Small-Town Homecoming

She liked his laissez-faire attitude, but too much was at stake for her to share his outlook. “While I appreciate your willingness to eat burned dough, these aren’t up to snuff.” She sighed.

He regarded her, his long-lashed brown eyes steady.

Her heartbeat skipped and she stepped back automatically.

“Hmm. I know what we have here,” he said with a tiny smile.

“You do?” Somehow she was able to make her voice steady when her pulse was going through the roof.

“A perfectionist, perhaps?”

Sam chimed in. “Yeah, Miss Jenna likes everything to be just right.” He frowned. “She makes me redo my homework all the time.”

“Yes, I’m a real slave driver in the homework department,” she said, infusing some dry levity into her voice.

“What’s a slave driver?” Sam asked, his nose scrunched up.

“Someone who makes little kids do homework,” Jenna explained. She’d majored in education, and knew that if Sam fell behind now because of his focus issues, he might never catch up. Early elementary education set the groundwork for the rest of a child’s schooling.

“Sounds like Miss Jenna is just trying to help you out,” Curt said. “And that’s good for you. School is important.”

“Exactly,” Jenna said, giving Curt a grateful look. “And sometimes striving for high ideals is necessary.” She’d know, being the only unperfect person in a family of perfect people, the one who’d always had to work harder for everything.

“I think Miss Jenna should take all the time she needs to make the pies up to her standards.” Curt turned dark eyes her way.

“Thank you. And I need these to be perfect because two of them will be for a wedding reception I’m catering here tomorrow. I have to remake them.” She made all of her dough from scratch, so the process wasn’t as quick as unrolling premade store-bought crust. “I’ll do that later tonight.”

“Remember, I have the play at my school tonight,” Sam piped in, plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs next to the small table set in one corner. “You promised you’d come.”

She arranged her face in a serene expression; she had forgotten about the play, not that she’d let Sam know that. “And I never break my promises, so I’ll be there.” It would be a late night. Unless... She looked at her watch. Still relatively early. “Maybe I could get them done now, before dinner.”

“I thought we were going to work on my model car,” Sam said, his voice bordering on a whine.

Where was her brain? “Oh, yeah, we were. No problem.” She wasn’t about to flake out on Sam, not when so many other adults in his life had done so. Even if it meant staying up late to remake her pies. “Go get it out of your backpack, and we’ll get right on it.”

Curt looked back and forth between them, both brows raised. “Model car?”

“Yeah!” Sam said, jumping from the chair. He puffed out his chest. “I bought it with my own money.”

Jenna smiled. Sam had saved for months to buy the model kit.

“Cool, dude,” Curt said, nodding. “I built a few models in my day.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “You did?”

“You bet. I’ve always been into cars.”

“You wanna help me?” Sam said.

Jenna held out a hand. “Sam, Mr. Graham just arrived. I’m sure he has other things to do.”

Curt turned his long-lashed eyes her way.

She forced herself not to stare.

“Actually, I don’t start work at the Sports Shack until tomorrow,” Curt said. “So after I get changed, I’ll have plenty of time to help him.”

She blinked, a bit taken aback by his offer. “He just sprayed you in the face with a garden hose.”

Curt shrugged one broad shoulder. “No harm, no foul.” He scruffed Sam’s head. “Besides, he apologized. So no hard feelings.”

Wow. What a generous offer. “Well...”

“And if I help him with the model,” Curt said, continuing, “you’ll have time to get your pies in the oven, and everyone’s happy.”

“I don’t want to impose,” she said, holding back out of courtesy, even though letting him take over with the model car project would help her out. She had a lot on her plate these days. Actually, her plate was overflowing. But she’d deal. She’d promised Grams she’d keep the inn going, and she would, no matter what.

Besides, Flahertys never failed.

“It isn’t an imposition.” Curt looked at Sam. “It’ll be fun. I haven’t built one of those models in years.”

“Are you sure?” Jenna asked, touched by his generosity. “Because I can fit the pies in later tonight.” She was used to working odd hours.

“I’m sure.”

“Please, Miss Jenna,” Sam said, bouncing up and down. “I really want someone who knows what they’re doing to help me.”

Her resolve frittered away. How could she refuse Sam, especially when she knew he’d craved interaction with adult men ever since his dad had gone to prison? Sam needed a role model, for sure.

Of course, she was assuming a lot about Curt Graham being an appropriate role model, and, obviously, she didn’t know him at all. But she knew his brother Seth, and he was a good man. A great man, actually, with a wonderful family of his own. Besides, Sam and Curt would be right here with her the whole time. She could supervise.

“All right, then,” she capitulated. “I’ll bake while you guys work on the model.”

Sam whooped. “Yippee! I’ll go get it.”

“Hold on, cowboy. You need to go change your clothes first,” she reminded the boy. “Do you remember where we put your change of clothes, in the closet down the hall?”

“I remember.” Grinning, Sam ran out of the kitchen, then skidded to a halt and turned in the arched doorway that led to the formal dining room and living room. “I’ll meet you back here, Mr. Graham, okay?”

Curt saluted. “Okay. See you back here in a few.”

Sam took off again, and Jenna heard his footsteps clomping on the hardwood hallway that led to the closet.

She turned her gaze to Curt. “Are you sure about this? You must be tired after driving in from...” Oh. She had no idea where he’d come from.

“L.A., but I overnighted in Portland, so I only drove a couple hours today. And I’m not tired at all. But I am wet,” he said, gesturing down to his damp clothes. “I’ll go grab my stuff and get changed, and then Sam and I can get busy on his project.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, bemoaning her absent brain again. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry. I kept you in here, talking, in wet clothes.”