92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [58]
“I’d be happy if you did.”
Their eyes held and Mack felt the tension building between them. Under other circumstances he might have kissed her but he was afraid of frightening her off.
Mack was a patient man, though. He knew what he wanted, and every minute he spent with Mary Jo and Noelle made him more aware of what that was.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte Rhodes worried about Ben as she poured his first coffee of the day while he retrieved the morning paper from the porch.
Ben just hadn’t been himself since returning from the cruise. Even her special homemade coconut cake didn’t interest him, and that was highly unusual.
When they’d come home from the Caribbean, she’d assumed his malady was physical. In the weeks since, she’d realized that what ailed him was emotional. Her husband was depressed.
“The Seniors’ Potluck is this afternoon,” she reminded him as she carried in his coffee. Harry, her cat, had curled up on Ben’s lap and made himself comfortable. Harry hadn’t initially accepted Ben, but once he had, the cat had become her husband’s constant companion.
“Would you mind if I skipped it this time?” Ben mumbled from behind the paper.
Charlotte started to protest, then stopped herself. “Aren’t you feeling well?” she asked, sitting on the ottoman by his chair. She rested her hand on his knee and gazed up at him, wanting so desperately to help.
Ben lowered the paper and looked at her briefly, then stared into the distance. “I’m fine,” he said with a halfhearted smile. “I’d just prefer to stay home this afternoon.”
“All right, dear, if that’s what you want.”
“I do.” He reached out his hand to squeeze hers. “Thanks for understanding.”
After lingering for a moment, Charlotte returned to the bedroom, where she dressed and got ready for her day. She’d never, ever thought Ben would purposely avoid the Seniors’ Potluck. It was the social highlight of their month, when they saw their dearest friends. Half the widows in town were in love with Ben, and Charlotte knew why. He wasn’t only handsome, charming and witty, he was a man of integrity. He’d truly blessed her life.
All their friends were bound to ask about him and she wasn’t sure what to say. Well, she’d think of something. Poor Ben. She had to assume his depression stemmed, at least in part, from his son David’s appalling behavior. She wished she knew how to help him through this, yet she felt at a loss. Offering comfort and reassurance was all she could do.
As soon as she’d finished dressing, Charlotte went back to the kitchen to prepare her contribution for that day’s potluck. As in most family homes, the kitchen was the center of activity. Not only did she do her cooking and baking there, but her best thinking took place while standing in front of the sink, washing dishes. Most serious discussions with her children had taken place here, as well.
What to bring to the potluck? Her broccoli lasagna had been a huge hit in January, and she’d received numerous requests for the recipe. In fact, these meals generally turned into a recipe exchange. Some of her favorite ones came from the potlucks, and from wakes, too. The recipe for the best casserole she’d ever tasted had come from the wake for her husband Clyde’s dearest friend, Sam. Every time she served it, she thought of him. Of both of them.
“Ben,” she said, stepping out of the kitchen as she tied her apron around her waist. “Should I bring the stuffed peppers or my chicken potpie?”
He didn’t respond right away, as if he was considering the decision. “The potpie.”
“Good. I was leaning toward that myself.”
He nodded.
“I’ll make three, so there’ll be plenty for you, and I’ll take one over to Olivia and Jack this afternoon.”
“Great idea.” He set aside the paper to pet Harry, who slept contentedly