?I keep forgetting to return them.” He knelt down on the quilt.
Tessa wanted to laugh. So that accounted for the mismatched plates and cups. He probably had plates from every eating establishment in town. “Wouldn’t it be simpler just to buy some?” She walked to the cupboard, took down two plates, and handed them to him. “What about cups?”
“Not yet. But you can bring some warm water.” He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “For our fingers.” David unpacked a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I got this from Lee.” He noticed the way Tessa tensed at the mention of Lee’s name. “He gave me the wine to spite Myra and threw in the glasses for good measure.”
Tessa gasped. “But she counts all the glasses. If they’re missing it will come out of his pay.” She handed him the silverware.
“Lee didn’t seem to mind.” David smiled in remembrance. A bottle of Myra’s finest Scotch whisky nestled in the bottom of David’s picnic basket as well. Lee had given it to him. On the house. “Sit down.” He patted a corner of the quilt. He finished unloading the basket, except for the scotch, and tugged off his boots.
She laughed as he wiggled his toes in front of the stove. Opening the door, she dumped another scuttle full of coal into the stove’s potbellied interior. “Better?”
“Quite toasty.” He wiggled his toes again, just to hear her throaty laughter. He wasn’t disappointed. “Why don’t you join me?” He uncorked the wine and poured two glasses, then uncovered the fried chicken. He gazed up at Tessa, arching one brow in disapproval.
She sat down and stretched out her legs.
“Now we wait,” he said, smiling, “for Greeley to join us.” He began to count.
“You’re timing him?”
“Uh-huh.” David reached for her ankles. Grabbing one, he struggled with the buttons on her shoes.
Tessa laughed.
A streak of orange suddenly burst out of the storeroom and trotted into the office to inspect the picnic. Horace Greeley ambled over to David. He sniffed David’s fingers, then butted his orange head against David’s hand, demanding affection.
“I wanted to see how long it would take old Horace here to smell the chicken and come running.” David stopped trying to unbutton her shoes and moved his boots aside. Reaching for her plate, he filled it with fried chicken and potato salad. He handed it to Tessa, then filled his own.
Tessa watched his long fingers as he patiently tore pieces of chicken into tiny, cat-sized pieces for Greeley.
“No!” Tessa shrieked when David placed the chicken on the quilt. She scrambled to her feet, hurried to the cupboard, and returned with a saucer. Shooing the cat away, Tessa scooped up the meat and arranged it on the saucer. Greeley protested, weaving his way between Tessa and the dish, but she wasn’t putting up with his nonsense. She picked him up and hugged him, then set him down beside his saucer. “If we’d known you were coming,” she told the orange tom, “we’d have set a place for you.”
“Now you see why I eat in restaurants.” David chuckled. “He gets more of my food than I do.”
“He’s a growing boy,” Tessa commented, patting the cat affectionately.
“I thought you didn’t like mangy cats,” David teased.
“I don’t,” Tessa smiled, her eyes sparkling. “But this cat is far from mangy. He has a way of growing on you.”
“And his owner?” David prompted.
“Tolerable.” Tessa washed her hands in the warm water.
“Just tolerable?” David handed her a glass of wine, then returned his attention to her shoes, but he wasn’t having much success removing them.
“Very tolerable.” Tessa took the glass, then stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“Buttonhook,” she explained. “This is a picnic. I want to wiggle my toes and feel the grass under my feet before it’s over.” She went to her bedroom and returned with the buttonhook for her shoes. She handed it over to him.
“Thanks,” David said, wielding the buttonhook effectively. He loosened her shoes, then slipped them off and placed them next to his boots. Finished, he dipped his fingers in the finger bowl, dried them on a napkin, and reached for more chicken.
Tessa stretched out on the quilt, propping herself up on her elbow and resting her head against the palm of her hand. She nudged David’s feet with one of hers. “Move over,” she ordered. “I want my toes to be toasty, too.” Scooting closer to the stove, she placed her stocking-covered feet over his, seeking the heat. “Oh, dear…” Tessa giggled.
“What is it?”
“Now I can’t reach my plate.”