Apples Should Be Red by Penny Watson

Author:Penny Watson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penny Watson
Published: 2014-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

“You sure are up early.” Tom narrowed his eyes as Beverly nibbled on her morning toast. “I heard you take the car out. Where’d you go?”

Beverly tried to paste an innocent expression on her face. Tom slid a cigarette out of his pack and added hot water to the coffee grinds.

“Is that your breakfast every day? Coffee and cigarettes?”

“Yep. Breakfast of champions.” His look dared her to comment.

She stayed silent and sipped her tea.

“So where’d you go?”

Bev cleared her throat. “I have a little project I’m going to be working on this morning. Then I’ll start cooking this afternoon.”

“Project? What sort of project?”

“Just something I think you’ll like. In spite of yourself.”

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean? What are you planning, Beverly?”

She carried her dirty dishes to the sink. “Something to brighten up the front of your property. Make it look more welcoming and improve your curb appeal. Not scare off the new neighbors.”

His cigarette almost fell out of his mouth. “Are you kidding me? What is this? A new reality TV show for HGTV? Fix up the old geezer’s house? No thank you.”

“I’ll do all the work myself. I got delphinium and English daisies, some baskets of pansies for the porch. Compost…”

“Compost! I have enough compost in the back to fertilize the whole fucking state of California. You didn’t need to get any compost.”

Beverly folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I didn’t think of that. I wanted to make sure I got everything I needed at the farm stand down the street. It’s very sweet.”

“I know it’s sweet. But hell. I’m not interested in a home fucking makeover.” He backed her up into the counter and scowled. “I’ve had just about enough of your helpful hints and suggestions and—”

Beverly saw a host of emotions on Tom’s face. Anger. Irritation. And buried deep within his icy blue eyes, she saw just the slightest hint of curiosity. He might rail and yell and throw a fit, but down deep he was ready for a change.

Baby steps.

“Well. I’ll tell you what. You can sit on the porch.” She paused. “The stoop, I mean, and watch me work. Heckle me if you want to. Sip a lemonade while I do all the work. And when I’m done, if you hate it, you can rip the whole thing up and throw it in the compost pile.”

Tom bracketed her with his arms on the counter. Now she was trapped. He leaned closer and stared at her mouth.

She was sure this was his idea of intimidation, but he had no idea how stubborn she could be. And this morning when she woke up—listening to the crows cawing on the telephone wires—she had a vision. Of his front porch looking sweet and lovely and welcoming.

And no matter how much he fought her, she was going to make that vision a reality.

“Me sit on the stoop and watch you sweat it out. There’s a thought.”

“See? You’ll enjoy it.”

He grunted. “You are the biggest pain-in-the-ass busybody I have ever goddamned met in my life.

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