Tiring of her game, Lolly dropped the annual back on the footstool and turned to Laurel. “What next?”
“We’ll get dinner ready. Let’s start by setting the table.” As soon as they entered the large dining room, she closed the French windows and turned on the window unit. The room was heating up fast.
Lolly ran her hand down the smooth wood of the table. “This is mahogany, isn’t it? Our table at home is mahogany, but it’s not a curvy one like this one, and the chairs are really plain—no carvings at all.”
“My great-grandmother was the one who chose it.” Laurel gave the table the evil eye. “It was all the fashion back then, but, to tell the truth, I prefer a simpler style.”
Lolly’s face lit up. “Then you’d love ours. It’s real plain—straight up and down. You can see it when you visit.”
Apparently Lolly had accepted the fact that Laurel was not her mother, but was now playing matchmaker. That child was desperate for a mother.
Opening the closet door, Laurel pulled out a protective pad for the table, spread a pale pink tablecloth across it, then topped everything with delicate lace. Her fingers caressed the fragile threads. “Gramma Lorena crocheted this for her hope chest.” Mama had saved it for special occasions, and Laurel figured that having Jase and his daughter for dinner was as special as it could get.
Lolly eyed the tall, glass-fronted china cabinet. “Are we going to use the stuff in there?”
“Be careful. It’s antique.” In fact, so was everything else in the house, which could get claustrophobic. It was like there was an invisible sign on the whole lot:
DO NOT TOUCH: PLEASE KEEP TWELVE INCHES DISTANCE FROM DISPLAY.
She wiped each plate with a soft towel as she took it down, just as Mama used to do, then handed it to Lolly to carry to the table. Later this fall, if the house didn’t move, the china would have to go. She’d already sold the Rosenthal, but had hoped to hang on to the Limoges Haviland. Lord only knows why—it wasn’t as if she’d ever have a use for it.
Laurel watched as Lolly set the crystal and the silver in place. She weighed a knife in her hand. “This stuff is heavy.”
“Erasmus bought the silverware for his first wife right after the house was finished.”
“You have so much family history.”
“I guess I have been sort of rattling on.”
“I think it’s interesting. Besides…”
Laurel froze in her tracks. Did Lolly still think she might be a Kinkaid? How could she handle this tactfully? “Honey—”
Casting her a panicked look, Lolly quickly altered her course. “I don’t know much about my own family.” Her eyes went bright, and she started talking so fast it was hard to follow her. “Dad won’t tell me about my mother, and I think he’s holding back about his father too. Aunt Maxie’s told me all about his mother, though. She was her youngest sister and sorta wild.”
Laurel pressed her lips together and shoved a meat platter and two bowls into Lolly’s hands, then scanned the china cabinet for the butter dish. “After we decide which serving dishes to use, we’ll be through in here.”
Taking the hint, Lolly flashed the Redlander smile and changed the subject. She gestured toward the table setting. “Gosh, Laurel, whenever Dad throws a party, Aunt Maxie always hires a caterer. But you know how, like, to do all this yourself, don’t you?”
Laurel glanced at the table settings. “I prefer a more hands-on approach,” she lied, her voice gentling. But maybe it wasn’t a lie. There was a warm, secret joy to preparing dinner for Jase and his family, even if she was only warming it up.
*
By five thirty, the roast was biding its time in the oven and the sides were simmering on the stove, all according to the instructions printed on their cans, boxes, and plastic bags. Laurel hung her mother’s frilly apron on the back of a chair and breathed a sigh of relief. She might not be Cordon Bleu, but she could read.
Taking a seat at the big round table, she closed her eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. Cooking was a hassle, but it smelled wonderful. If she could bottle up that aroma and sell it, she wouldn’t have to move out of Bosque Bend—she could buy the town outright.
Lolly cast a glance at her, then pulled the rack out to baste the roast again, although Piggly Wiggly’s instructions didn’t call for basting more than once. Since cooking was apparently as new an experience to Lolly as to her, Laurel suspected her culinary assistant was getting a kick out of playing with the juice. No harm done. She closed her eyes again.
“Laurel.”
What now? Lolly was standing in front of her, frowning.
“Laurel, I can take care of everything down here, so why don’t you go up and change clothes? You know”—she smiled and batted her lashes—“get into something sexy.”