His Best Friend's Wife. Lee Mckenzie
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“Come to the kitchen. There’s fresh coffee, and I just put a second batch of muffins in the oven.”
“Wow,” he said as he followed her. “Eric wasn’t exaggerating. You really have made some big changes in here.”
“We renovated about five years ago, after I decided to open the B and B. The old kitchen was quaint but it sure wasn’t functional. We kept the original cabinets, but we painted them, and we kept these old farmhouse-style door and drawer pulls.”
“Those are original? They look as though they could have been installed yesterday.”
“You know what they say—everything old is new again.” She often congratulated herself on that decision. Now, when she checked out design magazines, she could see they were once again in vogue. The same could be said for Great-Grandmother Finnegan’s metal canisters, still lined up along the counter, their red lids with the paint chipped from years of use, the cherry-cluster decoration on the fronts faded but still cheery. Their contents still matched the stenciled labels—flour, sugar, coffee, tea.
“I wanted modern conveniences without sacrificing family tradition,” she said. The cabinet drawers were filled with fresh linens and towels and all the modern gadgets she used every day to prepare the meals she served to her family and guests. Nestled among them, though, were the old wooden rolling pin her grandmother had used to roll countless pie crusts and strudels, and the old hand-crank eggbeater that Annie and her sisters had been allowed to use before they could be trusted with an electric appliance. She indicated the upper cabinets. “We added these glass doors because I wanted to display this vintage crockery and glassware. They’ve been in the family for generations.”
“I’m impressed. I remember Eric’s emails about the work you were doing. It was hard to imagine him in a tool belt, though, wielding a hammer.”
“Eric was...helpful,” Annie said, giving a weak laugh. “Although I’m not sure the contractor would have agreed with that statement.”
Paul laughed, too. “That sounds like Eric, all right. How’s Isaac this morning?” he asked, taking a seat at the island.
“He’s fine.” She took a mug out of the cupboard, filled it with coffee and passed it to Paul. Her hand grazed his and gave her a little jolt.
“Thanks.” His smile had the same effect on her heart.
“After we came home yesterday, I tried putting an ice pack on his shoulder like you suggested, but he wouldn’t sit still long enough for it to do any good.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“It is. I’m sorry I was such a basket case yesterday, but I was so worried.”
“Annie, don’t apologize. Your reaction was completely understandable.”
“He’s already down at the stable with CJ. They’re saddling the horses for the kids who come every Saturday morning for riding therapy.”
“And your father?”
“He’s down there, too. He often rides with them.”
“Impressive. I’d like to come and watch sometime.”
“We can go down and check out the class this morning if you’d like.”
“Thanks. Maybe another time. I’m good right here for today.”
She was oddly pleased that he had opted to stay in the kitchen with her. “How’s your father doing?” she asked.
Paul sighed. “As sharp-tongued as ever. Now he just can’t remember why. Although, come to think of it, I’m not sure he ever had a good reason.”
“I’m sorry. I know a lot of people in town were surprised to hear that he was retiring, but everyone was shocked to hear he has Alzheimer’s. He seems too young for that.”
“Most people think of it as a geriatric condition but the truth is that as many as five percent of patients are afflicted before they turn sixty-five.”
“I had no idea,” Annie said. “That’s so sad.”
The timer pinged. She pulled the pan from the oven, dumped the muffins into a cloth-lined basket. She set out side plates and knives, butter and a small pot of her homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam, and placed the basket on the island. “Help yourself,” she said. “Lemon-cranberry, fresh from the oven, obviously, but they’ll cool quickly.”
“You won’t have to twist my arm,” Paul said. “They smell amazing, but I’ll only have one if you pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit with me.”
“Of course.” She wasn’t accustomed to sitting still in her own kitchen, but she refilled her mug and settled onto a stool, careful to leave an empty one between her and Paul.
“These taste as wonderful as they smell,” he said, after his first bite of the piping hot muffin he had sliced in half and generously slathered with butter and jam.
“I’m glad you like them. I bake muffins every Saturday morning. My sisters and I have a coffee date after CJ’s riding class is over, and I freeze the leftovers for family and guests who come to stay.”
“How’s that going?” he asked. “The bed-and-breakfast? It sounds like a lot of work.”
“It can be, but I’m already cooking and cleaning and making beds for the family, so it’s not a lot of extra work to do it for a few more people. And we’re only open through the summer and for the holidays, from Thanksgiving through Christmas. Not a lot of people book a holiday on a Wisconsin farm in the middle of January. And if they do...” She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. “They won’t make the same mistake twice.”
They both laughed at that.
“Makes sense,” Paul said. “I guess folks are searching for sun and surf at that time of year.”
He was easy to talk to and she loved that he made it easy for her to laugh, that he made it okay for her to laugh again. It was all so easy that she was startled when Paul checked his watch and stood to leave.
“Annie, this has been great but I need to get going. Otherwise I’ll be late for my first appointment.”
“I’m glad you came out this morning. It’s good to have you back in Riverton.” She meant it. She hadn’t realized how important it would be to have Eric’s friends around.
Paul stood, picked up his dishes and carried them to the dishwasher.
Annie rushed to her feet. “Don’t worry about those. I’ll take care of them.”
He gave her a quizzical smile. “I know how to load a dishwasher. I’ve been taking care of myself since I went away to college.”
“Right. Well, thank you.” He was a doctor. He took care of other people for a living, so without question he could look after himself. She just wasn’t used to being around men who did. Or if they did, she wasn’t accustomed to letting them.
“Walk me out?” he asked.
“Of course.” As they made their way down the hall to the door, she found herself wondering about Paul’s past. He seemed to be single, but there must have been girlfriends, serious relationships even. For all she knew, he was still involved with someone in Chicago. She could ask, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Outside on the screened veranda, they stopped and Paul turned to face her. “Thanks for coffee.”
“Anytime, Paul. I mean it.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned in as though he was going to kiss her forehead the way he always did. As he moved, she inexplicably tipped her head back and looked at him. His lips made contact with hers. The kiss lasted a millisecond—brief but electrifying. They both pulled back, startled, gazes locked.
Paul was the