Driftwood Cottage. Sherryl Woods
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“I also know they can’t be rushed. Time apart may be the best thing for them right now.”
Mick regarded his wife with amusement. “Don’t act as if you’re not doing your share of manipulating, woman. I know all about the way you put a bug in Kevin’s ear to spend some time with Connor tonight. The way I hear it, he, Jake, Trace, Will and Mack have all been dispatched to Connor’s place to extol the joys of married life.”
Megan regarded him innocently. “Will and Mack aren’t married.”
“Maybe not, but Will’s a shrink, so he has all sorts of insights to offer, I’m sure. As for Mack, he might as well be, for all the time he’s spending with Susie these days.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “I have no idea why my brother hasn’t stepped in and taken control of that situation. It’s time for Mack to get off the dime and propose to that girl, or at least admit he’s dating her.”
“Your brother is not the natural-born meddler that you are,” Megan reminded him. “I’m sure Susie and Mack are very grateful for that.”
“There you go, sounding all superior again, when I know for a fact you’re every bit the meddler that I am,” Mick accused.
Megan laughed. “What can I say? I want all of our children to be as happy and settled as we are.”
Mick studied her face, looking for any sign of discontent. After missing too many hints of unhappiness during their first marriage, he was determined to be attuned to every nuance of their relationship this time around.
“You mean that?” he asked directly. “You’re happy?”
“Of course I am. I have everything I could possibly want. You and I are back together. I’ve opened a business I love, and it’s gotten off to a solid start. And my relationship with each of our children is getting stronger every day. What could I possibly have to complain about?”
“Maybe the fact that you never did get that honeymoon I promised you,” Mick suggested.
Megan shrugged as if having the honeymoon of her dreams was of no consequence, even though they’d only been able to afford a trip to Ocean City for a weekend when they’d first wed all those years ago.
“That’s my own fault, not yours,” she told him. “Everything started coming together for the gallery right after the first of the year. There was no time to get away.”
“And now?” he asked. “You think you could spare a little time for me?”
“The gallery’s opened. My assistant’s trained. I suppose I could get away,” she said thoughtfully, then met his gaze with a sparkle in her eyes. “I’m quite sure that wasn’t an idle question, Mick O’Brien. What did you have in mind?”
“A week in Paris,” he said at once. He pulled two tickets out of his pocket and set them on the table. “And before you get all worked up over me being presumptuous, note that they don’t have a date on them. We can go whenever you say the word.”
Megan reached for his hand. “Who could have imagined that you could still learn a thing or two at this late date?”
He laughed at that. “When the motivation’s powerful enough, a man can always learn something new. I hope Connor figures that out before it’s too late.”
Megan’s previously lighthearted mood visibly darkened at his words. “Oh, Mick, I hope so, too, but there’s only so much you and I can do to make sure that happens. The rest is up to him and Heather.”
Mick knew that, but nevertheless it went against the grain to leave something so important to chance.
“You won’t object if I do a thing or two to nudge things along, will you?” he asked.
She gave him a stern look. “Nudge all you want, but pay attention to the signs, Mick. When they’re all but shouting to back off, do it. I mean that.” She grinned at him. “And something tells me this is definitely an ideal time for me to get you out of town before you do something we’ll both regret. Make those reservations for Paris. I’ll try to keep you preoccupied over there, so Connor and Heather can have a little breathing room back here.”
“A sneaky approach,” he said approvingly, “but you’re forgetting one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m great at multitasking.”
Megan met his gaze, laughter lurking in her eyes. “Is that so?” she inquired softly as she deliberately ran her hand along the inside of his thigh. “Do you really want to bet that I can’t make you forget all about Chesapeake Shores, much less meddling?”
Mick swallowed hard. Sadly, she had a point. The good news was that they were going to have one helluva time while she set out to prove it.
2
The combined efforts of the men in his family and his friends convinced Connor to make the drive to Chesapeake Shores on Saturday. He hadn’t been home since his parents’ wedding on New Year’s Eve. Though he’d made his peace with both Mick and even Megan, things seemed to go better between them when he kept his distance. Their capacity for meddling was beyond his for resisting. They’d made their opinions of his relationship with Heather crystal clear.
The drive home had been pleasant for a change. Although the weather was especially mild for late March, it was too early for most of the tourists and weekenders who flocked to the small towns on the Chesapeake Bay later in the season.
Arriving in Chesapeake Shores to discover all the hints that spring was just around the corner, he realized how much he missed being home. This time of year the town green was edged with beds of daffodils, the salty air of the bay beckoned and there was something special about the way the morning sun filtered through a haze and sparkled on the dew that covered the fresh green lawns.
With temperatures hovering close to seventy, he actually had visions of taking his old rowboat out for a lazy day of fishing. Maybe he could even convince Kevin to come along. It had been ages since they’d spent an idle day out on the water together.
Before heading toward home, he made the drive along Main Street, then turned right onto Shore Road. It was practically a ritual to take a tour of the town his father and uncles had built, to see what was happening. There were always one or two changes that caught him by surprise, especially in spring, when most new businesses chose to open in time for the summer tourist season.
He spotted the “Open” flag fluttering outside his mother’s new art gallery and resolved to make his duty call there later in the day, since he’d missed the official opening. He was anxious to see if she was as knowledgeable about art as his father and the rest of the family seemed to think she was.
Before he drove on, Connor caught a glimpse of another new store right next door. A beautiful handmade quilt hung in the window, a quilt, he realized with a sense of shock, that looked very familiar because it—or one exactly like it—had once hung on the wall in his townhouse. It was the one thing that had gone missing after Heather’s departure.
Slamming on the brakes, he looked around until he spotted a parking place up the street. He swung into it, then tried to still the sudden racing of his heart. He knew that quilt because Heather had made it. He’d watched her in the evenings as she’d stitched every seam, quilted every square, while he’d been studying for his law school classes. He’d been captivated by the contentment on her face as she’d worked quietly, happy just to be in a room with him.
Spotting that quilt in a store window shouldn’t throw him like this, he thought as he strode across the street. It shouldn’t matter to him that she’d apparently put it up for sale. But it did.
It offended him to think that maybe she was giving it up because she needed cash. How much could a quilt bring in, anyway? He thought he’d been giving her generous support money for their son,