Poisoned Petals

inside by her parents’ visit.

It was good. But it was hard. The air outside was perfumed by new roses and honeysuckle. The sweet green was the new growth after the winter brown. It would fade quickly once the hot summer weather came in. The strawberry plants she was given by a grateful friend she had helped with bug control were hanging heavy and red with fruit, ready to be eaten. There were a thousand million new plant worlds to be explored outside. Inside were beds to make and bathrooms to scrub.

As a botanist, Peggy was trained to make thorough, slow movements toward her conclusions. As a gardener with spring fever, she had to force herself to stay inside and do what had to be done. Her impatience prodded her. Just a little lemon oil here, a little wax there. Four weeks of preparation, two weeks of visiting, and then it would be over.

She could hardly wait! Already, to the amazement of people walking by, her newly created pink parrot tulips bloomed by the front sidewalk. It was a unique color she called Carolina Flamingo. The ragged edges of the flowers made them resemble the birds, standing on a single leg, nodding in the sun.

Not that she didn’t want to see her parents. Guilt tugged at her unruly thoughts. It had been a little over two years since they’d come for John’s funeral. Between getting the Potting Shed running and returning to her teaching job at Queens, she was always too pressed for time to go to Charleston. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

The truth was, she didn’t want to face them. During their last visit they’d tried to persuade her to move to Charleston with them. She didn’t want to get into it again. Charlotte was her home now, whether John was alive or not. She loved her parents, but she didn’t want to live in Charleston.

“Do you want to taste this?” Steve held out a spoonful of soup. “I’ve never made it without meat before.”

Peggy cleared her thoughts and focused on what was happening right now. Her mind had a tendency to wander away when she thought about her plants. She needed to put those thoughts away for a little longer. Then she could indulge in a nice, long walk in the garden.

She tasted the spicy soup from the spoon he held out for her. “Mmm . . . good.” She licked her lips but was immediately sorry because the taste ruined her lipstick. Her mother never let things like that happen before guests arrived. “I have to go touch up my lipstick.”

“Before you do,” Steve moved in closer, spoon still in hand, “how about a kiss for the cook?”

“I suppose it can’t hurt now.”

He pulled back. “Excuse me? Is that the enthusiasm I get? I slave all morning over this pot of gumbo, create roux for you. And I’m not even Creole! Where’s the passion? Where’s the gratitude? Where’s the mmm-fff. . .” His words trailed off when Peggy’s lips pressed hard against his mouth.

“You’re right,” she admitted when the kiss was over. “I’ve taken you for granted. I’m sorry.” She scrubbed what was left of her lipstick from his mouth with her hand. “Better?”

“Much.” He smiled down at her. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for making the gumbo. It’s wonderful. And for everything else you did to help me get ready.”

“You’re welcome. Just part of the service.”

“I promise not to take you for granted again.”

“Are you just worried about them meeting me?” His brown eyes were serious for a moment. “Or are you always this way with them?”

“Always this way.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Her parents’ rare visits always made her crazy. But she was extra nervous about them meeting Steve. They were bound to notice he was younger than her—seven years younger. Her mother would be upset. It didn’t help that she hadn’t observed the South’s traditional five years’ mourning period after her husband’s death. It was almost scandalous!

To make matters worse, she only lived a few doors down from Steve, which meant he was often at her house at odd hours. No one was living with her to keep up appearances, either. It would be a bad situation in her parents’ conservative opinions. Peggy shook her head to stop her anxious thoughts. This was stupid. She was a fifty-two- year-old woman dating a forty-five-year-old man. For heaven’s sake! Surely they were both old enough to do as they pleased. She knew she should be able to tell her parents that.

But she knew she wouldn’t. Inside, she was still the same little girl who grew up on their farm outside Charleston with the proper notions of respect and tradition. If her parents criticized her relationship with Steve, she would hang her head like the time they chastised her for sneaking out to catch fireflies one moonlit night when she was twelve. Some things didn’t change.

Steve hugged her, guessing some of the truth without her saying it. “It’ll be fine. Peggy. Relax. Breathe. Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ve seen you face down TV reporters, killers, and unruly Great Danes with less tension, not to mention hordes of college students. It makes me shudder just thinking about being in the room with that many people under the age of twenty-one. You know, their frontal lobes aren’t even fully developed yet. They’re capable of anything.”

She laughed. “I guess I forgot. It’s been awhile since school let out.”

“Have you made up your mind about leaving the university?”

“I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. They’d talked about this many times as she tried to make up her mind. “I talked to the dean on the phone last night. He wants me to think about it a little longer. Even if I quit, they want me to come back for some lectures next year. But school’s out for now anyway. I’m technically only a garden shop owner. I’ll have so much free time, I won’t know what to do with myself.”

“Maybe I can help you out with that problem.” He leaned toward her, but the phone rang, startling them apart.

Peggy reached for it with a grin. It was her son, Paul. “I just saw Grama and Grampa’s old Buick go by the coffee shop on Providence. They’re only a few minutes from you. I hope you’re ready.”

“Thanks for calling. Are you coming over?”