“Thanks for these, can’t wait to grow my own.”
“Then I’ll have to find another excuse to check on you,” the woman chuckles. “I’m Martha.” She peers at me with the expertise of a seasoned butcher planning to have her way with the fresh carcass in the freezer.
It might have intimidated lesser men, but I’m not about to cower under the scrutiny of a mild-looking New England grandma.
“Carter. Pleased to meet you.”
She shakes my hand. “Don’t rush to conclusions, young man.” The grip of a reincarnated sailor and the shadow of a smirk curling her mouth are more ominous than friendly.
“Come on, I’ll put the kettle on.” Eliza catches the woman’s attention before we have the chance to finish our wordless battle.
“What a great idea.” I follow her tense back, knowing full well the invitation didn’t extend to me.
In the small kitchen, a swirl of confusion and calculation in her eyes catches my interest before I’m sidetracked by the way she’s worrying her lips. Eliza’s too polite to say anything, especially in front of other people, but she’s plotting to get rid of me.
“I saw on the news that the Opera Hall has a temporary Edward Hopper exhibition this month. You could check it out.”
Nice try, kitten. “Already saw it in New York. It was at a fundraiser. I think I adopted a goat.”
She grumbles and Martha chuckles in her palm.
“The satellite dish seems a bit crooked.”
“Eliza’s so thoughtful,” I tell Martha. “Looking out for me since I came here.”
I employ my most charming smile and get two very different reactions. Eliza rolls her eyes and with a resigned sag of her shoulders turns to the stove. Martha, on the other hand, has her poker face on, arms folded. A spark of amusement dances behind the green frames of her glasses as she looks from me to Eliza.
“So,” she says, “are you one of those rich guys who did something illegal and now has to lay low?”
“No. Sorry to disappoint. Nothing that exciting.”
“Running from a scorned woman?”
“Martha!” Eliza’s outraged cry is barely audible over the burst of laughter I can’t contain. I like this lady.
“Did you compile a list of questions?”
Martha’s back is ramrod straight and she stares me down unapologetically. “Yes. It’s extensive.”
“By all means, do go on,” I encourage her, curious to see where this is headed.
“That’s not necessary,” Eliza says, planting a hand over her friend’s in an unspoken thank you.
It’s one of the few times the needling doesn’t bother me. Something about the way this elderly woman used her gaze to threaten me with bodily harm lets me know she’s got Eliza’s back.
“Fine,” she sounds half-convinced. “How are you finding it?”
“The cabin is lovely. Eliza has good taste.”
Cinnamon eyes grow big and she’s looking straight at me for the first time. I file this moment under the highlight of my week, together with having her sit at the same table for the first time in days, because nobody will ever know. Other than peeping into my own company’s yard from the outside and cataloging Eliza’s movements, my days are pretty boring.
“I told her she’s talented,” Martha perks up. “And those pieces she saves—”
“No need to get into details. Carter here is not much of a talker. Let him finish his tea in peace.”
I’m not ready to give up yet. “But I want to know more about—”
“No, you don’t,” Eliza snaps.
