Page 45 of A Tempting Seduction

Their living room smelled like lavender and vanilla, just like always. Miss Gladiola settled into her favorite armchair while I followed Little Grandma into the kitchen and looked at her little pots of herbs growing at her window over her sink.

“These are doing really well,” I praised.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did you have breakfast?” Little Grandma asked with a keen eye.

I glanced at the clock over her stove just as my stomach growled. “I had tea and half a croissant while we were playing cards…”

“That's not filling! You go sit in the living room while I make you a proper meal.”

“You don't have to⁠—”

“Hush. I'm making chicken salad sandwiches, and you're going to eat one whether you like it or not.”

Miss Gladiola chuckled from the other room. “Don't bother arguing with her, dear. You'll lose,” she called out.

Fifteen minutes later, I bit into what might have been the best chicken salad sandwich of my life. The chicken was tender and perfectly seasoned, mixed with crisp celery, sweet grapes, and just enough mayonnaise to hold everything together.

“This is incredible,” I said around a bite. “What's your secret?”

“Fresh herbs and a little bit of lemon zest,” Little Grandma said, settling back into her chair with her own sandwich. “Plus, I always toast the bread. Makes all the difference.”

“I need this recipe,” I said. “Thank you again for all those letters, by the way. Along with my mother's journals, I feel like I almost have her with me when I read them.”

Miss Gladiola's sandwich paused halfway to her mouth. “Journals? What journals?”

“My mother kept journals for years,” I explained. “She wrote about everything. Her thoughts, her feelings, recipes she wanted to try. I brought them with me when I moved to Jasper Creek.”

“Recipes?” Miss Gladiola's eyes sharpened with interest. “I'd love to read them. Your mother always was creative in the kitchen, even as a young girl.”

“Really? The letters mentioned that she loved to cook, but I didn't realize it went back that far.”

“Oh yes,” Little Grandma said. “Edith was always experimenting with new dishes. She'd stay over with Gladdie during the summer months and spend hours in the kitchen, learning family recipes and inventing new ones.”

Miss Gladiola leaned forward in her chair. “Would you mind if I took a look at those journals? I'd love to see what recipes she collected over the years.”

“Of course,” I said. “I'll bring them over tomorrow. You might recognize some of the dishes she wrote about.”

“I'd like that very much,” Miss Gladiola said softly. “It would be like having a little piece of her back.”

I finished my sandwich and was reaching for my purse when Little Grandma fixed me with that look that meant serious business was about to be discussed.

“Now then,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Tell us about Ford Larson.”

The heat that had been threatening my cheeks all afternoon finally made its grand entrance. “What about Ford?”

“Don't play coy with us, missy,” Miss Gladiola said. “The whole town's talking about you two. Three dates in two weeks? That boy's smitten.”

“Three dates?” Little Grandma's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “Do tell.”

I sighed and settled back onto the couch. There was no escaping this conversation.

“The first one was dinner at the River Stone House in Gatlinburg,” I began. “It's this beautiful restaurant overlooking the river. Ford brought me wildflowers and opened doors and was a complete gentleman.”

“Good,” Miss Gladiola said with approval. “What about the second date?”