“Okay,” she drawled. “Honestly, I only have a few minutes. I was just on my way out.”
As she stepped back, holding the door wide, his gaze slid down the front of her body.
Wondering about the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he walked past her, she looked down at herself...
Her faded, oversize granny robe had to be a hundred years old. On the left side was a hole you could drive a truck through, and it was so long the hem dragged on the floor behind her.
She bit back a whimper.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she remembered that she’d made it through only half of her makeup ritual. She had to look like a stupid clown. Good. Maybe he’d leave sooner.
Ginny clutched the front of her robe, making sure there were no gaps, and gestured for him to go into the living room. Tilda always teased her about the robe, pointing out she was too old to have a security blanket. Her daughter wasn’t too far off the mark. The robe was Ginny’s go-to when she was sick or upset or just feeling a bit blue.
“I smell coffee,” Parker said. “Any chance I can get a cup?”
“Sure, although if you use cream you’re out of luck. All we have is milk.”
His brows drew together in the oddest frown. “We?”
Ginny swallowed. Hard. “My daughter,” she said, and saw him glance toward the hall. “She’s camping with friends this weekend.” Ginny cleared her throat. “I’ll go get your coffee.”
Too frazzled to think straight, she swept a swift gaze around the room as she headed for the kitchen. Sitting on the bookshelf closest to the piano were two framed pictures of Tilda, one from when she was five and the other from her twelfth birthday. They were in plain sight. Nothing short of a miracle would stop him from looking at them, which would lead to questions Ginny didn’t want to answer.
Her hand shook as she poured him a cup, and she cursed under her breath when some of the hot brew burned her fingers.
“Here, let me get that...” His voice came from close behind.
She jerked, spilling half the coffee onto her hand and the floor. She clamped her lips together.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly and took the cup from her. After setting it on the counter, he picked up her hand and inspected the red skin.
“It’s nothing.”
“Do you have any ointment handy?”
He’d shaved, she realized, doing some close inspecting of her own. The dimple on his chin was more visible, and the sudden urge to rub her thumb over it had her pulling her hand back.
“It’s fine,” she said and returned the carafe to the coffee station, then went to the fridge. The second she opened it she remembered the milk was already on the counter.
“Okay to use this?”
She turned to find him holding up the kitchen rag she left draped on the dishwasher handle. She nodded and watched him crouch to wipe the coffee off the hardwood floor. “Do you clean windows too?”
Glancing up, he grinned. “With the right motivation, you bet.”
Oh, no, she wasn’t taking the bait. She gave him a slight smile and slid the small ceramic pot of sugar toward him as he rose. “Thanks,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the floor.
He eyed the nearly empty coffee carafe.
“I’d offer to make more, but I know you don’t have much time. Go ahead and finish it up. It’s still fresh.”
“I brought something from Gustav’s...”
“I guessed,” Ginny said, sighing.
Parker paused, the amusement in his eyes hard to miss. “The bag’s in the living room. Are we going back out there, or should I go get it?”
“Yes, please.”
His brows went up.
“Let’s stay here.” Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t noticed the photos. Knowing she had a daughter was one thing. Knowing her daughter’s age, well, that was something else altogether.
She went ahead and scooped up the remainder of the beans she’d ground earlier, enough for at least half a pot. Anything from Gustav’s required coffee as an accompaniment. And not just any brew but the really good stuff, of which she was always sure to have a vast supply.
Parker returned quickly and made himself at home finding the small plates and setting them on the table along with forks and napkins.
She was dying to know what he’d brought, but she wouldn’t ask. As soon as the coffee started to brew she turned to him. He swiftly brought his gaze up to eye level. The robe...
When he pulled a chair out from the table for her, she bit her lip as she sat down. Why was this suddenly feeling like the Last Supper?
“Go ahead and open the bag,” he said, as he took a seat across from her.
“I’m not sure I should be starting the day with sugar,” she murmured, even as she reached for the sack. “I drank more alcohol last night than I typically drink in a whole year.”
“You don’t look hungover.”
Ginny peeked inside the bag and groaned. “I love anything Gustav makes, but the cardamom rolls are my absolute favorite.”
“I know.”
She frowned at his pleased smile. “How?”
“I asked.” Parker shrugged. “I figured someone behind the counter would know you.”
“I haven’t been in there for months.” Sniffing, she tore the bag open. She had no willpower when it came to all the ridiculous pastries they offered.
“Why not? Have you been touring?”
She put the roll on her plate and pushed the bag at him, her appetite diminishing suddenly. Something in his piercing blue eyes told her he already knew the answer to that question. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d been asking around about her. Despite the hordes of tourists and all the summer people, the locals managed to stay tight and connected.
“Touring?” She stared right back at him. “I teach piano. Here at the house. Five days a week.”
“That’s what I heard. I just didn’t believe it.”
“Why not? I make a respectable living, and I have a number of kids who are very serious students.”
“That’s not—I’m sure that’s true.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “You had dreams, Ginny, big dreams, about Juilliard and about life after Juilliard. And rightfully so. We talked about them, remember? You’re too talented to be...giving piano lessons...”
Heat crawled up her throat and exploded in her face. The anger and hurt building inside her nearly frightened her into silence. “What about you?” she asked, holding on to her temper by a thread. “Since we’re discussing our dreams. Did you ever go on to law school? Are you the big shot, crime-fighting attorney you intended to be?”
“Come on, Ginny. I’m not criticizing you, and I’m sure not looking for an argument.” He reached across the table for her hand but she snatched it away and clasped her hands together on her lap.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Okay. You’re right. I didn’t go to law school. I didn’t even finish Princeton.”
Ginny had willfully done the poking. She should’ve been satisfied with his weary expression