, that was all right. He liked looking at Lucy.
    Right now she stood with her hands in the pockets of her coat—apparently, she’d heeded her mother’s directive—her head tilted at an angle as she looked up at Wade and smiled. Clay guessed Wade was telling her once again how much he and Steffie had loved everything Lucy had done to pull off their wedding in a very brief period of time. Grace was beaming like the proud mama Clay knew her to be, so he figured it was safe to say the praise was still being heaped on.
    Again, okay by Clay. He could look at Lucy all day. She had always had the best smile, still did. It lit her face and deepened her dimples and, well, it was just a pretty sight to see.
    Lucy had always been petite—some of the kids in their class had nicknamed her “Runt”—but after Clay grew to his full height at sixteen, she seemed even tinier. Her hair was darker now, he noticed. When they were kids, it had been equal parts of gold and red. Now it was more a light auburn. The red and gold still there, but the mix was different. Today, it looked more …
    She stood across the table, one hand waving in front of his face. “Clay, you in there?”
    “Yeah. Hey, Lucy.” He tried to cover up the fact that he’d not only been tuned out, but tuned out thinking about her. “How was your flight?”
    “Okay. I got here.” She smiled, and for a moment, he could have sworn he’d heard his heart thump onto the floor. If she’d heard it, too, she gave no sign.
    “Glad you did. So when’s your meeting?”
    “Tomorrow at ten at the inn. Wish me luck.”
    “Of course, but I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead.”
    “I hope so.” She leaned on the back of the closest chair. “I don’t know either of these people, so it’s going to be very tentative. All I do know is that Trula wants them to have the wedding here. I don’t really know what they want. For all I know, they’re only humoring Trula by meeting with me.”
    “Nonsense.” Grace came up behind her daughter and handed Lucy a takeout cup of coffee. “Robert would tell her if he wasn’t interested.”
    “I don’t know.” Lucy turned to her. “Trula’s awfully tough sometimes.”
    “Robert and Susanna have been to the inn and they loved it,” Grace reminded her.