Page 14 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

Rick

He blamed it on his wayward dick. Whenever a man let his little head lead him astray and take over all rational thinking, it inevitably came back to bite him in the ass.

Face it, a sexy young thing like Robin Pelletier doesn’t just show up at your door, take off her clothes, and then screw your brains out like some fantasy come true without there being consequences.

Surely, there’d be hell to pay if anyone around that table, especially Aidan, found out that he’d slept with Robin.

She was friends with Aidan. And yet, Rick knew every inch of her intimately.

That made it terribly awkward to sit across from her now, pretending as if they hadn’t explored one another, touching, tasting, rousing immense carnal pleasure.

As if he hadn’t been thinking about her all day, blinded by erotic flashbacks of their intense encounter.

While she’d clearly been trying to avoid looking at him since they’d sat down to dinner, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He admired Robin’s loveliness, her reddish-brown hair cascading in waves around her heart-shaped face, the shapely allure of her lips, the feminine curve of her neck, the smoothness of her silky, bare shoulders, the modest shadow of cleavage that hinted at her full, rounded breasts.

His eyes traced over places of her that his mouth and hands had memorized mere hours before.

“So, Rick,” Lark said, breaking the spell. “I seem to recall from my dad that you played for the Lions. You even won the Grey Cup one year?”

“Not singlehandedly, but yes, that’s true,” he said, laughing. “Back in ‘94.”

“He caught three passes for eighty yards and a touchdown that game,” Aidan boasted. “Didn’t you, Dad?”

Rick was caught off guard by his question. Aidan had never displayed much interest in football or in Rick’s playing days, perhaps for obvious reasons, so he was both surprised and more than a little touched to hear him humblebrag about his old man’s game stats.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“He’s being far too modest,” Aidan told them. “He was named a Western Division All-Star three times, plus he was nominated the CFL’s Most Outstanding Canadian in 1997.”

“Hey, that’s the year I was born,” Robin declared, finally meeting his eyes.

That made her, what… twenty-eight? Christ. She smiled, seeming to take delight in watching him squirm as he calculated their age difference.

“You should see Dad’s championship ring, it’s massive,” Aidan continued.

Rick was eager to change the subject and put the spotlight on someone else. “This pasta is delicious, Lark. What’s in your sauce?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like it. It’s a simple spaghetti aglio e olio. Butter, olive oil, toasted garlic, and chili flakes.”

“Lark’s always been a great cook,” Dove said. “She could melt cheese over a rock and you’d swear it was the best thing you ever ate.”

“Definitely gets it from your mom,” Aidan said. “Man, I still think about her cooking. Her roast chicken and her short ribs? Legendary. Or those thick, chewy monster cookies she used to make with the Smarties in them?”

“She was a great cook,” Lark said.

“I didn’t get the chance to know Micki well, but people around here thought the world of her,” Rick said. “A few of us pitched in to help with the yard work or whatever else she needed.”

Robin’s eyes were glassy. “That was you? I wondered who’d mowed the lawn and planted the flowers. And our dock…” her voice faded until she mustered a quiet “thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I was glad to lend a hand. That’s just what lake neighbours do,” he said.

“See? That’s exactly why Mom and Dad loved coming up here,” Dove said. “They loved being part of this little community.”

“They weren’t the original owners of this cottage, were they?” Rick asked.

“Oh no,” Lark said. “Our great-grandfather, John Pelletier, built it in 1921 after winning the land in a poker game.”

“Are you serious?” Rick laughed. “Sounds like quite the story.”

“He worked as a labourer on the mining road camps,” she explained. “As the story goes, one night he was dealt into the crew’s nightly game of poker at a table with a couple of visiting American prospectors.”

“A lucky queen-high straight flush and he won the deed to a parcel of land in the wilderness,” Robin chimed in. “Cleared all one and a half acres of it by hand.”

“Then he built a small cottage in the style of the trappers’ cabins at work camps he’d stayed in,” Dove added. “After he got married, it got expanded to accommodate his growing family. The rest is history.”

“Wow, this place looks amazing for being over a hundred years old,” Rick said, looking up at the ceiling to admire the solid structure’s good bones. “If only these walls could talk.”

“Lots and lots of stories here,” Robin said, nodding.

“Lots of love too,” Dove echoed. “Especially during the thirty years that Mom and Dad owned it.”

The girls were understandably emotional talking about their parents. Robin sniffed, and Rick wanted so badly to reach out and wrap his arms around her. She fought back tears, blinking as she turned to Aidan, seated beside her. “So, what is it that you do now?”

“I’m a building contractor. Custom cottage renos, mostly.

But I’m seriously thinking about expanding into real estate development.

” He exchanged a glance with Rick. “Still have a few things to work out there, but if all goes according to plan, I may be involved in some very high-end projects for elite clients.”

“Celebrities?” Dove asked.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, nodding.

“Anyone we might know?”

“Maybe, maybe. I may have a lead on a major star who’s expressed interest in building not too far from here.”

Dove wiggled in her seat. “Oooh, that sounds exciting.”

“Aidan’s very ambitious,” Rick spoke up. “When he really puts his mind to something, he can accomplish just about anything.”

“I know someone who could use a little of that,” Lark said, nudging her chin in Robin’s direction.

“Don’t start, please,” Robin pleaded.

“What? All I’m saying is that Aidan would be a good influence. You might be inspired to do something with your life other than hocking t-shirts.”

“I do more than hock t-shirts,” Robin said defensively. “I’m a merchandise manager for a band with half a million monthly listeners on the most popular streaming service. I oversee the design, production, distribution, and sale of all their merchandise.”

“In other words, she hocks t-shirts,” Lark said smugly. “Can you believe she threw away a promising art career for that?”

“What band?” Aidan asked.

“The Bing Cherries,” Lark said.

“The Dawn Cherries,” Robin corrected her.

“Oh, hey, I know them,” Aidan said. “I think I caught the end of their set last year at the music fest in Peterborough.”

Robin’s face lit up. “You were there?”

“Yeah. I think they were a few acts before the headliner. Who was it now…? Sam Roberts? The Trews?”

“Sloan,” she reminded him.

Aidan snapped his fingers. “That’s right. I knew it was someone good,” he said, before backpedalling. “I mean, you guys were good too. Your lead singer’s got a mean set of pipes.”

“Parker?” Robin smirked. “Yeah, you should hear her tear a strip off a roadie.”

Rick bit his tongue to keep quiet, but couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes. If he never heard Parker’s name again, it would be too soon.

“Geez, Robbie, had I known you were with the band, maybe we could’ve grabbed a beer after the show.”

“Yeah maybe, but it’s usually hard for me to get away after our set,” she said with a smile. “The merch tent is pretty busy then.”

“Get yer t-shirts here!” Lark cried out mockingly.

That does it. Rick had heard quite enough of her condescending jabs, and Robin deserved more respect.

“Actually,” he piped up, “I recently learned that touring bands often make most of their money from merchandise sales. To be able to manage that entire end of the business, you’ve got to understand product development, inventory control, sales and distribution, not to mention marketing and promotions for the e-commerce channels. ”

“Wow, I never thought of it like that,” Dove said, “but that’s absolutely true.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s an essential role, and certainly one that is more complex than most people understand. It takes real business acumen.”

Robin slipped him a little appreciative smile. He gave her a wink.

Lark dropped her fork on her plate. “Dove, would you help me clear the table, please? We can put on coffee to have with our dessert.”

“I’d be glad to help,” Rick offered, putting down his napkin and preparing to stand.

Aidan suddenly pushed back his chair and jumped up. “No, Dad, you sit. I’ll give Lark a hand.”

Rick settled back down again. “Sure, okay.”

Lark glanced at her sisters. “Then could one of you please clean up Nova for me?”

Nova was in her high chair at the other end of the table, happily fingerpainting with butter and noodles on the tray top. She looked up with a big greasy grin, looking quite pleased with herself as her fingers skated through the slippery goo.

“Mommy says it’s time we got you cleaned up,” Dove told her. “What do you think?”

“No!” Nova clapped back, sending both her aunts into a fit of giggles.

“You sound just like Grandma Micki,” Robin said, still laughing.

“Doesn’t she though? It’s not enough that she’s the spitting image of Mom, but she’s got her feisty streak too.” Dove lifted the tray top and reached down to unbuckle the strap holding Nova in place.

“No, no,” Nova repeated, wriggling as she happily kicked her feet. “Bobbin!”

Dove stepped back. “You heard the lady, Bobbin. She wants you.”

Rick thought the whole scene was adorable, and he loved watching the sisters interact so playfully. He wondered if it was because Lark had left the room that things seemed much more relaxed between them.

“Bobbin!” Nova raised her arms.

Robin wrinkled her nose. “I’m not good with babies.”

“What are you talking about? You used to babysit.”

“Yeah, for kids that were already potty trained, with full sets of teeth, and a grasp of vocabulary. I never had to deal with…” she waved her hand in Nova’s direction, “this situation.”

Rick barked out laughing. “Oh, you are too much.”

Dove smirked. “But Nova is your niece.”

“Nice try, but she’s your niece too,” Robin said. “So, how ‘bout you clean her up while I stay and keep our company entertained.”

“Fine. But believe me, Bobbin , the first diaper blowout, and she’s all yours.”