“What is that?”
“It’s my favorite Arabic dish. Squash stuffed with seasoned rice and meat cooked in a tomato broth.”
“That sounds delicious,” I said. “You must pick enough to take to your mother.”
“One day,” he said, “I will ask Mama to prepare some for you to taste.”
I couldn’t imagine the vicar telling his mother he wanted to bring her food to me. But I was touched all the same. We were developing a friendship, and I appreciated every moment of the conversation and companionship we enjoyed as we worked among my plants. It was nice to have a friend.
By the third day, we’d managed to clean up the garden to my exacting standards.
“It gives me great satisfaction to see you regularly in the company of your plants again,” Mr. Haddad said as we finished up. “I was extremely worried when you did not deliver your basket of produce.”
“Men!” I said, exasperated. “There is no pleasing you.”
He blinked. “It is not a matter of pleasing me. I know how fond you are of your garden. I became alarmed when I saw it was not being cared for. I thought you might be sick or hurt.”
“I didn’t deliver the produce because you told me not to.”
He looked affronted. “I most certainly did not.”
“There’s no need to try to spare my feelings. I am well aware that I am not the most respectable woman in Castleberry. It is understandable that you do not want me anywhere near the church.”
“Everyone is welcome at church. I wish you would come. Not just to drop off the produce, but to attend my sermon on Sunday.”
He seemed so earnest in his manner that I was taken aback. “But you came to pick up the produce so that I would not be seen at the church.”
He shook his head. “That was not the reason at all.”
“What other motive could there be?”
“I came because I wanted an excuse to call on you.”
“You did?” I frowned. “Why?”
He flushed. “Is it not obvious?”
“If it were, I would not be asking.”
“I find you very appealing.”
“I beg your pardon?” My surprise quickly gave way to outrage. Reality slammed through me, and the vicar’s daily visits took on an unsavory twist. So that was what he was after. I should have known. “Just because I am a widow with a scandalous past, that does not mean I want to entertain men.”
“What?” He gaped at me. “That is not my intent at all.”
I stomped out of the garden and into the house, eager to slam the door in his face. But his scuffed black boot appeared in the door to prevent it from closing. Instead, it bounced open. I flounced away from him into the kitchen. “Go away.”
He followed me. “I cannot allow you to believe that I have the worst of intentions. My aims are completely honorable.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I am thirty-four. A parish expects its vicar to be married.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You are a widow. I find you to be most amiable.”
“You want tomarryme?” I asked incredulously.
