They would enjoy a nice meal together, then a nice evening together. What happened next…well, she shrugged and pushed herself back up to her feet again. Whatever happened next, just happened.
She went back into the kitchen and turned the chicken. She had the main course planned, which left her with a question. What was she going to do for dessert? She opened the refrigerator and studied its contents again. Cheese and crackers with some fresh sliced fruit? It would have to do, she decided. She was no Cordon Bleu cook by any means. Which left predinner nibbles… She hoped he liked crudités with hummus. She could slice some carrot sticks and celery as well as a red bell pepper and arrange them all on a plate.
Right, the food was sorted, which just left her. What the heck was she going to wear? She thought for a minute then decided on the gypsy-style skirt she’d bought yesterday from the boutique in town. Another item by the same designer as her purple-and-blue dress, it had cost a pretty penny, but the swirl of color, in shades of coral over a sumptuous midnight blue, and the sheer femininity of the item had filled Tamsyn with delight. She’d team it with a blue silk knit singlet and a pair of navy ballet flats that she’d picked up while in Nelson today.
Satisfied she’d done all she could for now in the kitchen, Tamsyn quickly zoomed through the sitting room, clearing away old newspapers and tidying the stack of magazines on the shelf under the coffee table. There, tidy, but not staged. She groaned. Who was she kidding? She was staging everything in anticipation of Finn being here tonight. It didn’t matter how sternly she talked to herself, deep down it mattered to her what he thought.
Acknowledging that was a freedom in itself and allowed her to make a decision about another question that had been playing around the back of her mind. She went straight to the linen cupboard in the passageway and grabbed out fresh linen for her bed.
She was going to be prepared for every eventuality tonight. Come what may.
Thirteen
Finn approached the cottage slowly. His visit to Wellington had gone well, businesswise, but not so well when it came to Ellen. For the first time, she hadn’t recognized him. He’d expected it, thought he’d been prepared for it, yet when it happened it hurt far more than he’d ever anticipated.
Lorenzo had been apologetic, Alexis understanding, but none of it made up for the fact that Ellen was slowly but surely slipping away from them all—and that included Tamsyn. She was running out of time to meet her mother. It put him between a rock and a hard place. Lorenzo remained adamant that Tamsyn be kept from finding Ellen.
In some ways Finn totally agreed. He knew that the woman Tamsyn would see was not the mother she had hoped to find. Ellen was far past the point of being able to answer the questions Tamsyn carried. Perhaps it would have simply been easier for everyone if Tamsyn continued to believe her mother had passed away. Rare now were the days when there was even a glimmer of understanding in Ellen’s faded brown eyes.
Lorenzo was never far from her side, constantly on the alert for the opening of those precious windows in her mind—each one a gift beyond price. While Finn warred with Tamsyn’s right to at least see her mother, could he honestly deny Lorenzo those moments? What if seeing Tamsyn sent Ellen hurtling away into the far reaches of her dementia? Her last days would be nothing more than hours of emptiness for those who loved and cared for her. Finn couldn’t do that to another human being.
He pulled his SUV to a halt at the end of the driveway and pulled himself together. He probably shouldn’t have accepted Tamsyn’s invitation tonight. He doubted he’d be good company, but when he’d heard her voice mail issuing the offer, he knew he couldn’t deny himself the respite of her company.
Finn grabbed the wine carrier, with its two chilled bottles of wine nestled inside in one hand, and the bunch of tulips he’d bought at the florist’s after getting Tamsyn’s call in the other. The soft pink long-stemmed blooms reminded him of her—their exquisite smooth petals a perfect shield for their additional beauty when they opened to the sun. She was just like that. Guarded smooth walls of perfection on show to the rest of the world, and yet when she was given warmth and affection she flourished.
He nudged the car door shut with his hip and covered the distance to the house in long strides. Now he was here, he was eager to see her again. She opened the door before he could juggle his items and knock.
The sight of her knocked the breath clean out of his lungs. She had her hair up in some twisted knot on top of her head, exposing the slender arch of her neck and making her look divinely feminine and impossibly fragile at the same time. Every male hormone in his body rose to the occasion, making him ache to be her knight—to be that one man to protect her from all wrongdoing, from all sorrow. He swallowed hard. No woman had ever made him feel this way, so desperate to be her valiant defender. The sensation was primal and dark, yet uplifting and filled with warmth at the same time.