‘Takes all sorts,’ Jase sneered. ‘Where’s my room?’
‘At the back. I’ll leave you to get settled. I’ve taken a couple of steaks out the freezer, so we’ll throw those on the grill later.’
‘Wow, you’re literally killing the fatted calf for me? I’m honored.’ Jase slung his bag over his shoulder and loped off down the narrow hallway.
Griff turned away before he said something he might regret later — and if he didn’t regret it, he probably should.
* * *
Lyndsey let the chatter swirl around her while her heart ached with missing Griff. He should be there, sitting at the table with them.
‘Are you going to pour the tea, Lyndsey, or are you leaving us to die of thirst?’ Becca prodded her arm.
‘Sorry.’ Meeting her sister’s sympathetic gaze was a mistake. Becca knew why she wasn’t being her usual efficient self. ‘Miss Grey, do you take milk in your tea? Or would you prefer a glass of water?’
‘I was brought up right, young lady. At an afternoon tea party, it’s proper to drink tea. No milk. A thin slice of lemon.’
Lyndsey caught William suppressing a laugh. It’d been a risk to put Harold and William either side of Ruth Mae, but she’d suggested it to Becca in the hope that the old lady’s ingrained prejudice against the men’s relationship might soften when she discovered they were all garden enthusiasts.
‘Where did you get these flowers from?’ Miss Grey asked Becca, pointing to the arrangement on the table.
‘We brought them from our garden,’ Harold piped up. ‘Rose growing is a passion of mine. William is my right-hand man in the garden and does all the heavy digging.’
‘I’m good at following orders.’ William’s cheeky smile broke through.
‘He’s also an excellent cook — the scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam are all home-made,’ Harold boasted.
‘I used to grow Double Delight hybrid tea roses here at Grey House.’ Miss Grey touched a strawberry red flower with a creamy middle. ‘And Mister Lincoln too.’ She stroked a deep crimson bloom and sniffed the air. ‘They’re a red rose that can’t be beat, in my opinion, and their scent is unmatched.’ Ruth Mae asked what else they grew and the three of them chatted away happily. Even Lyndsey could tell the old lady’s knowledge of Southern plants was encyclopedic.
‘Perhaps you’d like to have a walk around our garden one day, Miss Grey?’ Harold asked.
‘I do believe I would enjoy that.’
Becca leaned over to join in. ‘Miss Grey, I would love to bring the garden here back closer to what it used to be. There’s nothing wrong with it now, but I can see it could be so much more. I’d love your help.’ She smiled at Harold and William. ‘And you too, of course. I’m particularly ignorant about roses.’
‘As an Englishwoman, you should be ashamed to admit that,’ Ruth Mae scoffed. ‘You might not know, but my cottage traditionally belonged to the Grey House gardener. I found a box full of his plans tucked away in one of the closets with details of how the grounds were laid out, descriptions of every plant and his work calendar for the year, to take care of everything.’
‘I’d love to see them sometime,’ Becca said tentatively.
‘Maybe.’ Short and to the point, but it wasn’t a no. They were making progress.
The doorbell chime broke in, and Lyndsey jumped up from the table. ‘That will be Tiffany. She did warn us she’d be late because she was working until two.’
Out in the hall, she stopped to smooth down her shirt and take a moment to gather her thoughts before opening the door.
‘Here I am, finally!’ Tiffany breezed in, holding an ornate white china-covered cake stand carefully in both hands. ‘Did the old lady turn up?’
‘Yes, and you won’t believe this, but she’s rapidly becoming best friends with Harold and William. It seems she can turn a blind eye to them being gay because they’re also excellent gardeners.’ Lyndsey chuckled.
‘Well, I’m no gardener, so she might not overlook my so-called faults quite as easily.’ Under Tiffany’s light words, Lyndsey sensed a layer of concern. ‘Let’s get this over with. Lead the way.’
She wondered how many times in her life this awesome woman had had to face situations where she wasn’t welcomed with open arms. It put her own experiences in perspective.
‘Miss Grey, this is Tiffany Hunt, your other neighbor.’ Lyndsey watched the old woman’s expression tighten.
‘I sure am pleased to meet you, Miss Grey. Sorry I’m late, but I hope this makes up for it.’ Tiffany set down the cake and lifted off the cover, revealing a vibrant red sponge covered in thick swirls of cream cheese icing.
‘Oh my! A red velvet cake.’ Ruth Mae’s wrinkled face lit up. ‘My mama used to make one every year for my birthday, although to tell the truth it was Miss Bessie who made it. She was the . . .’ She stopped talking and looked wary.
