Marlene held her breath, waiting to hear his response. But none came. All the man did was smile a knowing smile. Take off that apron, put him in a collared shirt, and he’d be downright dashing.
The women’s conversation became a meaningless drone around her. That was it. She had to find an excuse to join them.
He was sliding Sorrow’s treat toward her when Marlene came up to the bar.
“You make desserts, too?” She’d made her voice breezy and self-possessed, but it cracked to see that Sully’s special chocolate thing was to squirt a big, cursive S with chocolate sauce along the top. She sucked in a breath, murmuring, “Adorable. ”
Sorrow grinned. “S for Sorrow. ” She plucked the cherry from the top of his creation and popped it into her mouth. “Sully’s cookie sundaes are to die for. ”
Marlene studied it. “Cookie sundae?”
“Yup, there are cookies all along the bottom. He bakes them himself. ” Sorrow shoveled in a huge bite and sighed with pleasure. She covered a hand in front of her mouth to say, “I make a mean Crème Brûlée, and it still couldn’t compete with Sully’s chocolate chip peanut butter cookie sundae. ”
“Hell, woman. I’ll make you one. ” Sully leaned against the bar. He had biceps like no sixty-something man should have.
“I couldn’t,” she said, considering both the ice cream and the strong arms.
He narrowed his eyes on her. “You can’t eat ice cream?”
“Well, I can. I just shouldn’t. ”
He refused that answer. “If it’s your figure you’re worried about, you can throw those concerns right out the door. ” There was something assessing in his eyes. The way he’d spoken with such intensity about her figure heated her blood. “I say you need some ice cream. ”
Sully grabbed a spoon, and Marlene’s mouth went dry. This man was a far cry from her husband, who’d never given two hoots what she needed or wanted.
“Try this,” he said, as he assembled a spoonful of ice cream, cookie, and whipped cream in careful proportions. “The secret is mixing the dough in with the ice cream. ”
“Be sure to break off enough cookie from along the bottom,” Sorrow told him.
She reached for the spoon, dumbfounded. Her husband had never tried to feed her ice cream. Her husband had thought she needed to watch her waistline.
But Sully didn’t hand her the spoon. Instead, he reached it toward her mouth. “Have a taste. ” His voice was like gravel.
Her heart kicked to life in her chest. The last time a man fed her something, she must’ve been in her twenties. She hesitated, then opened her mouth. Risking eye contact, she saw Sully’s eyes were riveted on her.
And then she tasted the ice cream. Shutting her eyes in bliss, she sighed a purring, contented sound. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face. “You’ve got a way with food, Tom. ”
There was a moment’s lull in the tavern as the women read the letters and Bear stopped talking to sip his beer. Sully’s voice filled the silence. “I want a day off. ” There was something intense in his voice, something driven.
Bear put down his glass and gave him a blank look. “What’s that?”
Marlene watched avidly.
“I said I need a day off, Bear. ”
What did Sully do on his time off? Did he date women he met on the Internet? Take them out for drinks? Would he ever ask her out for drinks?
“I’m taking a night off. ” And then Tom Sullivan met her eyes, and it was as though he’d read her mind. “A man needs to live his life. ”
Eighteen
“Oh, God…what now?” Sorrow was trying on one of the old dresses she’d found in the attic when a loud thud reverberated through the house. As she raced f
or the stairs, the heavy fabric swirled between her legs—how had pioneer women managed?—but she galloped down, doing her best not to trip, half expecting to find the walls caved in.
She darted from room to room, stopping short at the door to the den. Her sister. Of course.
“What the…?” Her eyes goggled, catching sight of a giant black workout contraption. A couple of men in blue-shirted uniforms were rearranging the furniture to make room. “What on earth is that?”