![]() “I was just thinking that this table reminds me of the Bob Whites.” “Perfectly perfect,” he assured her, asking. ![]() ![]() “That wasn’t why I was smiling,” she told him, “but thank you all the same. “I love that smile,” Brian whispered in her ear, his arms wrapping around her waist and hugging her back against him. She smiled at the thought, her mind making a comforting comparison. Dan and Mart had made the four benches that sat, one on each side of the table-two short and two long, solid and heavy. It was still scarred-some of the carved graffiti had been too deep to fully sand away-but Honey thought the faint etchings of initials and hearts gave the table character. Broken and discarded on the side of the road, Jim and Brian had hauled it back to the clubhouse where all four boys had worked tirelessly to rehab it, removing years of sticky, bubbling varnish, sanding, filling holes and smoothing out the splintering edges. The table had begun its life as a picnic table. The cream linen cloth rested elegantly down the middle of the ancient table. Clear plastic silverware reflected the light of the battery powered candles strategically placed around the cornucopia centerpiece. High quality paper plates and cups sat at every place. Honey Wheeler stepped back and assessed her table decorations. Outside, the temperature hovered around zero. It also warmed the building with incredible effectiveness. Although there was electricity to the clubhouse now-something that had come in handy while vacuuming up dust bunnies the day before-they all preferred the oil heater to electric heating. Dan had been in earlier to turn on the outside lights and light the oil heater.
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