their plates and bowls were stacked in the sink, they grumbled all the way to the science lab, well aware that after the exam, Kirk intended to walk them through their last assignment of the year: frog dissection.
Dishes done, Eden joined them, standing at the back of the classroom as her able assistant handled their protests with his usual aplomb. The young counselor had completed several degrees, and could surely earn far money more teaching or counseling elsewhere. Instead, he’d chosen to dedicate himself to the boys of Latimer House, teaching math, science and history, as well as fixing broken doorknobs and leaky faucets. Eden was the first to admit that without him, the place might have fallen down around them—literally and figuratively—months ago.
The doorbell pealed and Eden hurried to respond to the impatient, unscheduled visitor. Brett Michaels stood on the porch. Eden’s nerves prickled with dread as the landlord swaggered into the foyer.
She forced a smile. “Brett. Hi. What brings you here so early on a weekday morning?”
As usual, he didn’t answer her question. “You look lovely, as always.” He nodded toward the classrooms. “Amazing, considering what you do for a living.”
Eden ignored the snide remark. “There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen...”
“Sounds great,” he said, following her.
Something about his attitude heightened her tension. Back in November, the purpose of a similar early-morning visit had been to raise the rent a hundred dollars a month. She’d managed, barely, by trading her new car for the big clunking van, and by directing a portion of her county-paid salary toward other Latimer bills. Adding those saved dollars to minuscule funds raised by local churches and a handful of regular donors, she’d made every payment. Eden didn’t know what other corners she could cut if he wanted more.
“Almost fresh from the oven,” she said, peeling the plastic wrap from a chipped ceramic plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“My favorite. But you knew that, didn’t you.” He sat at the Formica and chrome table donated by Kirk’s parents. Winking, Brett added, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sweet on me.”
Not a chance. Eden grabbed a mug from the drainboard and filled it. “Now, now, we both know I’m not your type.”
For the first time since they’d met, Brett looked genuinely surprised. “And what, exactly, do you think my type is?”
The same kind of woman Nate is attracted to, she thought, frowning slightly. Eden searched her mind for a polite way to say “stuck up,” and noticed a crack in the ceiling. Brett followed her line of vision, from the light fixture above the table to the corner beside the back door. He sipped his coffee, pretending not to see it.
“She’d need a degree from Barnard,” Eden said finally. “Or Brown, and memberships at Valverde Yacht Club and Castle Pines Golf Club.” Laughing quietly, she added, “For starters.”
“Is that how you see me? As some guy who’s only interested in social networking?”
To be honest, Eden thought, yes.
“But, I’ve always thought you and I would make a great team.”
Just what she needed—another control freak. The only thing she and Brett had in common was Latimer House. And a fondness for chocolate chip cookies.
“We haven’t seen you around here in months.” She shoved the plate closer to his elbow. “What have you been up to these days?”
He helped himself to another treat. “Funny you should ask.”
Something told her she wouldn’t find anything funny in what he was about to say.
“I got an interesting offer last week,” he said around a bite. “One that could prove profitable.”
She sensed a big if coming and put her hands in her lap so he couldn’t see them shaking. Maybe she could buy a moment or two to prepare herself for the bad news. “Haven’t heard from your mom lately, either. Guess that means she’s still on her world cruise?”
“Never better,” Brett said. “Talked to her yesterday, as a matter of fact. She sends her love.”
“Wait, you talked about me during a ship-to-shore phone call?”
“Sort of.”
His tendency to sidestep straight answers reminded her yet again of Jake, and Eden didn’t like it one bit. “She asked what my plans were for today, and I mentioned that I needed to pay you a visit. She said that as soon as she’s unpacked, she wants to tell you all about her trip over lunch.” He grunted. “For your sake, somewhere other than Tables.”
Cora Michaels loved it there, and often commented on the quaint Kearney Street location, the restaurant’s white picket fence and eclectic collection of mismatched tables and chairs. Eden would happily have met Cora at the interstate rest stop if she’d suggested it; Brett’s mother was a lovely woman...and one of Latimer’s most generous donors. At their last meeting, Cora confided that if it hadn’t been for Duke’s firm hand—and his willingness to adopt her sullen, unruly only child—Brett would have ended up in a place like Latimer House.
But why had Brett told Cora that he needed to visit today?
“How soon will she get home?”
“Who knows? She was supposed to get back last week. Now it’s next week.” He shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s taken up with another old geezer.”
Eden laughed. “How old are you that geezer is the first word that popped into your mind?”
He took another sip of coffee and met her eyes over the mug’s rim. “Maybe someday you’ll share your secret coffee recipe.”
“It’s no big secret. I don’t follow instructions.”
He raised his eyebrows as he put down the mug. “Beg pardon?”
“On the coffee can. The instructions say to use a rounded scoop. For every cup. Too strong. Way too strong, and in my opinion, I think it’s because they want you to use up the grounds faster.” Nervousness was to blame for her stubby fingernails, and fear tended to make her talk too fast. Waiting for Brett to deliver his bad news was making her feel both. Eden took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down because if history repeated itself, she’d start stuttering next.
“So I use half as much, er, many. Coffee grounds per pot, that is.”
“Makes sense,” he said, dusting crumbs from his fingers.
He sounded bored. Uninterested. Distracted, no doubt, by the awful message he’d come to deliver.
“So about this proposal I was telling you about...”
She squeezed her hands together so tightly, her knuckles ached.
“I thought it only fair to run it by you, give you a chance to make a counteroffer before I sign anything.”
“A counteroffer?” Could he hear
