“Your favorite.” Felicity studied her. Did she know what Braden Martinez had been through? As much as she adored Charity, her sister’s experience with real relationships was limited. Poor Braden deserved more than another broken heart. “Your vomiting has earned you a get-out-of-widows’-group pass. Go directly to your room.”
“I’m fine.” She grabbed a plate of lemon pound cake and disappeared.
Felicity picked up the chocolate éclairs and backed through the kitchen door, heading for the dining room.
“Éclairs?” Nick followed.
“For the ladies.” She held the tray aside, out of his reach.
“Are you joining us, Nick?” Her mom smiled up at Nick and patted the seat beside her. “We could use some male companionship to balance out all the estrogen in the room—now that Sheriff Martinez all but ran out of here.”
The women laughed.
Felicity couldn’t. Poor Braden. When it came to an emergency situation, there was no better person to have around—that’s why he’d been promoted to sheriff at such a young age. That, plus his absolute dedication to the job. But noncrisis hero situations had always made him uncomfortable. Something Charity had been completely oblivious t
o when they’d been dating.
In high school, Charity had dragged him home for a few family dinners. If not for her ability to fill silence with cheerful banter, things would have gotten super awkward superfast. As it was, he’d blushed, limited his responses to one-word answers, and stared adoringly at her sister until the dessert plates were cleared away.
Now, faced with the widows, Nick wore an expression similar to the one Braden Martinez frequently sported: absolute panic. The struggle between his desire to escape and his need for sugar was plain to see. “You got this.” Felicity winked at her son, then handed him a plate with three éclairs.
Nick smiled, grinned at his plate, and settled back in the chair beside his great-grandmother.
“I’m not sure who he was talking about,” one of the women was saying. “All I know was he said he was in love and he couldn’t possibly go for a coffee with anyone else.”
Felicity made the rounds, placing the éclairs on the table and refilling cups.
“Thank you, Filly, dear,” Grams said, patting her hand. “Do you know who it might be?”
“I need more details. Who might be what, Grams?” she asked, passing the small ceramic pitcher of cream around the table. “I’m late to the conversation.”
“Romi Takahashi told me that she’d stopped by Dr. Graham Murphy’s house—with a cake, mind you. She’s set her cap for him. Very determined, let me tell you.” Widow Rainey shook her head in disappointment.
Graham? They’re talking about Graham? Tightness pressed in, making it hard to breathe.
“Graham turned her down,” Grams finished.
Breathing. I remember how to do that. First a deep, cleansing breath, followed by an intense urge to smile. An urge she had to fight. She had to. But couldn’t.
“He didn’t just turn her down.” Widow Rainey covered her mouth with her napkin, enjoying another bite of éclair before adding, “He told her he couldn’t go for coffee because he was in love with someone.”
In love? Knowing Graham, he was looking for a way to dodge Widow Rainey’s good intentions. If there were someone he was interested in, what happened between them wouldn’t have happened. He would have said something. Unless… She suspected she knew the answer to that.
Oh God. Oh God. Don’t ask. Do. Not. Ask.
“He… He said that?” Felicity almost dropped the sugar bowl Grams offered her. “That he’s in a relationship?” Stop talking. Don’t act interested. Just smile and nod. Say, “My goodness” or something. But the words kept coming. “With this mystery woman?”
“No, no, he said something about doing whatever he could to win her over.” Widow Rainey sighed. “Now that is a true romantic for you. I always said Graham Murphy was the sort of man a woman would be lucky to have.”
Felicity set the sugar bowl down and wiped her hands on her skirt. He was kidding. He must be. It was a way to avoid this Miss Takahashi and her cake. He was not, under any circumstance, talking about her.
“Any ideas?” Grams asked again.
“Me?” she asked, beyond flustered. But if he was serious… They’d never talked about feelings. What had happened between them was wonderful. Incredible. No, he was being smart. But, because he was smart, he’d know putting that sort of puzzle out and about would have the widows’ group on the hunt. They would never rest until they knew who he was talking about. “No.” But she was chewing the inside of her lip, her mind spinning and her heart… Her heart…
Graham. The pressure was back, warm and fluid and full of hope.
Her gaze darted to Nick, who was watching her like a hawk.