AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Now he was five minutes late. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Should she call him? No, she should just panic in silence. Or —
There it was. A knock on the door. That must be him.
She ran toward it. She skidded to a halt at the mirror in the hall. Did she have any lipstick on her teeth? No. Good. Fit to be seen. She raced on.
Guinevere beat Mary to the door, of course. The Saint Bernard sniffed at the air filtering in through the crack, then threw back her head and barked joyously. The familiar sound of a hound baying answered from the other side of the door.
“Lancelot?” Mary fumbled the door open. “What are you — ”
Van stood there, as stiff as an army cadet, while the Basset Hound danced at his side.
“Hi, Mary. Uh, Lancelot needed to see Guinevere. I brought him along.” Van leaned down and kissed Mary on the cheek.
Sheesh, was that the best he could do at their first meeting since their hot and heavenly last time together?MaryharrumphedaspointedlyasGuinevere did at times.
“Oh, yeah,” Van said. “Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”Hewrappedhisarmsaroundher,andkissedher on the lips this time. It was a lot better, although it didn’t compare to how much better she now knew it could be. “Can the dogs come with us to your mother’s?”
“Sure, Mom loves Guinevere, and will be delighted to meet her boyfriend.” Relieved Van had found the nerve to show up, Mary grinned. “But aren’t you afraid Mom’ll ask Lancelot what his intentions are toward Guinevere?”
“Lancelot’s intentions are — ” Van stopped, as though he realized he was about to declare that of course his dog’s — that is, his aunt’s dog’s — intentions were honorable. As for the master’s intentions — “I think I’d like to shut up now.”
He’d already said plenty. Now Mary had a pretty good idea of why he’d agreed to dinner at her mother’s. He needed some excuse to let Lancelot hang out with Guinevere without admitting he’d do just about anything for his aunt’s dog.
Mary grabbed her purse and Guinevere’s leash. “Okay. Let’s go.”
She locked the door and started down the path with Guinevere at her side and Lancelot weaving his eager, wiggling body between his love’s feet all the way.
When Mary saw the vehicle in her driveway, she halted. It was big, white and nondescript. It looked as though it was waiting for two point five children, all their friends and all their soccer paraphernalia for a Saturday afternoon game in the park.
It was the last vehicle she would ever expect Van to drive. “What’s this? You rented a van? You, the peacock-proud owner of a vintage Jaguar, rented a van for our trip to the country?”
“Uh, no.” He stuck a finger inside his stiff collar — of course he would have a starched collar to meet her mother — and wiggled it uncomfortably. “I didn’t rent it. I bought it. How else am I supposed to be able to take Guinevere and Lancelot places? She doesn’t fit in a Jag, much less both of them.”
Mary told herself to shut right up. No questions allowed on who said he was going to take the love-loony canines enough places to justify buying a van? He didn’t need to justify it like a normal person. He could have purchased the van out of his savings account’s interest paid for a quarter-second that the money stayed on deposit.
Van unlocked the rear cargo doors on his new vehicle and helped Lancelot jump up after Guinevere. His hand shook a little as he relocked the back door, Mary noticed. He must be horribly off-kilter about this meet-the-mother thing. But what die-hard bachelor wouldn’t be?
Well, Mary would get him through it, and be extra, extra nice to him after he brought her home, and she persuaded him to stay over. Which, she realized after thinking about it for a moment, would involve being extra, extra nice to herself too.
Now she had one more reason to hurry to the end of this dinner she’d stuck them with.
***
“Come in, come in, darling,” Helen Samuel said to her daughter. “Mr. Van Deventer, how pleasant to meet you.”
Helen supposed she didn’t sound very welcoming. It was necessary to meet the young man who would break Mary’s heart, but she didn’t have to like it, or him. She extended her hand to shake with him, anyway.
To her surprise, he engulfed her hand in the perfect handshake and focused his attention on her as though she were about to say the most interesting things in the world.
“Please call me Van, Ms. Samuel.”
He let go of her hand, and she forgot to let it drop to her side. He rattled her. She waved her freed hand distractedly. “Helen,” she murmured. “You must call me — ”
“Helen,” he said in a smooth, rich voice she could listen to forever. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He sounded as though he meant it. “I see now where Mary got her beautiful blue eyes.”
“Oh!” Helen exclaimed.
“Oh, brother,” Mary muttered.
