It was a cozy Cape Cod-style house, with a big kitchen, a nice size family room, and a bedroom he was sure Iola would love. He gave her a quick tour, stopping at the rattan trunk at the end of the bed. A flash of wild grief ripped through him as he opened it and pulled out one of Jenny’s shirts. He’d meant to give the last of her clothes to charity but hadn’t been able to part with them, so he’d had the movers put the trunk in the guest house.
Carter handed the shirt to Iola. “You’ll need clothes to wear, so help yourself to any of these. They should fit. You look to be the same size as my wife.”
Iola seemed hesitant. “Should you not ask if she will mind?”
A heaviness centered in his chest. “I would if I could, but she died five years ago. Knowing Jenny, though, even if she were still here, she’d want you to wear them. She was the kindest and most loving person I’ve ever known.” His breath hitched in his throat, and the sense of loss was overwhelming.
“It is obvious you still love her very much. I will be honored to wear her clothes. Thank you for offering them to me.”
“You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my daughter. Please join us out on the patio after you’ve had a chance to get comfortable.”
Iola looked puzzled. “What is a patio?”
“It’s the stoned area off the back of the house.”
“Oh, the courtyard.”
“Yes, you could call it that.”
Her brow relaxed. “I will join you there shortly.”
While Carter walked back to the house, he tried to make sense of this whole crazy situation. How could Iola be real? He didn’t believe in magic or curses, yet here she was. Looked like he needed to adjust his entire belief system. Maybe he should take some lessons from his daughter.
Belle was sitting on a stool at the counter, eating some grapes when he entered the kitchen. She scowled when she saw him. “Why are you alone? Where’s Rosie?”
“She’s at the guest house, freshening up. She’ll be here soon.”
Belle’s attitude changed immediately upon hearing that. “I’m so happy. There are so many things that I can teach her.”
Maggie, who was at the sink, stopped stirring the pitcher of lemonade she’d made for them to take outside. “I’m happy to help too. Belle told me you had a friend here from Greece. It’s not easy trying to master a new language.”
Carter looked over at his daughter and winked, before saying to Maggie, “Her English is pretty good. It’s our customs that she needs help with.”
“Well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Maggie replied.
The sly grin she shot him implied she thought there might be a romance brewing. She’d been bugging him for ages to start dating. He hated for her to believe that he had, but for Iola’s safety, it was best for no one to know her real story. If the press got hold of it, chaos would break out. “This looks delicious,” he said, picking up the tray that held the pitcher of lemonade, along with three glasses.
Belle jumped off the bar stool as he headed toward the door. She held it open for him to walk through, then followed him outside.
When they were seated at the table, he reached across it and took hold of his daughter’s hands. “Thank you for not telling Maggie the truth about Iola. Most people would find it impossible to believe.”
“Like you did at first.”
“Yes, exactly. Only if others knew, it could put Iola in danger.”
Belle nodded. “I thought that too. That’s why I didn’t tell Maggie. Not that I don’t trust her, but sometimes things slip out that shouldn’t.”
“How did you become so wise for someone so young?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess I was born this way.”
“Well, I’m glad because you are perfect.”
Belle beamed. “Thanks, Dad. It might be best if we both called Iola by the same name, don’t you think? And since I told Maggie is was Rosie…”
“I should call her that too.”
“I think so.”
“It’s a deal. Do you think she’ll mind?”
Belle shook her head. “No, she likes Rosie.”
Carter squeezed his daughter’s hands, then let go and poured them each a glass of lemonade. As he was about to take a sip, he spotted Iola walking across the lawn wearing the shirt he had given her earlier and a pair of his wife’s favorite khaki pants. He blinked quickly because, for a split second, he could’ve sworn it was Jenny. Ridiculous, he knew. Besides, Iola had blonde hair, while Jenny’s had been auburn. And the differences were even more apparent the closer she got. Jenny’s build had been athletic, and Iola’s was soft and curvy. When she reached the table, she took a seat next to him. “This is lemonade,” he said, pouring her a glass. “Take a small sip. It’s sweet and sour and will make your mouth pucker.”
She did as he advised, and both he and Belle laughed when not only did her mouth pucker, but she scrunched up her entire face.
“You might have to get used to it,” Belle said, “but when you do, you’ll love it.”
“I think that might take some time,” Iola replied, setting her glass on the table.
“Belle and I have something to discuss with you.” He noticed her stiffen and immediately reassured her it was nothing she needed to fear. “Because it’s doubtful most people would believe where you came from. We think it’s best to stick to the story that we met years ago in Greece and have stayed in touch. You decided to move to the states, and I offered you a place to stay until you could find one of your own.”
She
