they can do what they want with it. I suspect what they want is to shelve it. I can’t develop any competing software for five years at least, so most companies aren’t interested in hiring me. I’m at a crossroads I guess. My friend Eric seems to think it’s time for me to settle down . . . ” The thought trailed off awkwardly, and James let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I might go back to playing music for a while or designing some other type of software. I don’t know.”
“Laurel said you were a professional guitarist in Nashville.”
“Miss Elliot exaggerates my talent,” he said in a formal manner. “It would be more accurate to say I was a factory worker who played around on the guitar on nights and weekends.”
“But you brought your guitar with you, right? Will you play for us a little later?”
He shrugged. “If you want. Do any of you play? Or sing?”
“Laurel does both,” Carrie piped up. “She sings at her dad’s restaurant sometimes and plays the acoustic guitar.”
Laurel’s eyes went wide. “Just accompaniment chords — nothing spectacular.”
“It was spectacular enough for Brian Fisher.” Heather waggled her eyebrows.
That brought an instant blush to Laurel’s cheeks. “Heather Pendleton! You stop right there . . . ”
James looked at her but aimed his reply at Heather. “Do tell, Heather. This sounds interesting.”
“Crosby let it slip, but then he said we had to ask Laurel for the scoop.”
“Big-mouth Crosby,” Laurel muttered.
Carrie laughed. “Yeah, big-mouth Crosby. So, Laurel, what’s the scoop with Brian Fisher?”
Heather’s eyes opened wide, and she sat up on the edge of her seat. “I think I remember that guy! He’s a real Grizzly Adams type — beard, flannel shirts, the whole bit, right?” She slumped back against her chair. “He’s sort of cute in that blue-collar way.”
“Yeah,” Carrie joined in. “He’s a carpenter, a man who’ll build you a cupboard or fix your leaky roof.”
“He must have been enchanted with your famous rendition of ‘Where Have All the Flowers Gone.’”
Laurel rolled her eyes. “I was trying to help my dad drum up some business for the marina. Other people sang too. And that’s Dad’s favorite song.”
“Well, I guess it was Brian’s favorite song after that,” Heather teased. “Did he wait around after the performance to get your digits?”
“There are advantages to not having a phone,” Laurel quipped.
“You still don’t have a phone?” James asked, incredulous.
“Did you give him the dreaded ‘let’s be friends’ speech?” Heather asked. “Or did Crosby and Dylan have to run him off?”
James was smiling, but tension rolled off him.
“He’s married to someone else now, and that’s the end of it,” Laurel insisted.
“I guess he just decided it was time to settle down, kind of like your friend Eric said.” Heather shot him a winning smile.
James looked embarrassed, and Laurel was mortified at the direction the conversation had taken.
“Think I’ll go see if the coals are ready,” she volunteered, and she was off like a shot.
James watched her go. “Shouldn’t we go help?” he asked the sisters.
“Oh, Laurel always cooks when we grill out. She’s good at it, and she doesn’t mind at all.”
James said nothing, but a quick look behind her told Laurel he was surveying her backside, she hoped in appreciation. She swatted a mosquito off her calf, relieved that her shorts did something more for her figure than the hippy-girl skirt she’d worn the other night. It made her feel better to see that at least he noticed her a tiny bit.
She set the burgers on the grill, grabbed another beer, and rejoined the crowd around the fire. Thankfully, the conversation had shifted. Stuart, Virginia and James were deep in a discussion about software to run billing for medical and dental practices. The Pendleton sisters set out the condiments, chips and fruit salad.
Laurel checked her grill a couple more times. After several minutes, a swirl of charcoal-scented smoke clouded around her head, and she waved it aside with her spatula. “Burgers are ready,” she announced.
The crew crowded around, filling their plates and grabbing drinks. Heather and Carrie sat down amid an intense conversation about whether stilettos were better than platforms. James approached the grill and held out his plate.
“Worcester or no Worcester?” she asked, transferring the last burgers onto the serving plate.
“Worcester, thanks.” His voice was soft and low, and ran down the length of her spine and legs and out her toes. She took his plate and put a burger on it, and when he took it back,