The Carpenter's Wife. Lenora Worth

to bed each night with the scent of Ana’s floral perfume wafting through his senses. He couldn’t explain that when he went down to the beach for a midnight run, his thoughts always turned to the time he’d spent in Ana’s kitchen, measuring and hammering, tearing out and replacing.

      And the whole time, he’d felt as if he’d been tearing away at his own old hurts and replacing them with something good and pure. Only, other than cooking him wonderful, dainty lunches so she could test her menu, Ana was keeping her distance. And keeping busy.

      Which meant he couldn’t wait to see her tonight at dinner. But he didn’t dare tell his mother that.

      Eloise was watching him in that calm, disconcerting way she had. It was the same way in which she’d stare at a piece of ancient wood or jagged stone and see things no one else could even begin to imagine. Rock wondered what she saw when she looked at him.

      “Mother, I’ll be there. So you can quit glaring at me.”

      “I love your face,” his mother said. “You have a noble face, Rock.”

      “Thank you.”

      “You don’t want to talk to me, do you.”

      “I’m busy, is all. Got to finish these pieces and get started on a few others. Time marches on.”

      “You don’t like me interfering.”

      “Never have.”

      “I’ve tried to stay out of your love life, but there’s something about Ana.”

      Rock wiped the sweat off his brow, then looked at his mother. “On that, at least, we can agree.”

      “Then, you do…like her?”

      “We’re not going steady yet, but yes, I like her.”

      “So a mother can hope.”

      The old anger surfaced as quickly and swiftly as a rebel wave hitting the shore. “Why does this matter so much to you, anyway?”

      Eloise’s stark eyes opened wide. Rock saw the mist of tears there. “I know I failed you, Rock. I was…alone, afraid, obsessed with making a name for myself. I…believe God has given me another chance. I intend to see that chance through.”

      “By pushing your oldest, bachelor son off on the first woman who shows him the slightest hint of attention?”

      “You’ve dated other women, so don’t put yourself down.” She shook her head. “I’m just hoping and praying that you and Ana make a good match. I want you to be happy, truly happy, and Ana seems perfect for you. Everyone should have the chance to know pure happiness in their life.”

      Rock saw the light leave his mother’s beautiful eyes, and he knew she was remembering. He hated himself for being harsh with her. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t bring himself to hug her. But he did give her his full attention. “I’d like that, Mother. I’d like to have that just once in my life.”

      Eloise’s expression changed to a smile. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”

      Ana stepped out of her car, a warm apple pie in one hand and her crocheted purse in the other. Closing the car door with a sandaled foot, she stared up at the imposing Victorian beach house that sat nestled underneath billowing live oaks across from the sandy curve of the shore.

      The house was an aged white, battered from years of tropical winds and salty mists. Its shutters were a muted gray, its many lace-curtained windows thrown open to the sea. Around back, past the sandy, shell-covered drive, stood Eloise’s studio.

      She heard laughter coming from the garden, so Ana headed through the carriage drive on the side of the house to find Eloise and Rock talking with another, older couple.

      Eloise turned as she heard the crunch of Ana’s footsteps. “Ana! You made it.”

      “And brought pie,” Rock said, his smile gentle, his eyes keen on her.

      Ana managed a shaky smile, and wondered why she’d gone to such great pains with her appearance. Upswept hair, a sundress with brilliant tropical flowers splashed across its gathered skirts, a dash of lipstick and perfume. From the look in Rock’s eyes, she’d done a passable job, at least. That pleased and aggravated her at the same time.

      But then, this past week had been full of such moments—sweet and torturing all at the same time. She had found herself, on more than one occasion, stopping to watch Rock while he worked. He’d looked like every woman’s dream in his faded T-shirt and even more faded jeans, his heavy work boots clunking on her polished floors, his dark, curling hair sprinkled with sawdust.

      “Why do carpenters always look so yummy?” Jackie had asked just yesterday, grinning.

      “And they are so good with their hands,” Tina, petite and buxom, had said through a sigh.

      “Why don’t you two get back to work?” Ana had retorted, her own smile belying the stern tone in her voice. She had to agree with her new helpers. Rock looked good working, and he felt good each time his fingers brushed over hers in passing or his arm touched hers as they met in the doorway.

      But what Ana had enjoyed the most didn’t really have anything to do with Rock’s physical appearance. It was his eyes, his facial expressions, that tugged at her heart and made her want to get to know him better. He’d go from intense concentration to thoughtful contemplation, his blue eyes changing color like a sea in the sun with each new calculation, with each touch of hammer to nail. Rock truly loved his work. And it showed in the beautiful cabinets he was recreating in her kitchen.

      “Want me to take that?” he asked now, bringing Ana out of her thoughts.

      She glanced down at the pie she still held in one hand. “Oh, yes. Thanks.”

      “Smells wonderful,” he said under his breath, his eyes on her instead of the pie.

      Ana allowed a little shiver of pure delight to move like falling mist down her spine. Rock flirted in such a subtle, quiet way, it sometimes took her a few minutes to even realize he was doing it. But he was doing it—flirting with her. And tonight, she intended to enjoy it.