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“Do I qualify as a good driver?”
“You do,” she answered. “You’re an amazing driver. Take it as a big compliment from a woman who’s wrecked three cars. Nothing serious, thank goodness,” she rushed to add. “I guess as they say God does take care of babies, fools, and small animals. My talent doesn’t extend to my driving skills.”
He smiled. “Maybe you didn’t have the right instructor. I would be happy to take you driving one day and give you a few pointers, but I doubt you’re as bad as you say.”
She chuckled. “I’d rather keep that my little secret. Tell me about your mother. What does she do? What kind of person is she? I don’t even know her name.”
Gerard turned down the volume on the MP3 player.
“Her name is Chantalle. She taught French in primary school for almost thirty years. She’s retired now. My aunt Cecile was widowed just after we moved here. Her English husband died in a car accident. I lived with them until I finished medical school and moved out. They share the house still and are passionate gardeners—a byproduct of living in Ashwell, I guess.”
“It’s such a shame they were both widowed so young,” she said, her voice filled with sorrow. “But I imagine it’s a great comfort to live with your sister and not be alone, especially once you reach a certain age.”
Gerard smiled. “They’re quite a pair, funny and quirky. You can’t stay sad when they’re around. They recently started a small flower-based home business. They make bouquets, sachets, and other “ets” you can think of. But, you andMamanhave something else in common. She makes jewelry, too.”
Linda’s eyebrows arched. “Really? What a coincidence.”
“Her jewelry isn’t as fancy as yours. She doesn’t twist molten metal in shapes like you do—something I admit is an incredible turn-on,” he added, sounding suitably impressed.
She laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet I’m hot as hell in my welding mask, wielding my torches.”
“Now Ineedto see that.” He chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s not every day a man gets to experience a sexy Hell-girl fantasy.”
“Calm down, Doc. Whatever you’ve got in mind, probably won’t be safe. We can discuss what might be later, but right now, I want to hear more about your mother’s jewelry. What type does she make?”
“The kind that consists of semi-precious stones, beads, and crystals. She makes necklaces, bracelets, brooches, earrings, that kind of stuff. She’s especially fond of amethyst, although I’m not sure why. She’s always trying to stuff colorful pebbles into my pockets to protect my aura.”
Linda grinned. How she loved listening to his voice.
“I take it you don’t believe in these things?” she asked. “Auras, Karma, Fate, and stuff?”
“I believe in an individual’s right to self-protection. The rest of it is up to God, or destiny. Most of all, I believe what we do with our lives depends on the choices we make. We have free will, but not all the choices we make are good for us.”
“Like Crème Brûlée for breakfast?” She cocked her head. “But it’s an interesting point of view, and I agree completely. Too many people make bad choices then blame others when things go wrong.”
“Exactly. Just a heads-up. If Mom gives you a charm or something, take it. Even if it freaks you out and you plan to hide it away in a dark corner. Otherwise, she’ll be offended. She really believes in all that crap.”
“Thank God you told me.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Since I’ve been living in a cave, I’m not up on my social etiquette.”
Gerard laughed. “Touché.I can’t wait to return to that cave of yours, but I was thinking that after dinner, perhaps I could show you mine.”
“That sounds like fun. I would love the chance to admire your… rock collection.”
“Hang onto that thought,” he said and winked. “We’re almost there.”
Turning right, he drove along a narrow country lane bordered by tall, majestic oak trees. At the end of the lane stood a small white house, an immaculate island in the middle of a botanical garden.
Linda’s eyes opened wide. “You weren’t kidding when you said they were passionate about gardening. This looks like it was plucked right out of Eden. It’s beautiful.”
Gerard stopped the car behind a red sedan parked near the house.
“The garden isn’t that big. It just looks that way because the house is small.”
“But it’s so pretty.” Once again, she took in the scene with the eyes of an artist. She studied the lines of the single story white wooden building with its dark-red metal roof and matching windowsills and doorframes. “This is how I’ve always imagined Snow White’s cottage.”
They climbed out of the car, and hand in hand, they walked toward the house. Linda looked around curiously, taking in the pastoral beauty, and praising the flowers in bloom, the trees, and shrubs—a true work of art created by Mother Nature and skillfully maintained by his mother and aunt.
Before Gerard could knock on the door, it sprung open. Smiling widely, the short, slightly plump woman, with unruly blonde hair and inquiring brown eyes, radiated positive energy and cheerfulness. Since Gerard didn’t resemble her much, he must take after his father, but he obviously had Chantalle’s charm.
