one selection at a time. No mixing for him. The lady’s tastes mimicked her personality. While he didn’t know her well, he’d already glimpsed both spicy and sweet aspects of her nature. Last night, he thought they’d made a connection. Her initial wariness gone, she’d treated him as someone worthy of her trust. When she’d finally admitted that she believed his account of events, he’d been relieved. But then she’d clammed up and retreated inside, and he’d woken this morning to find her already gone. He couldn’t shake the feeling she’d done that deliberately to avoid him.
She’d arrived home right before lunch and given him the briefest of greetings before disappearing into the kitchen to help Alice.
What does her opinion matter, anyway? You’re not staying.
His throat tightened. Without his memories, there was no way to understand his potential, no way to know what kind of life he was meant to lead. He had no money, no physical possessions and no reputation to recommend him. Anyone who hired him would be taking a risk.
Lost in thought, he didn’t pay heed to the women’s conversation. A slice of apple pie appeared at his elbow minutes later and, startled out of his reverie, he looked up into Jessica’s inquiring gaze. She’d noticed his distraction, had she?
“When did you have time to make this?” he said.
“There’s always time for baking.”
“Baking helps her sort through her problems,” Alice inserted.
“Ma.”
“It’s not a national secret, my dear.”
Circling the table, Jessica resumed her seat, taking her time arranging her skirts. Had she always been this private? Or was it that she didn’t want him knowing her personal quirks?
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