Laura Abbot by Belleporte Summer Page B

and puzzles.
    “Nice,” he said, stepping around a packing crate to examine a selection of intricately woven baskets.
    “It’s coming along.” His monosyllabic reaction wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence. Couldn’t he see the possibilities? “Let me show you the kitchenware section.” She led him to the rear, where she stood aside for him to view the bakers’ racks, pot hangers and freshly installed cutting-board counters. Drawing her hand across a pile of cookbooks, she said, “This area’s where I’ll display the cookware, and over there—” she gestured to the large kitchen window “—I’ll hang stained glass suncatchers. And here—” she nearly tripped over a ceramic flower pot “—I’ll stock gourmet food items not available locally.”
    He hadn’t moved. “Like what?”
    “You know, herb vinegars, chutney, pickled baby corn.”
    “People eat pickled corn?”
    “All the time. You ought to try it.”
    His lips twitched. Perhaps he was actually going to grin. “Maybe I will. Will you serve free samples to lure the wary?”
    She looked up at him in surprise. “That’s not a bad idea. I could offer samples the first week I’m open, and then again for the grand opening—”
    “Grand opening? Sounds fancy. When will that be?”
    “I’m waiting until school is out so the summer people will be here. Of course, I’ll be in business before that, but I want the official opening to be a total community event.”
    “As in ‘everyone who’s anyone’ will be here?”
    “Exactly.”
    He gestured at the mounds of boxes. “You really think you’ll be in business by April 15?”
    “With Megan and Mike’s help, and putting in lots of hours myself, I’ll make it.”
    “Mike working out okay?”
    She tilted her head. “You sound dubious.”
    “Well?”
    “He’s a good worker. You can quit worrying.”
    Laurel thought she heard him say under his breath, “I wish.”
    She wandered back toward the counter where the pizza sat. “Honest verdict—what do you think of The Gift Horse now?”
    He hesitated, then laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’ve worked hard and deserve success.” He smiled. “And as soon as you offer those pickled corn samples, it’ll be in the bag.”
    As they started upstairs to her apartment, he added, “Hey, have you thought about stocking those little fruit stick-candy things with the chocolate covering? They’d be a real draw for Belleporte hostesses.”
    “Reception sticks,” she mumbled automatically, wondering if he was serious or putting her on. She hoped the latter. A sense of humor was an enormous asset in a man. Especially one in whom she had a particular interest. Like Ben.
    Why couldn’t life be simple?
     

    A FTER A THIRD SLICE of pizza, Ben sat listening to the soft dulcimer music playing on the stereo. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but Laurel had made an inviting home out of what, last time he’d seen it, had been an empty barnlike space. Now it was filled with comfortable, if worn, upholstered furniture, an oak rocker, braided rugs. Quilts and weavings decorated the walls, and wooden and ceramic bowls were strategically placed to hold magazines, pencils and fresh fruit. Homey without being too feminine or artsy. A man could get comfortable here. After all, he already had.
    With swift, efficient movements, Laurel was rinsing the dinner plates. He loved to watch her move. She was so…graceful. Jay, old buddy, what were you thinking, putting these notions in my head? Right, like he hadn’t coveted Laurel Eden long before Jay knew anything about her. He needed to come back to earth, and there was one guaranteed way.
    “Laurel, about Mike…”
    She wrung out the sponge with which she’d been wiping the counters, set it down and turned toward him. “Yes?”
    “He’s having some problems you need to be aware of.”
    “Do I?” she said, settling at the other end of the sofa from him. “He’s been a perfect gentleman. Why