Page 35 of Tempting Eden

“I do know, young lady! Listen to me for once. Just go on over there and have a nice sit-down with her. Get the whole story before making up your mind. Don’t be Georgi—”

“Don’t say it! I get it, I get it. Jeez.” How many times did I have to tell myself, and others, that I was not my mother?

“Good.”

Fairfax gave me the address, and we hung up.

I figured it couldn’t hurt to take his advice and hear Ms. Temple out. After all, I wanted Jack to stay. When he’d asked me if I’d ever met someone who spoke to me on some deeper level, I knew right away I had, and it washim.

Instead of going downstairs, I sank back into my pillows. Jack’s face—his earnest eyes and stoic expression—was there every time I closed my eyes. I couldn’t seem to square how I felt about him with what he’d told me the night before. Is that what he kept caged up inside? Akiller?

I banished the word from my thoughts. I knew Jack had acted out of his love for Helen, and I couldn’t judge him too harshly for it. Still, even though I understood why he’d done it, I couldn’t let him into my professional or personal life unless I had something more concrete to go on than just my feelings for him. I couldn’t just think of myself in this. I had Adele to worry about, though she was already smitten with the handsome, well-read stranger who had “the bluest eyes.”

Ms. Temple’s house was a classic 1950s brick cottage with two dormer windows along the roofline; unassuming and welcoming. A large magnolia tree presided over the front yard, its falling leaves making a chaotic, leathery carpet along the lawn. A rose trellis was trained over the front door, the last flowers of the summer now faded and withered. The air was cool, only a slight chill floating along the breeze, though fall was well under way.

I stowed my sunglasses and rang the bell. After a few moments, the door swung open to reveal a lovely older woman. Her hair was black, except for a shock of gray that streamed from her side part. Her dark eyes were striking against her fair skin. I judged her to be in her early sixties.

“You are pretty as a picture! You look so much like your mother. Come in, come in.” She ushered me inside and bade me follow her.

She knows Mother?

“Thanks for having me, Ms. Temple, I—”

“Oh, shush now. Don’t be like Jack. He won’t call me anything except for Ms. Temple. Makes me feel as old as the hills. Please call me Maria. All my friends do.”

“Okay, Maria.”

“And you are welcome here any time, though I realize the Rochester home is just a wee bit grander than Casa de Temple.”

She was cheeky. I could already tell I was going to like her. Wait a second;she’d been to my house?She whipped around a corner before I could question her further.

Though small, the house was tastefully decorated with fine antiques and canvases. Some of the paintings caught my eye with their melancholy shades or the use of brush strokes to create movement. She was quite a collector, it seemed.

A delicious aroma flavored the air.

“Please, have a seat.” She motioned to a dining table surrounded by ladderback chairs. She had already laid two place settings for us. I took the proffered seat as she bustled about, setting cornbread, roasted vegetables, and a pot roast onto the table.

“Can I help?”

“Oh, no, no. Guests in my house don’t do any of the cooking, cleaning, or serving.” She smiled, the lines next to her mouth and eyes showing that she did so often.

She was warm, motherly. If a woman like this had no problems with Jack, then how could I?

Once she’d poured our tumblers full of sweet tea, she took her seat across from me. “Please, dig in.”

The smells were mouth-watering, so I didn’t hesitate to follow her instructions. I had never been much of a cook, but I could eat with the best of them. The first bite of pot roast was heaven, rosemary and basil flavoring the meat to perfection. Fairfax hadn’t been lying when he said the woman knew how to cook.

We ate in silence for a while, interrupted only by the sounds of knives and forks and the distant whir of a lawn mower.

“This is delicious, Maria.”

“Thank you.”

I’d stuffed myself as if I hadn’t eaten in days. I’d skipped breakfast, too nervous to even look at food. Somehow, Maria put me at ease enough to go cavewoman on the feast she’d prepared. I wondered how she knew my mother. Mother had never mentioned a Maria or a Ms. Temple.

I was about to ask her when she placed her knife and fork along the sides of her plate and met my eyes. “So you want to know about Jack?”

I took a large swallow of sweet tea. “Yes, I do.”

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