well plead her case in front of him, after all. It was bad enough that she’d wasted her best outfit, but now to find that she wasn’t about to be rid of him, well, it was enough to make a girl testy.
“Not here here,” he said, pointing at the floor. “I live in the carriage house.” Great. So, was he renting? Family? Freeloading? She was dying to know.
He turned to go, then abruptly spun back to face her. “Oh, um, I should point out that there is some construction going on across the landing. Odelia and Kent are reconfiguring some single rooms into a private suite of their own, but you know how it is with old houses. It takes forever to make changes. Shouldn’t disturb you too much.”
“About those weddings,” Jessa ventured quickly, stepping forward. “I’m a little confused.”
“It’s very simple,” Garrett said with a grin. “Asher Chatam and Ellie Monroe will wed on the fourth Thursday of May, and Odelia and Kent will marry on the fourth Tuesday of June.”
“I see.”
He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking. A June bride at Odelia’s age. It tickles me every time I think about it.”
She had been surprised to find that the elderly pair were engaged to marry, but her mother had designed arrangements for more than one such wedding at a local nursing home. Jessa’s concerns, however, featured flowers—and work.
“Actually, I was just wondering what florist they’re using.” She prayed that she didn’t sound greedy, but after finding Garrett Willows in the parlor with the family and learning that he lived on the premises, she very much doubted that she would ever claim the Monroe place, let alone open a business there. Maybe she could get a temporary job with the shop lucky enough to garner a Chatam wedding, though.
Garrett snorted and shook his head. “Florist? They don’t have a florist. Both couples only became engaged a couple weeks ago and neither is willing to wait too long. That’s why the weddings will take place on weeknights. All the weekends were taken already at the church. And, of course, it being the wedding season, all the local florists are booked solid. Between you and me, more than one offered to work in the Chatams, but the ladies wouldn’t allow that.”
“Why not?” Jessa asked. Her mother had often worked in favorite customers.
“They truly would not want to risk creating hardship for others,” Garrett divulged, “but mostly they wouldn’t want anyone to think that they were taking advantage of the Chatam name. So, Magnolia will be handling the flowers.” He shrugged as if to say she’d do her best.
Jessa blinked. “Magnolia?”
“She does all the flower arranging around the house, and she’s been reading about bouquets and corsages and such. There are some wonderful books in the library, by the way, if you’re interested.”
“Thank you,” Jessa returned automatically, her heart beginning to pound. “M-maybe I could help, though. With the flowers. It just so happens that I am a florist. I—I’ve handled quite a few weddings, actually.” Three, to be precise, but she’d helped her mom with designs for many more, and this would be a great way to pay her room and board while creating local references. And just maybe she could sway the Monroes in her favor while she was at it.
Garrett tilted his head. It seemed to her that a tiny light ignited deep within those blue, blue eyes, building into an unnerving glow. “Is that a fact?” he drawled finally.
“Yes. My mother was a florist, and she trained me.”
After a moment, Jessa began to wonder what he was staring at. Then Garrett smiled and folded his arms.
“Well,” he said, grinning broadly. “Imagine that.”
Jessa wasn’t sure if that meant the Chatams would welcome her help or not, and he didn’t enlighten her. Shaking his head, he turned and left the room, leaving Jessa puzzled in his wake.
Well, at least she and Hunter had a safe place to sleep for the night and it wasn’t costing them anything—except a home and a new life.
Jessa slept surprisingly well. Hunter had a bit of trouble settling down in the strange opulence of his room, but eventually he drifted off. Exhausted herself, she’d changed into cotton pajamas and fallen into her own ostentatious bed without even brushing her teeth. Sleep had claimed her almost immediately.
She woke at first light and lay pondering the morning’s agenda as the gray dawn yellowed into day. The sound of Hunter’s small feet hitting the floor had her sitting up to peer around the brocade hangings at the front of the bed. Hunter darted through her open door, caught the bedpost with one hand and leapt up onto the mattress.
She opened her arms, smiling even as she scolded. “Careful, Hunter. This is expensive antique furniture.”
Always quiet, he burrowed into her warm embrace without comment, sighing with contentment. She loved those happy little sounds that he made; they healed the wounds in her heart that his frightened squeaks and shivers inflicted.
He tilted his head back, asking solemnly, “When do we eat?”
She laughed. “As soon as we’re dressed, we’ll go downstairs and see what we can find.” She’d bought groceries at Abby’s, but she didn’t think the Chatams would appreciate that, and she’d feel foolish offering it.
He ran away. She knew he’d stuff his pajamas into a corner of his suitcase and put on the clothing that she’d laid out the evening before.
“Your toothbrush is in here,” she called. She’d prefer that he didn’t use the bath off his bedroom for fear that he’d break something precious.
He returned mere minutes later, allowing her just enough time to change clothes and twist up her hair. After they brushed their teeth, they wandered hand-in-hand across the broad landing and down the grand staircase. It was like something out of a movie, that staircase, all gold marble and dark, glossy wood overhung by a spectacular crystal chandelier anchored to an amazing sky-blue ceiling painted with wafting feathers, ethereal clouds and sparkling sunshine. Hunter could barely walk for gazing upward.
They passed no one as they turned around the newel post and moved down a long hallway that flanked one side of the staircase, only to wind up in a bright sunroom overflowing with wicker and tropical prints. Retracing their steps, they went in the other direction and down the hall that passed by the parlor where their hostesses had gathered the previous night. This time, they found themselves in a darker back hall. The sounds of clanking pots and clinking dishes prompted Jessa to push through a tall swinging door and into the warm, redolent kitchen. Her gaze darted about the amazing room, noting delightful features: a huge fireplace, shuttered windows open to the morning sun, stainless-steel worktables and a massive range.
A large woman with straight hair cropped just below her ears turned from the stove, a spatula in hand. She wore a loose, shapeless dress of brightly flowered fabric under her apron. “The Pagetts, I reckon,” she said expressionlessly.
“Yes. He’s Hunter, and I’m Jessa.”
“Early risers,” the woman announced. “I like early risers. I’m Hilda, the cook. Chester, the houseman, is my husband, and my sister Carol’s the maid.” She waved the spatula at a small, charmingly battered table. “Take a seat. Unless you’d prefer
