"Roberts, Nora - Irish Gallaghers 03 - Heart of the Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

She was vaguely surprised, and a little disappointed that he hadn't pursued the invitation then and there. She was used to men pleading a bit. But she turned, took out a thick mug for his tea. "What part of America are you from, then?"

"New York."

"New York City?" Her eyes sparkled as she turned back. "Oh, is it wonderful?"

"A lot of it is."

"It has to be the most exciting city in the world." She cupped the mug in both hands as she imagined it, as she'd imagined it countless times before. "Maybe not the most beautiful. I thought Paris so beautiful-female and sly and sexual. I think of New York as a man-demanding and reckless and so full of energy you have to run to keep up."

Amused at herself, she set down his mug. "It probably doesn't strike you that way since you're used to being there your whole life."

"I doubt you think of Ardmore, or this area, as magic." He saw her eyebrow arch up again at his words. "As a small and nearly perfect corner of the world where you can reach back or forward in time as suits you. And while there's energy here, it comes with patience so you don't have to run to keep up."

"It's interesting, isn't it, how people see what's the everyday to someone else?" She poured out his tea. "I'd think a man who can philosophize so easily over tea and biscuits might be wasting his talents hauling bricks."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the tea." He moved toward the door, passing close enough to appreciate that she smelled every bit as good as she looked. "I'll bring back the mug."

"Mind you do. Shawn knows his kitchen supplies down to the last spoon."

"Come to the window again sometime," he added as he opened the door. "I liked looking at you."

She smiled to herself when he left. "Well, now, that goes both ways, New York City."

Debating how she would answer him the next time he asked her out, she picked up the pot of tea to carry it upstairs. The back door flew open.

"You're back."

Brenna took one leap inside. Little pellets of drying cement flew.

"Keep your distance." Darcy held up the pot like a shield. "Christ Jesus, Brenna, you have as much of that muck on your person as you do on the brick."

"Block, and not by any means. Don't worry, I won't hug you."

"Damn right you won't."

"But I missed you."

Though she was touched, Darcy let out a snort. "You're too busy being a newlywed to have missed me."

"I can do both. Can you spare a cup of that? I've ten minutes coming."

"All right, then, but get some old newspaper to put on the chair before you sit down. I missed you too," Darcy admitted as she took out another mug.

"I knew you would. I still say it was adventurous of you to go off to Paris like that by yourself. Did you love it?" Brenna asked as she dutifully laid out newspaper. "Was it everything you wanted it to be?"

"It was, yes. Everything about it: the sounds and the scents, the buildings, the shops and cafes. I could've spent a month just looking. Now if they'd just learn to make a decent cup of tea." She sipped at her own. "But I made out fine with wine. Everyone dresses so smart, even when they aren't trying to. I got some marvelous clothes. The shopkeepers are very aloof and act as if they're doing you a great favor in taking your money. I found it added to the overall experience."

"I'm glad you had a good holiday. You look rested."