The Bride Next Door. Winnie Griggs

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СКАЧАТЬ ten-thirty, he caught the whiff of a mouthwatering aroma drifting down from his kitchen. Thirty minutes later, the aromas began to tease and tantalize his senses in earnest. Perhaps she really was as good a cook as she claimed to be.

      When Everett finally got a break, just before noon, he considered heading upstairs to check on Daisy. She hadn’t left the kitchen all morning, and he wanted to assure himself she was handling things appropriately.

      But his door opened once more and Hazel Andrews, the very prim woman who owned the dress shop, marched in with her usual brisk, no-nonsense air. “Good morning, Mr. Fulton.”

      “Miss Andrews.” He waved her into a seat, then took his own. “What can I do for you?”

      She sat poker straight in her chair, but her smile, while small, seemed genuine enough. “I was at the train station dropping off a package to ship to my sister,” she said, “when Lionel told me he had a letter for you. I offered to deliver it since I had business with you, anyway.”

      Everett accepted the letter and placed it on his desk with barely a glance. “What kind of business?”

      The seamstress looked pointedly at the letter. “I don’t mind waiting if you’d like to read your letter first.”

      “I’ll read it later.” He could tell it was from his sister, and he’d prefer to save it for a time when he could read it alone to savor it.

      Miss Andrews nodded. “On to business, then. I’m planning to run a sale on my dressmaking services next week. I’d like to buy an advertisement in the paper to announce it.”

      Everett opened his notebook and reached for a pencil. He was always happy to sell advertisements. “I can certainly accommodate you. What size were you thinking of?”

      Once they’d discussed the particulars of the advertisement, Miss Andrews sat back, apparently ready for some casual conversation. “I hear you’ve hired your new neighbor to cook for you.”

      So even the straightlaced seamstress was interested in the town’s newest citizen. Everett closed his notebook and nodded. “That’s right. She needed the work, and I was tired of eating my own cooking.”

      His visitor nodded approval. “Sounds like a practical arrangement.” Then she changed the subject. “It’ll be good to see that place next door all fixed up again. Any idea what Miss Johnson plans to do with the place?”

      Everett repeated the same answer he’d given to everyone else this morning. “She mentioned plans to open a restaurant in the interview you’ll find in today’s newspaper. Other than that, you’ll have to ask her.”

      She lifted her head and sniffed delicately. “I must say, if that aroma is from whatever Miss Johnson is preparing for you, she would likely do quite well as a restaurant cook.”

      The pesky creak that signaled someone was on the stairs sounded, and they both turned toward it.

      “Mr. Fulton, I—” Daisy looked toward his visitor and paused. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

      Everett and Miss Andrews both stood.

      “Miss Johnson.” The dressmaker stepped forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hazel Andrews, owner of the dress shop down the street.”

      “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’ve walked by your place a few times. From what I can see through your shop window, you do beautiful work.”

      “Why, thank you.” The seamstress studied Daisy with a critical eye. “If you’d like to come in for a fitting, I’d be glad to set up an appointment for you.”

      “Thank you for the offer,” Daisy said with an apologetic smile. “As tempting as it sounds, I’m afraid purchasing new clothes is going to have to wait until I’ve taken care of other, more pressing matters.”

      The dressmaker tightened the strings to her handbag and nodded. “I understand.” She gave Daisy a head-to-toe look. “Just keep in mind that appearances set the tone for a business relationship as well as a personal one.”

      Everett stiffened. Her tone had been friendly enough, but the words carried a barb. Had Daisy felt it?

      Then Miss Andrews turned back to him. “I assume I can look for the advertisement to run in the next issue of the Gazette.”

      “Of course.” Everett still had his mind on how her words might have affected Daisy as he gave her a short bow of dismissal. “And thank you for delivering the letter.”

      Once the door closed behind the dressmaker, Everett turned to Daisy. He still didn’t detect any hint of distress or affront in her expression. Perhaps he’d overreacted. “Was there something you needed?”

      She blinked, as if just remembering her errand. “Yes, of course. I wanted to tell you your meal is ready to be served. But there’s no need to rush upstairs if you’re busy. I’ll just keep it warm until you’re ready for it.”

      “Thank you. I’ll join you there in a moment.”

      He waited until she had started up the stairs to open his letter, smiling in anticipation. Abigail’s letters reflected her personality—they were chatty, exuberant and overly dramatic. He unfolded the missive and leaned back in his chair, prepared to be entertained.

      * * *

      Daisy set the table for the two of them and then ladled the stew into a serving bowl.

      Had Miss Andrews offered to make her an appointment just to drum up business? Or did she think Daisy’s clothing was really that awful? Daisy hadn’t wasted time worrying about her wardrobe since she’d left her grandmother’s. Function was what mattered, and the pieces she had—this skirt, two shirtwaists and her Sunday dress—had that going for them.

      In fact, one of the things she’d disliked about living in her grandmother’s home was the emphasis everyone placed on appearances. Daisy had vowed to leave all that behind her when she left there. Nowadays, as long as her clothing was serviceable and modest, she didn’t give it much deeper consideration.

      But Miss Andrews’s words had given her pause. She was planning to be a businesswoman now. Perhaps it was time she gave such things a little more consideration.

      Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Everett on the stairs.

      “It smells good,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

      Her mood lightened at his praise. “Thanks.” Then she felt the need to give a disclaimer. “I’m afraid the bread is a bit scorched, though. It may take me a couple of tries to get a feel for your oven.”

      “I daresay you’re right. But I’m sure the rest of the meal will be fine.”

      Coming from him, she supposed that was praise of a sort. Daisy placed the stew and bread platter on the table. “I have apple pie for dessert. And I’m pleased to say it hardly got scorched at all.”

      He took his seat without comment, and she sat across from him.

      When he reached for the bread platter, however, she cleared her throat. “Would СКАЧАТЬ