“Appreciate the instructions, but my grandmother can grow anything. You should see her garden out back.” He straightened. “In fact, come on in. I’ll show you.”
Certain her smile was engulfing her entire being, she stepped past him into the cooler shadows of the foyer. He reached out, his arm brushing her shoulder, and her breath caught in her chest.
Then the door closed with a soft click and she realized he’d been only reaching around her to shut it.
Feeling as mature as a giggly girl, she stepped aside and glanced around.
The short foyer fed to a staircase on the left and an airy kitchen and living area on the right. Straight ahead, she could see through to tall, narrow windows at the back of the house. They overlooked another porch similar to the one at the front of the house. Beyond the porch were row upon row of fat, green bushes.
Obviously the garden Jay mentioned.
But the plants weren’t relegated only to the outdoors.
As she followed Jay deeper into the house, she saw houseplants thriving in nearly every corner and crevice.
He set the plant she’d delivered on the wooden dining table as they passed it. At the shop, she’d thought the fern was one of the larger ones they had, but here, amongst all these others that his grandmother was already growing, it seemed positively tiny.
“You weren’t kidding,” Arabella commented. “Your grandmother must really love plants.” Whatever the special occasion was, the plant that Jay had ordered barely stood out in comparison.
“That she does.” He pushed open a door and the old-fashioned metal blinds hanging over the window on the upper half swayed. “She adamantly refuses to leave her garden, much to my mom’s dismay.”
He, on the other hand, didn’t sound dismayed at all. “Why is that?”
“Mom figures my grandmother is too old to live here by herself, even though she’s lived in this house since she married my grandfather when she was eighteen years old.” He stopped on the covered porch and spread his arms. “She’s spent seventy years here and she keeps up with all of this, but Mom still worries.” He dropped his arms. “Come on.”
His hand closed around hers as if it were perfectly natural and she nearly tripped over her own feet as they went down the porch steps. “I’m guessing you don’t worry?”
He laughed softly. “Louella O’Brien defies worry.” He tugged her around the end of one row and stopped next to a raised bed positively bursting with ripening strawberries. He plucked a bright red one and held it in front of her lips. “Taste.”
She blinked, still too surprised by his presence there, much less his hand still clasping hers, to do anything at all.
His brows drew together and he pulled the strawberry away again. “Wait. You’re not allergic, are you?”
“No,” she said faintly.
“That’s good. Nobody’s berries taste better than my grandmother’s.” He held the fat berry closer to her lips. So close she could smell the sweet aroma. “Taste.”
Feeling caught in his gaze, she obediently opened her mouth and bit into the fruit. Sweet juice exploded in her mouth and she chewed more quickly, laughing a little as she wiped her lips. It really was the sweetest strawberry she’d ever tasted. She swallowed. “Is her secret growing the plants in sugar?”
“You’d think.” He grinned and popped the other half of the large strawberry into his mouth.
Arabella’s stomach hollowed. Feeling hotter than the sunny day warranted, she pulled her hand free and walked alongside the raised bed, pretending to study the plants. What she saw were a lot of great fat leaves and a massive amount of strawberries. Surely more than one person—even one family—could consume. “What does she do with it all?”
“Makes jam.” He’d plucked several more berries and handed her one as they moved down the row. “She sells jars of it at Mariana’s Market. Lou’s Luscious Jams.”
“That’s the jam that Harper buys. I had it on my toast this morning!”
“Then you know why it’s so popular.” He popped another strawberry in his mouth and grabbed her hand again as they continued walking along the rows. “Only one who comes even remotely close competition-wise is Mabel’s Marmalades.” They passed a three-sided potting shed that was as big as the bedroom Arabella occupied at her brother’s house. On the other side of the shed were rows and rows of trees. The shade they cast was welcoming.
“Peach trees?”
“With fruit almost as good as the strawberries.” He lifted their joined hands and pointed his finger beyond the trees. “That’s my place.”
He was pointing at a small stone barn situated on the bank of a narrow stream. Beyond that was a green pasture surrounded by a white-rail fence where several horses grazed near a three-sided shelter.
It was all so picturesque that every little romantic cell in her body quivered in delight. “You live in a converted barn? Can I see inside?” She heard her own eagerness and was vaguely embarrassed by it.
But there was nothing in his expression that suggested she ought to be embarrassed. “If you won’t judge me for my housecleaning.”
She crossed her heart with her finger. “Promise.”
His hand tightened on hers again and he headed toward the barn. But they hadn’t emerged from beneath the shade of the peach orchard when the coughing rumble of an engine cut through the quiet.
“Sounds like my grandmother is back.” He about-faced and started back through the trees.
Arabella couldn’t really complain. Not when he was still holding her hand the way he was.
They rounded the potting shed again and passed the strawberry beds and were halfway up the rows of big green bushes when a thin woman with dark gray-and-silver hair appeared on the back porch. She looked a lot younger than Jay had indicated and in her hands was the plant that Arabella had delivered.
“Favorite granny?” Louella O’Brien had a sturdy drawl and an equally sturdy tone. “Your only granny, you mean.” She balanced the plant on the porch rail and waited
