“I appreciate the offer, but I’m actually here about a dress.”

Gloria, her brow furrowed, poked her head around the open door of the kitchen. “A dress, you say?”

Face flaming, Travis dragged a hand over the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. Margaret mentioned that you received that order of stock you’d placed a while back, and that some of the ladies had stopped in to buy a dress for tonight. I was wondering if you had one left. I’m thinking something blue. Cool and comfortable.” He shrugged awkwardly. “That is, if Hannah hasn’t already been by . . .”

An expression of surprised pleasure slowly worked its way over Gloria’s face, and she clapped her flour-coated hands together. “Well, Glory be! How romantic. And, no, she hasn’t been by yet.” She untied her apron and flung it over her shoulder. “I have just the thing—follow me.”

Ten minutes and four dresses later, Travis gave the go-ahead on a short, blue dress the color of Hannah’s eyes.

“It’s made of light fabric with a cinched waist and loose skirt, so she’ll stay cool and comfortable,” Gloria said with pleasure. “And it’s casual enough to pair with sandals so she won’t even have to wear pantyhose.”

Travis coughed. “That’s . . . good. Thank you, Gloria.”

A conspiratorial smile crossed her face. She leaned forward and whispered, “Now, if you really want to sweep her off her feet, you’ll let me toss it in a gift box and have it delivered.”

“But”—he glanced at his wristwatch—“the dance starts in less than two hours, and—”

“Oh, fiddle-faddle. Vernon might be up in years, but he’s swift on his feet. Would you like it delivered to her cabin or the lodge?”

“Well, she’s at the lodge right now, cooking with—”

“Excellent.” Gloria turned her head, cupped a hand around her mouth, and shouted, “Vernon! Come in the house—we have a delivery to make to the lodge.” She faced Travis and smiled. “Now, what was that ‘and’ you mentioned? Did you need something else?”

Travis nodded. “A suit and . . .”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Travis licked his lips, then asked, “Do you know how to dance?”

“Of course.” She blinked. “You mean, you don’t?”

Travis shook his head. “Not at all. It’s been years since . . .” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “The thing is, I want to do everything I can to make tonight as perfect as possible for Hannah.” And for himself, since he had no idea if he’d be able to hold Hannah in his arms again after tonight’s dance. “I’ve got about half an hour to spare for a crash course in dancing before I need to shower and get ready.” He reached for his wallet. “I’d be happy to pay for a lesson or t—”

“Oh, no. Your money’s no good here, young man, and you knocked on the right door.” Her eyes widened with excitement as she looped her arm around his. “This lesson is liable to be more fun for me than you. Now, you just come right over here with me. . . .”

* * *

Hannah placed a slice of ham and provolone cheese on raw dough, rolled it into the shape of a croissant, and set it on a large pan lined with at least a dozen others.

“There,” she said, wiping her hands off with a paper towel and pinning what she hoped was a sincere smile on her face. “Once this batch is baked, I think we’ll have plenty.”

Margaret, her hair pulled back tight in a ponytail and eyes puffy, walked over to the kitchen island, picked up the pan and, eyeing the ham and cheese croissants, pursed her lips. “Two more sheets’ worth, at least.” She whisked the full pan away, shoved it into the oven, and set the timer. “When I come back, we’ll start on the mini BLTs.”

Hannah slumped on the kitchen island and covered her eyes, watching through spread fingers as Margaret left the room.

“Mini BLTs?” Liz asked, slumping next to Hannah. “And two more pans of ham and cheese croissants?” She waved a hand toward the countertops in the lodge’s kitchen, every inch of which was covered with platters, bowls, plates, and dishes full of finger foods. “Where on earth will we put it all?”

Groaning, Hannah shook her head. “On the floor, I guess. That’s the only place left.”

She uncovered her eyes and looked over the island. Zeke sat on the floor in front of the island, his back against the cabinets, a half-eaten slice of ham clutched in his fist.

Hearing movement above him, Zeke tilted his head back and smiled up at Hannah. Mustard was smeared along his left cheek. “Mmm”—he smacked his lips—“ham.”

Blondie, sitting next to him, sprang up and licked the mustard on his cheek, her tail wagging vigorously.

“Never mind,” Hannah said, slumping back onto the counter. “Floor’s already taken.”

“Oh, Zeke!” Liz scrambled to the sink, wet a paper towel, and squatted beside Zeke to wipe his face. “Don’t let Blondie lick you in the face. It’s not sanitary.”

Tags: Janet Dailey New Americana Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net