Before Amelia could stop her, the younger woman slid from her chair and struck off in the direction of the bar.
“Where’s she going, Mom?”
“Can we go?”
“No! Eat. Grant, your bottom in the chair, please. Hunter, turn around and finish your hamburger.”
Whatever was going on at the bar had grabbed Bernie’s attention, too. To draw him back to her, she gently admonished him. “I saw you carrying boxes out to your car this afternoon. You really should let us help.”
He launched into a diatribe against his bad hip and its probable replacement. “I’ve got an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon soon as I get home.”
Amelia murmured sympathetically and tried to follow everything he was saying about the tribulations of aging, but she was curious to know what was taking place behind her.
She got a fair indication when Bernie stopped talking and became fixated on something behind her. Something tall. About six foot four, if she had gauged correctly.
“Everybody, this is our neighbor,” Stef announced. “He’s staying in the house next door. Alone.”
Amelia didn’t miss the emphasis Stef had placed on that last word, and it was mortifying to know that it probably hadn’t escaped him, either. She had no choice except to turn and acknowledge the introduction. “Hello. Amelia Nolan.” Her tone was polite but cool. Discouraging, she hoped.
“Dawson Scott.”
He extended his hand. She looked at it for several seconds before reluctantly taking it in a quick handshake.
Stef continued the introductions. “This is Bernie Clarkson, Amelia’s neighbor on the other side.”
“Hi, Bernie.” His arm grazed the top of Amelia’s shoulder as he reached across the table to shake hands. “You were rocking that kite today.”
The old man’s face lit up. “You saw that?”
“Hard to miss.”
“Hard contraption to fly, too.”
“Lucky for you, you had these two buccaneers to help.”
To Amelia’s dismay, he rounded the table to address her sons, both of whom had disobediently gotten out of their chairs and were curiously regarding the tall stranger.
He hunkered down to their eye level. “Hi. I’m Dawson. What’s your name?”
“Hunter.”
Dawson gave him a high five. Hunter happily slapped his palm. “That’s my brother, Grant. He’s littler than me.”
Grant, not to be outshone, shouldered his brother aside in order to move closer to Dawson. “What kind of car do you have?”
“Car? Well, while I’m here, I’m driving a rental car.” He told Grant the model, which was apparently a crushing disappointment. His only response was an unenthusiastic Oh.
Dawson turned his head and looked across the table at Amelia, as though asking What’d I say? “He’s into cars,” she explained lamely. “He likes fast—”
“Sexy ones.”
?
?Ah, I see,” he said, looking amused at Stef’s flirtatious quip. Turning back to the boys, he asked if they liked to play with Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars.
They nodded vigorously.
“Me too. I collected them when I was your age.”