Page 74 of Craig

He paused again when Maeve came back with their meal.

"I also have pecan pie, with homemade vanilla ice cream."

"Maeve, you're killing me here."

"You can always take it with you." She patted his shoulder before whisking away.

"Your mother bought this place?"

"She made an investment. Eat up."

Picking up her fork, she did so automatically, her thoughts whirling. The more she heard about the family, his parents, and the more time she spent with him, the more she was getting drawn in.

"They saved the town."

"They did. There's an ice cream parlor that makes homemade ice cream from scratch. It's bloody delicious. The town is run by people who have been here for decades. People who're second- and third-generation owners.

"Maeve took over from her mother, who took over from her mother, and so on. It's family owned, and the people look out for each other. It's an amazing place."

Regina could see that. As she looked around, she noticed the friendly atmosphere, people hailing each other.

The ambiance was relaxed and laid back, the conversation friendly. A woman pushing a stroller smiled at the man who jumped from his chair to open the door for her.

Two teenagers rushed in, with smiles on their faces. An old woman who looked like she had reached her hundredth birthday toddled in.

Someone opened the door for her and found her a seat. She wasn't used to that kind of thing.

"How's the meal?"

His deep voice jarred her back from her musings.

"The best beignets I've ever tasted. And I've been to New Orleans."

"So have I. Maeve will be pleased to hear."

He placed a hand over hers. "I wanted you to have the ultimate experience before we returned."

She stirred a little restlessly, but to his relief, did not move her hand.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"And it's not over yet," he told her with a smile.

After they had polished off the delicious meal, with Maeve pressing a hand-woven basket with her pie and a container of vanilla ice cream as well as her soda bread and homemade strawberry jam, he took her to 'Relic,' a store run and operated by a grizzled-looking Indian, with a long tail of salt-and-pepper hair and skin as weathered as the bark of a tree. Old John Run, as he was called, knew Craig by name.

As soon as they stepped inside, the man hurried to greet them, pumping Craig's hand and then lifting hers to his lips, coal-black eyes glowing.

She found earrings, beautiful, handcrafted ones, made mostly from materials found outdoors. Shimmering necklaces, whimsical bracelets: she went crazy there, buying almost the entire collection!

Then there was the most unusual-looking lamp she had ever seen, as well as a vanity stool, a delicately carved table made from redwood, and some headbands and beads.

Craig insisted on paying for everything, and after a struggle with her sense of independence, she let him.

They strolled through the park after he went to get the car so that she could put away her stuff. Flowers bloomed in riotous colors, and the water from the natural stream gurgled happily over smooth stones.

She took lots of pictures with the camera he had bought her at the photography place. She decided that this was even more picturesque and amazing than Paris in the spring, and told him so.

They had a couple of fish left over, and he put them on the grill, along with some baby potatoes. She did her part by tossing a salad.