“Probably.”
They passed a sign telling them Mission Ridge was another thirty miles ahead.
“Do you want music?” he asked, passing her his synced phone.
She scrolled through his playlists before deciding on Fleetwood Mac. The acoustic guitar opening ofThe Chainstarted up and she sat back and lightly slapped her palm along with the steady beat of the drum. “I love this song.”
Edward smiled. “It makes me feel sad and angry at the same time when I listen to it, but in a good way. That probably sounds insane.”
“Nope. I feel the same way.” She smiled. “Angsty. That’s what I’d call it. Sometimes it’s nice to feel angsty about something outside yourself.”
“My sister hates this song,” he said.
“So does mine.”
“Which one?”
“Both. Marianne doesn’t like Stevie Nicks at all, and Greta doesn’t like anything ancient, as she’d call it.”
“Since neither of us were alive when the song came out, I guess she’s right.”
“Don’t tell her that. She loves to be right and she loves you. The combination would go straight to her head.”
Three songs later and they were singing along like old friends. Edward’s singing voice had a rasp to it, and the only thing keeping him from a brilliant singing career was the occasional bad note he’d hit before laughing.
Edward pulled up his GPS so they could find their first appointment, which was at the home of an older couple who didn’t drive much these days. Edward explained his history with them between interruptions from the monotone GPS lady.
“The Tuckers came to me on the recommendation of a friend last year. They had quite a bit of savings tucked away, but it was stagnant, and the fees were eating up what growth they were getting. You don’t put a lot of risk into investments at their age, but that was no excuse for the way their money was being treated. I’m excited to sit down and show them this year’s numbers. I explained a little on the phone, but he doesn’t hear well.”
They pulled up to a small but beautiful old house with the cutest yard. Pots of every shape and size decorated their front porch, all full of flowers and climbing vines and guarded by yard gnomes and pinwheels.
“I love them already.”
“Watch out. She’ll feed you.”
The door slid open with a groan, and then the screen door squeaked as a lady in a muumuu stepped out and smiled. “Edward’s here,” she called behind her before motioning them inside. “Come in. You’re just in time for lunch. I made homemade macaroni and cheese.” When she saw Elinor, her eyes lit up. “And who did you bring with you?”
“This is my assistant, Elinor. Do you mind if she joins us for the meeting?”
“Not at all. I’m Selma, dear.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I just love your yard.”
“Thank you.” Selma moved aside to let them through the door, then led them straight back to the kitchen, where her husband was already at the table, staring at the platter of rolls in the middle like he might be able to devour them with his eyes. Elinor had a feeling he’d been told in no uncertain terms not to eat until their guest arrived.
“Wash your hands, you two.”
They obeyed like good guests, and then Edward sat down next to the guy after pulling out a chair for Elinor. “Jake, this is my assistant.”
“Your sister?” Jake eyebrows raised in interest.
“No, my assistant, Elinor.”
“His assistant,” Selma chorused as she brought in a casserole dish and set it carefully on the table.
Jake shrugged. “I’m still hearing sister. Whoever you are, welcome. Can we eat now, Selma? Come in here and sit so we can say Grace.”
Selma came back in with a dish of creamed peas and placed it on the table before occupying the last chair. She held out her hands for Elinor and Jake, so Elinor took the woman’s hand before turning to Edward and accepting his. The look he gave her as their fingers touched did nothing to help the butterflies stirring in her stomach. Which was ridiculous. This was a simple blessing of food.
