Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn Page A

smoothed, and he started filling his plate. Alice glanced between the two. “I’ll just go check on Deacon.”
    Gillian remembered her manners. “Aren’t you eating?”
    “No dear, we finished just before you walked through the door. Rhys take your time, Deacon has everything set, and all is well.”
    “Thank you both.” He spoke to Alice, but Gillian felt his gaze on her.
    She shoveled in food, refusing to look at Rhys. She wanted to eat and enjoy her meal.
    “So, you’re not going to talk to me?”
    She lifted her face and met his gaze. “I’ll talk to you about anything, Rhys. About the weather, the sloop, about the lighthouse, about the people of Bass Harbor, and our shopping. I will not speak of him or her. I will not let them in this house. If you chose to do so, I can’t help it, but I will not let them back in after I thought we’d exorcised them for good.”
    His head bobbed in a slow nod. “I don’t want that either, ma petite , but I do have to apologize for what I said to you about the paperwork and telling the truth. Your words sunk in about halfway home, that you’d used your real name to protect me not for your own sake. I should have thanked you instead of accusing you.”
    “You’re forgiven. I know it was said out of anger and frustration more than you meaning it.”
    “That’s no excuse to hurt you, Gillian. There is never any excuse for that.”
    “I know it didn’t end like we wanted, but I enjoyed spending the day with you, love. Just being with you made it a wonderful day.”
    “You spend every day with me.”
    “And every day is a wonderful day.”
    He nodded to her plate. “Eat your supper before it gets cold.”
    She smiled and started eating again. His shoulders visibly relaxed, and his face wasn’t drawn taught in anger. When he exhaled a deep breath, Gillian let the last of the day’s troubles leave her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    ‡
    … I need to say goodbye, my dear friend. I’m making a cake for Rhys, and after the disaster of the first, I don’t want it to burn. It reminded me of your letter talking about your first experience cooking (please know I am not mocking you, only teasing a bit). I have no excuse, however, as Mrs. Ferris, our family cook, taught me well.
    I hope tonight we can enjoy the celebration and put behind us the horrible meeting of a few days ago.
    Love and friendship,
    Gillian
    Gillian tucked the letter to Willow in an envelope and placed it in the outgoing mail slot in the secretary desk she shared with Rhys in the sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the window giving light to the dark corner and matching her blithe mood. She went into the kitchen and checked the vanilla cake. With a sigh of relief, she removed the round pans, each containing half of the batter. Setting the pans on the wood carving board, Gillian gathered the items needed for the frosting.
    She scanned the kitchen and held back tears at the overwhelming sense of belonging. The days since meeting the Nultons had been a step back, but hope still burned as bright as Rhys’ light guiding seafarers, only this light steered her and Rhys closer together.
    Gillian placed the lobsters in the pot to boil. She wished she had a beef steak or something less common than lobster for Rhys’ birthday, but this would have to do, even if he had caught his own dinner in lobster traps he kept by the coast. She whipped up a simple vanilla icing and set it in the icebox to keep until the cakes cooled enough to layer and frost.
    Her heartbeat picked up its pace as the lunch hour grew near. She would have kept such a celebration for the evening meal, but Rhys would have to shovel in his food and return to the light. She took two of the plain, white plates into the dining room. A blue anchor was painted in the middle of each. A far cry from the expensive china and crystal that decorated the table at the house in Bath, but here there was no pretense, just plain and sturdy. She adored plain and sturdy.
    She