“Don’t worry another moment about me.”
The phone clunked in her ear, and she caught another breath before standing. While she’d known about the film option, she never thought astudio would actually make a movie from one of her books. How strange it would be to see her work on a big screen, the people she’d created in her mind captured by a camera. Strange and wonderful.
Simon stood at the front door with a bouquet of mums that looked like pecan buns dabbed with butter.
“I thought you’d be waiting by the door,” he teased, his hands outstretched with the offering of autumn’s bounty.
“I was on the telephone.” She cradled the flowers in her arm. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”
He brushed back a cowlick that she thought charming, even though it aggravated him to no end. “That smile of yours could stop traffic.”
She plucked her coat and handbag off a peg. “It’s been a good morning.”
“As much as I’d like to think your smile was reserved for me, I suspect something else has happened.”
“Clinton called.”
His grin dimmed under the lilt of his eyebrows. “Should I be jealous?”
“Of course not,” she insisted even as her heart twittered. The question hinted at a relationship more than friendship. How was she to discern the truth of his feelings versus harmless flirting?
She rushed on with her explanation. “He’s ordering a second printing ofLavender Ridgebefore Christmas.”
“That’s marvelous news.” He kissed her cheek. “It must be selling extremely well.”
And it felt good between her and Simon. As a noted writer and speaker himself, her success wasn’t a threat or competition. Instead, he seemed genuinely happy about this news.
“And something else.” She took a long breath, still sorting through the news in her head. “A Hollywood studio has decided to make a movie from one of my earlier books. Clinton wants me to help them with the script, but...”
“I can’t imagine what’s wrong with that.”
Films had been banned in her childhood years, and she and Graham never discussed going to a movie theater. They’d been perfectly content reading, listening to her aunt play piano, hosting friends for dinner. “I’ve never even seen a film.”
“Surely, you’ve been to the theater at least once.”
“I’ve been to plays and the symphony but not a motion picture.”
“We’ll have to remedy that,” he said, and she took his offered arm. “This afternoon.”
Some of the content in films, she’d heard, was dreadful, and movies were still frowned upon at her church. But there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with a picture show, was there? Simon would never expose her to something baneful.
“Perhaps we shall,” she said as he escorted her out to his car like royalty. “But I hope we can have lunch before the theater. I’m famished.”
“Me too.”
“It’s such a long drive for you to come here for a meal, Simon.” Especially on these days when he returned to Ohio in the evening.
“I enjoy the company immensely on this end.”
She smiled. “You’re always welcome here.”
He removed a rag from his pocket, polishing off a smudge on her door before opening it. The man was half in love with his automobile. If he treated Ruthie as well as he treated the Pierce-Arrow, his wife had been well cared for. And his future wife—for she was certain he would remarry—wouldn’t need to worry either about her well-being.
“Dr. Farrow,” Hattie called from the porch.
Olivia cringed, wishing they could ignore Hattie’s voice and speed away. Nothing good would come out of a conversation between the three of them.
He turned slowly, Olivia still standing beside the door. “Hello, Aunt Hattie.”
