She should protest these peremptory moves, but somehow her will wasn’t functioning at the moment. He walked her to the front door where a couple of moths made love to her glowing carriage lamp.
“I didn’t say how pretty you look tonight.” Drawing his fingers along her collarbone, he touched her necklace. “Great dress, but this I don’t get—broken chunks of glass?”
His hand stayed right there. Her pulse picked up speed. “Recycled wine bottles.”
“Oh. I know where you can find one made out of gum wrappers and pull tabs.”
“Are you making fun of me, Merlin?”
“Nope.” He lowered his head for the goodnight kiss, and he kissed the way he danced—with complete mastery. His hand slipped behind her head, holding her at just the right angle. He started out firm and commanding, then added a few fun flourishes of his tongue.
By the time he finished, Jane heard herself say, “Would you like to come in?” as if she’d pre-recorded the message.
“Not our third date yet. I don’t want to rush you.”
“Merlin, we haven’t had any dates.”
“We had dinner together the other night and again tonight.”
“If you count those, you might as well say sitting on your stoop the first night we met was a date.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Pity. Shame on you, Jane. Get a grip. Mental chiding in full force, she answered, “Okay. Well, thanks for a nice evening. See you around.”
“Tomorrow. I’m bringing Granny over to see the flowerbeds, remember?”
No, she didn’t. That kiss had wiped out a memory circuit for sure. “Right. Tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
The growl of Merlin’s truck announced Olive Tauzin’s arrival. Jane recalled her from the closing on the house as a sweet old lady with fluffy white hair drawn into a tight little knob on the top of her head and round, dark eyes that filled with tears as they signed the papers selling the family home. Thinking the loss made Mrs. Tauzin distraught, Jane promised to take good care of the property.
“No, no, cher . You don’t understand. I’m crying because you saved the place and won’t tear it down like the other bidder.”
Jane knew someone else had offered close to a hundred thousand for the corner property now near a stoplight. Her own bid of forty-five thousand seemed pitiful and unfair, but the house needed more than that amount in renovations according to a study she paid to have done before buying. She had to take out a second loan to get the job done. If the Tauzin home, built in 1875, had passed into those other hands, the convenience store and gas station would be sitting on this lot and not across the street on the other side of the light.
Regardless, Olive Tauzin seemed like the kind of old-timey woman who would make everything from scratch. Jane spent her Sunday morning baking a pecan pie using nuts gathered in the yard and stored in the freezer along with her mother’s own recipe for an extra-flaky crust. She scalloped the edges with a spoon and in the end her masterpiece resembled a giant sunflower. Gathering lemons from the tree Merlin had observed had a real nice crop, she made fresh-squeezed lemonade with real sugar and put on a pot of coffee, dark roast, the way Cajuns liked it. She had no dining room, but the kitchen was spacious with plenty of room for a table and four chairs. A bowl of extra lemons held in a brown glazed bowl and accented with sprigs of the sweet olive now blooming wildly since being liberated from the vines sat in the center of that table. Glasses, mugs, plates, spoons, dessert forks and a pie server waited for the arrival of company.
Jane expected a knock any second at the kitchen door but instead, her front bell rang. She hurried through the house to find Olive Tauzin sitting on the porch swing and Merlin carrying a walker with yellow tennis balls on its feet up the steps.
“Oh, you should have come in the back way. It’s shorter. So nice to see you again, Mrs. Tauzin.”
“We’re
“I didn’t say how pretty you look tonight.” Drawing his fingers along her collarbone, he touched her necklace. “Great dress, but this I don’t get—broken chunks of glass?”
His hand stayed right there. Her pulse picked up speed. “Recycled wine bottles.”
“Oh. I know where you can find one made out of gum wrappers and pull tabs.”
“Are you making fun of me, Merlin?”
“Nope.” He lowered his head for the goodnight kiss, and he kissed the way he danced—with complete mastery. His hand slipped behind her head, holding her at just the right angle. He started out firm and commanding, then added a few fun flourishes of his tongue.
By the time he finished, Jane heard herself say, “Would you like to come in?” as if she’d pre-recorded the message.
“Not our third date yet. I don’t want to rush you.”
“Merlin, we haven’t had any dates.”
“We had dinner together the other night and again tonight.”
“If you count those, you might as well say sitting on your stoop the first night we met was a date.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Pity. Shame on you, Jane. Get a grip. Mental chiding in full force, she answered, “Okay. Well, thanks for a nice evening. See you around.”
“Tomorrow. I’m bringing Granny over to see the flowerbeds, remember?”
No, she didn’t. That kiss had wiped out a memory circuit for sure. “Right. Tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
The growl of Merlin’s truck announced Olive Tauzin’s arrival. Jane recalled her from the closing on the house as a sweet old lady with fluffy white hair drawn into a tight little knob on the top of her head and round, dark eyes that filled with tears as they signed the papers selling the family home. Thinking the loss made Mrs. Tauzin distraught, Jane promised to take good care of the property.
“No, no, cher . You don’t understand. I’m crying because you saved the place and won’t tear it down like the other bidder.”
Jane knew someone else had offered close to a hundred thousand for the corner property now near a stoplight. Her own bid of forty-five thousand seemed pitiful and unfair, but the house needed more than that amount in renovations according to a study she paid to have done before buying. She had to take out a second loan to get the job done. If the Tauzin home, built in 1875, had passed into those other hands, the convenience store and gas station would be sitting on this lot and not across the street on the other side of the light.
Regardless, Olive Tauzin seemed like the kind of old-timey woman who would make everything from scratch. Jane spent her Sunday morning baking a pecan pie using nuts gathered in the yard and stored in the freezer along with her mother’s own recipe for an extra-flaky crust. She scalloped the edges with a spoon and in the end her masterpiece resembled a giant sunflower. Gathering lemons from the tree Merlin had observed had a real nice crop, she made fresh-squeezed lemonade with real sugar and put on a pot of coffee, dark roast, the way Cajuns liked it. She had no dining room, but the kitchen was spacious with plenty of room for a table and four chairs. A bowl of extra lemons held in a brown glazed bowl and accented with sprigs of the sweet olive now blooming wildly since being liberated from the vines sat in the center of that table. Glasses, mugs, plates, spoons, dessert forks and a pie server waited for the arrival of company.
Jane expected a knock any second at the kitchen door but instead, her front bell rang. She hurried through the house to find Olive Tauzin sitting on the porch swing and Merlin carrying a walker with yellow tennis balls on its feet up the steps.
“Oh, you should have come in the back way. It’s shorter. So nice to see you again, Mrs. Tauzin.”
“We’re
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