Her words rile me up. “Please don’t tell me what I want.”
She narrows her eyes and sharpens her claws. “Well, somebody has to because you clearly have no idea.”
It’s obvious even to the blue herons flying over the lake we’re not talking about furniture anymore. She realizes we’re back on the familiar thin ice between a civil teatime and making Martha clutch her pearls.
Eliza glowers at me but all I want is to get closer to those burning embers and warm myself under the heat of her rage.
I lean closer over the table, “I know exactly what I want, sweetheart.”
She’s rigid in her chair and that delicious vein on the side of her neck that pops when she’s mad is fluttering with the intense thumping of her pulse.
A delicate cough breaks the invisible thread coiling around us.
“I’d better go or Sam’s gonna burn the house reheating his lunch.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliza says but Martha leaps from the highchair and gives her a crushing hug.
Then she turns to me. “You missed it this week. Next time I expect you at our monthly catch-up dinner.”
“He’s not—” Eliza starts, panicked.
I cut her off. “I’d love to.”
“Great. Carter!” Martha waves me to follow her. “Help me get the apples from the car. I’m a tired old lady.”
I recognize a trap when I see one. I don’t want to argue with the woman who could whisk Eliza away if she had any doubts about me.
Eliza’s wringing her hands and I refrain from reaching out to trap her delicate wrist in my palm. I want to comfort her. “I’ll behave.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
It makes no sense until I reach the open trunk and Martha’s pinning me down with a drill-sergeant glare.
“You strike me as a smart man.”
“Thank—”
“Don’t interrupt me. I’ve read about you. You didn’t turn your father’s—God rests his soul—company to ashes. Quite the contrary according to the press. That’s saying something.”
I nearly open my mouth to stupidly thank her again, but I’m silenced by her cutting look.
“I also saw pictures of your dates and the kind of life you live.”
A knot forms at the base of my throat.
“Eliza deserves to have fun. Carefree, young-blooded fun.” She struggles with the next part. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Her life is already filled with people who let her down.”
I finally find my voice and a new appreciation for the balls on this old lady.
“Do I detect an underlying threat?” Amusement curls my lips but it doesn’t last long.
“I have enough metal knitting needles not to miss one if necessary.” Martha rounds the car and opens the driver’s door. “One of the old rusty ones.”
She’s gone with a wink, her tires projecting small stones from the driveway.
Chapter Seventeen
ELIZA
