She rifled down through the clothes until her hands hit something solid, and she pulled out a rectangular red box, about the size of a shirt box, only deeper, and tied with curled, sparkly red ribbon. “This must be the one.”
“Your birthday?” He leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms, looking fabulous while he did so.
“No. Just my mother being nice, I guess. But you probably don’t want to stand around watching me open gifts from my mother.”
“I don’t mind spending time with you.”
“Okay, but it might be pretty silly. She gives gifts like no one else. Last Christmas, she gave me and my brother toy pirate swords, complete with clanking and swishing sound effects.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Actually, it was. We had sword fights for days.”
Untying the ribbon, she pushed it out of the way. Next she lifted the bright red lid . . . and froze.
“What is it?” Travis asked, stepping closer in curiosity.
“My screenplay.” Her mother had sent it—despite the fact that Lori had told her she didn’t want to work on it, despite the fact
that she’d wanted a break from her writing, despite the fact that she’d stuck it in an old ugly box and hidden it under her bed in her mother’s house. Despite all that, her mother had found it and wrapped it gaily and sent it anyway.
“I’m impressed. I didn’t know you wrote screenplays.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.”
Travis smiled. “Maybe you’ll go back to it.”
“Maybe.” But not for the next three months, during which she’d keep the box under her new bed and only write Charles’s vegetable gardening column.
That meant she couldn’t let anything else get in the way of talking with Agatha. She really hoped the older woman had some wisdom to offer her because Lori was fresh out.
She looked at Travis and smiled. “Sorry. Listen, I’ve got some stuff to do. Can we talk later?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned again as he headed for the door. “I look forward to cashing in that rain check.”
~
“Actually,” said Agatha, “Brigham City isn’t the edge of the earth—but you can see it from here.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“So are you all settled in?” Agatha set a plate of delicious-
smelling, still-warm homemade cookies on the kitchen table in front of Lori, along with two glasses of milk, and sat down beside her.
The combined kitchen and eating area was filled with chrome from the fifties, completely unlike the Laura Ashley flowered cushions and wicker furniture in the living room. But, like Charles’s kitchen, it was delightful and fit the older woman and her apron perfectly.
Lori’s mouth watered at the delectable scent of chocolate chip cookies and she picked one up. “Almost. I’m still unpacking.”
“And entertaining firemen.” Agatha smiled. “Did they fix your barbeque?”
“So . . . you saw them.” The adrenaline rush caused by the flames was a vivid memory even two days later. “The fire was caused by a spider in the pipes, of all things.”
“In the venturi tubes. I’ve read about that.” Agatha nodded as she picked up a cookie and took a sip of her milk.
Lori tilted her head in amazement. “That’s right. How did you know the name of the tubes?”
“Oh, sweetie, I am a font of useless information.” She waved her half-eaten cookie for emphasis. “Just call me the Trivia Queen. Go on, ask me something.”
Lori supposed it was too soon to throw out the gardening questions that had brought her over, so she searched her mind for a piece of obscure information. “What was the first thing Thomas Edison recorded on his new invention, the phonograph?”
“Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Agatha nodded. “Not that I attended the actual event, you understand.”
“Oh, I know.”
Agatha laughed. “That was a joke, sweetie.”
The older woman might speak more slowly than New Yorkers did, as everyone did here in Utah, but her mind certainly hadn’t slowed down. Lori gave up fighting the temptation, and took a bite of her cookie. “These are delicious.”
They spent a quiet moment savoring the rich flavors of a warm-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookie.
“So, have you met any nice men yet?”
Lori couldn’t help but smile. “Well, two of the firefighters asked me out.”
“I knew you’d be swamped with men in no time at all. Which one are you going out with?”
Lori smiled again as she remembered. “John Wayne Walker.”
“Fine name. Fine family, too. I know his father. I read in the paper that Deputy Fire Chief Walker retired a month or so ago.”
Amazed again, Lori said, “Do you know everything that goes on in Brigham City?”
“Oh, dear, no. Brigham City has gotten far too large for that.”
Large? Ha! Compared to Manhattan, Brigham City was practically a village. No, that was too big. A hamlet. Even compared to Schenectady, it was still small. Hicksville perhaps was too strong a word, but Brigham City reeked of small-town quaintness.
“I have a hard enough time keeping track of my immediate neighbors. Take Charlie, for instance.” Agatha rolled her eyes. “Though perhaps he’s a bad example. I mean, can’t you just tell from looking around his house that he’s a reprobate?”
“A dinosaur, maybe.” Lori chuckled. “It’s obvious he chose his furnishings a long time ago.”
Agatha laughed and tapped Lori’s arm. “You aren’t just whistling Dixie on that one, sweetie. Charlie is a cutie, though, that’s for sure. I’ve always thought he was a looker.”
“I didn’t see any pictures of him. Well, other than at the top of his columns.” Lori thought he was okay-looking, but nothing special.
“Oh, that one’s ten years old, at least. To my knowledge he hasn’t added a single personal touch to the house since his mother died two decades ago. All the decorations are Relief Society craft projects his mother—or his grandmother—made.”
“My favorites are the grapes.”
“Ha. I say give me just one hour in that house and I could fix it right up.” Agatha’s eyes sparkled with humor and mischief.
Lori fought a smile. Agatha’s home wasn’t much more modern, but she could at least add a feminine touch.
“Not that he’d ever let anyone in to change things, though. For a fancy-dancy newspaper columnist, he’s a regular stick-in-the-mud.”
Lori couldn’t have asked for a better segue into her gardening questions. She hoped. “So what would you change in his garden?”
“Oh, his garden is in excellent shape. That’s one place Charlie’s hard to surpass. Even for me.”
“He asked me to harvest his zucchini.”
“I’m not surprised.” Agatha narrowed her eyes. “I’m not surprised Charlie has let you stay in his home, either. Or let you drive his beloved eyesore of a vehicle. Gives a horrible meaning to the word hybrid, doesn’t it?” Agatha laughed. “He must trust you a great deal.”
“I don’t know about that. But he’s asked me to write his gardening column while he’s gone, and I needed a place to stay while I’m here.”
“Why, I am impressed. Another fancy-dancy newspaper columnist next door, only you are definitely no stick-in-the-mud. Tell me all about what else you’ve written.”
This lady didn’t miss a beat, but Lori didn’t want to talk about her play. “Oh, nothing special.”
“Young lady,” Agatha said, wagging a finger in her direction, “Charlie would never have hired you unless you were both a top-notch gardener and a first-class writer. So I know you’ve written something impressive, and I’m hoping you’ll share with me what that is.” She waited expec
tantly.
Well, what would it hurt to tell her? Lori sighed. “I recently wrote a play that made it to Broadway.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened. “How exciting.”
“It flopped one week later.”
Agatha winced. “Oh, that must have hurt.”
“It did.” Lori worked to keep the self-pity from her voice; she almost succeeded.
“So you needed a break and that’s why you came to Utah?”
Could this woman read her mind? But somehow it didn’t bother Lori. Despite her initial reluctance to meet Dobson’s neighbors, Lori liked Agatha. “Yes, I did need a break. Both from writing and from men.”
“But you accepted a date with John Walker.”
“I know. Don’t ask me why, because I’m not sure. But it’s certainly not going to become a relationship.”
“Ah, I suspect we’ll need more time than we’ve got today to hear that part of the story.”
“That part of the story is over.”
“Even more intriguing.” Agatha smiled and took a sip of milk. “We’ll save it for our next visit.”
Lori had no doubt Agatha could weasel the story from her. If only Lori could weasel some gardening answers out of Agatha first. “I’m wondering when you usually harvest your vegetables. Just to compare notes.”
“Oh, the usual time, sweetie.”
Well, that was helpful. “It’s just that I don’t know if the Utah harvest comes in at a different time from New York’s.”
“In about two weeks, we’ll have more zucchini than we can shake a stick at. When do you harvest back east?”
“About the same.” Lori tried for a casual tone of voice.
Agatha squinted her eyes in concentration. “The frost usually hits here a few weeks earlier than in the Salt Lake area. Except this year has been warmer than normal, so I’m hoping for a longer harvest time.”
“What do you do with all the zucchini after you harvest them? Other than the usual, I mean.”
“The usual being baking them into every type of recipe imaginable, including cookies and cakes, as well as freezing them?” Agatha shrugged and grabbed another cookie. “Mostly I give them to neighbors and let them worry about it.”
This wasn’t working. Maybe Lori could look through the questions from Charles’s readers and then just periodically ask Agatha the questions outright. Except that this woman probably read each column and Lori would only get away with it once. She’d better make it more official. “I wonder if I could do an interview with you about your garden for Charles’s column.”
Agatha chuckled. “An interview, huh? I’d be glad to, but I’m not sure Charlie would like that.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, he just thinks I don’t know much, that’s all. But he’s wrong.”
This was the moment of truth. “Well, would you be willing to answer a few questions for some of his readers?”
Lori waited to see how Agatha took the question.
“I think you’d be much more qualified to do that than I am, my dear.”
“I’m not so sure,” she let slip out, then glanced at Agatha to see if her dejected tone of voice had given too much away. “I mean, I do know gardening. I’m looking forward to doing the column.”
“I have a strange feeling about that.”
Lori tried to think of something to say, but before she could, the corners of Agatha’s mouth quirked up and then the older woman was laughing, a good old-fashioned belly laugh. “You mean to tell me Charlie left his beloved column to somebody who doesn’t know a darn thing about gardening? Oh, that is too precious for words.”
Lori’s cheeks flamed and she stuttered out some sort of silly defense. “I’m a good journalist. Really.”
Agatha raised her hand and struggled to stop laughing. “I’m sure you are, sweetie.”
As her laughter slowed to a more hiccupy sound, Agatha said, “Don’t mind me. It’s just that, well, you can’t possibly know how much I’m enjoying this. You’re like a breath of fresh air and, heaven only knows, Charlie’s house needs a good airing out. So does Charlie, for that matter.”
Afraid Agatha would reveal Lori’s ignorance to everyone, she said, “You won’t tell him, will you? Or the paper?”
“Heavens, no. This is just too wonderful for words. I would never breathe a word of it to him. Or anyone else, either.” She grabbed a tissue and wiped the moisture from her eyes. “My dear, you have lightened my day. Now don’t you worry about a thing. Your secret is safe with me. And if you need help—any help at all—you be sure to ask me.”
Embarrassed at being exposed as the gardening ignoramus she really was, Lori could only hope Agatha would keep her word.
Still chuckling, Agatha took a deep breath to compose herself. “I would love to tell you how to harvest Charlie’s vegetables. And to answer some of your other questions.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it so much.”
“On one condition.”
Lori waited, willing to trade her beloved Jimmy Choo sling backs for some help at this point. Well, maybe not those.
“I’m a member of the Spade and Hope Garden Club. You’ve missed the annual garden tour, but the annual potluck is coming up, and we’re allowed to bring a friend. You must come with me. Because anything I’ve forgotten about vegetable gardening, those ladies will probably remember. You can ask them all sorts of questions.”
Relieved, Lori said, “I’d love to go.”
Chapter Seven
Though Lori had only met John a few days before and this was their first date, she clung to him more and more frantically the higher they were hoisted. Then, with a heart-cringing lurch, they stopped. She had no idea how high they were, but it sure looked to her that they were higher than any of the other rides.
“Should I pull the cord?” asked John, grinning at her like he was having the time of his life. He was on her right; he’d paid extra so that it was just the two of them in the giant swing rather than the three it could accommodate.
They’d been pulled high into the sky, in a harness that, when John pulled the cord, would swing down low and back up in a huge arc, and then back down in a death-defying, stomach-dropping, scream-inducing swing. What had she been thinking?
“I’ve changed my mind!” She looked out over the amusement park with a moment of sincere regret. The Ferris wheel had looked so tall from the ground, but she couldn’t even see it now for the trees. Why hadn’t she agreed to ride the Ferris wheel instead?
He said, quite casually, “Does it bother you to think that the people who clipped us into this equipment are making minimum wage?”
Lori groaned. “Stop.”
He reached for the cord.
“Wait! I’m not ready!”
He teased, “Are you sure you don’t want to just get it over with?”
She drew in a deep breath and clutched the jacket. “Okay, go for it.”
“Yee-haw!” John yelled as he pulled the cord that sent them hurtling in free fall toward the ground.
They dropped down, down, down.
As they flew toward the people on the ground, adrenaline flashed through Lori and she screamed.
Beside her, John laughed.
The giant swing smoothly arced up, rocketing them forward.
Between screams, Lori began to laugh—until their momentum carried them up the other side and they began to slow. “Oh, no! We’re going to drop again.”
And they did. And, sure enough, Lori screamed again.
It took long moments and several passes over the watching, laughing, pointing crowd below for the swing to lose enough
momentum so that the minimum-wage Lagoon employees could pull them back down to the stand where they had climbed into the swing to begin with.
Legs shaking, Lori began to shed the equipment. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.”
As John stepped out of his safety vest, he grinned. “Wanna go again?”
“Absolutely not! It was horrible!” But she was laughing as she said it.
Grinning, he took her hand, and she let him lead her down into the crowd. With her heart still pounding faster than a rock band’s drummer, she was glad for the reassuring warmth of his hand. Normally, she’d have pulled her hand back almost immediately, if she’d even taken his to begin with, but being scared out of her gourd had a way of lessening her inhibitions.
Had he planned it this way? She didn’t think so. There was something sweet and disarming about John, not planned or contrived. Nope, he was just a nice guy, and she was a gal with a racing heart who was overthinking things again.
He checked his watch. “It’s nearly four. We’d better head over to the pavilion or we’ll miss out on the food. And you do not want to miss my mother’s brownies. Or the Colonel’s chicken and coleslaw.”
As they walked in silence, Lori thought about how her expectations for the day had been exceeded. So far the date had been pleasantly—even surprisingly—enjoyable. John had picked her up at Charles’s home at ten, and they’d driven nearly an hour down to some small town, where he’d taken her to a Chinese restaurant for an early lunch before driving to Lagoon. Since they’d entered the park, he’d purchased cotton candy, popcorn, and a cherry snow cone for her.
Now she was growing more curious about the family she’d be meeting in mere minutes. And a little nervous. How weird was it to be meeting a guy’s family on your first date? After all, she’d dated Nicholas for more than a year without ever meeting his parents. Things were definitely different here in Utah.
It might be awkward for a few moments, but she’d never see these people again in her life, so how bad could it be?
She’d enjoyed John’s company so far, and she hoped his parents would be as easygoing as he was. “How much of your family will be here today?”
“My three brothers, their wives and kids, and my parents. Oh, and my best friend Travis, whom you’ve already met. And my other best friend Quinn and his wife and their two kids. That’s it.”
How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini Page 7
