The Welcoming

close to what she was feeling now. This was solid and bewildering. It was simple and staggering. He filled her thoughts just as completely as he filled her heart. She couldn’t wait to walk back into the inn, just knowing Roman would be there.
    It seemed that every hour they spent together brought them closer. Gradually, step by step, she could feel the barriers he had placed around him lowering. She wanted to be there when they finally dropped completely.
    He was in love with her. She was sure he was, whether he knew it or not. She could tell by the way he looked at her, by the way he touched her hair when he thought she was sleeping. By the way he held her so tightly all through the night, as if he were afraid she might somehow slip away from him. In time she would show him that she wasn’t going anywhere—and that he wasn’t going anywhere, either.
    Something was troubling him. That was another thing she was sure of. Her eyes clouded as she drove along the water. There were times when she could feel the tension pulsing in him even when he was across the room. He seemed to be watching, waiting. But for what?
    Since the accident he’d barely let her out of his sight. It was sweet, she mused. But it had to stop. She might love him, but she wouldn’t be pampered. She was certain that if he had known she planned to drive to the ferry that morning he would have found a way to stop her.
    She was right again. It had taken Roman some time to calm down after he had learned Charity wasn’t in the office or the kitchen or anywhere else in the inn.
    “She’s driven up to drop some guests at the ferry,” Mae told him, then watched in fascination as he let his temper loose.
    “My, my,” she said when the air was clear again. “You’ve got it bad, boy.”
    “Why did you let her go?”
    “Let her go?” Mae let out a rich, appreciative laugh. “I haven’t
let
that girl do anything since she could walk. She just does it.” She stopped stirring custard to study him. “Any reason she shouldn’t drive to the ferry?”
    “No.”
    “All right, then. Just cool your britches. She’ll be back in half an hour.”
    He sweated and paced, nearly the whole time she was away. Mae and Dolores exchanged glances across the room. There would be plenty of gossip to pass around once they had the kitchen to themselves.
    Mae thought of the way Charity had been smiling that morning. Why, the girl had practically danced into the kitchen. She kept her eye on Roman as he brooded over a cup of coffee and watched the clock. Yes, indeed, she thought, the boy had it bad.
    “You got today off, don’t you?” Mae asked him.
    “What?”
    “It’s Sunday,” she said patiently. “You got the day off?”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    “Nice day, too. Good weather for a picnic.” She began slicing roast beef for sandwiches. “Got any plans?”
    “No.”
    “Charity loves picnics. Yes, sir, she’s mighty partial to them. You know, I don’t think that girl’s had a day away from this place in better than a month.”
    “Got any dynamite?”
    Dolores piped up. “What’s that?”
    “I figure it would take dynamite to blast Charity out of the inn for a day.”
    It took her a minute, but Dolores finally got the joke. She chuckled. “Hear that, Mae? He wants dynamite.”
    “Pair of fools,” Mae muttered as she cut generous pieces of chocolate cheesecake. “You don’t move that girl with dynamite or threats or orders. Might as well bash your head against a brick wall all day.” She tried not to sound pleased about it, and failed. “You want her to do something, you make her think she’s doing you a favor. Make her think it’s important to you. Dolores, you go on in that back room and get me the big wicker hamper. Boy, if you keep walking back and forth you’re going to wear out my floor.”
    “She should have been back by now.”
    “She’ll be back when she’s back. You know how to run a boat?”
    “Yes, why?”
    “Charity always loved to picnic on the water. She hasn’t been out in a boat in a long time. Too long.”
    “I know. She told me.”
    Mae turned around. Her face was set. “Do you want to make my girl happy?”
    He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn’t. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
    “Then you take her out on the boat for the day. Don’t let her say no.”
    “All right.”
    Satisfied, she turned around again. “Go down in the cellar and get a bottle of wine. French. She likes the French stuff.”
    “She’s lucky