Page 8 of A Tempting Seduction

“Ruby, dear!” Violet's voice carried through the door before she opened it. Despite being in her eighties, Violet moved with surprising grace, her silver hair pinned back in an elegant bun. “Right on time.”

Luther sat in his favorite armchair by the window, a half-finished crossword puzzle in his lap. If he was doing a crossword puzzle, that meant he was having a good day. His blue eyes lit up when he saw me.

“The coffee girl,” he said with genuine warmth. “You brought treats. Are you making your rounds?”

Dang, he called me the coffee girl instead of Ruby, that meant he wasn’t having as good of a day as I had originally thought. I sighed. Violet caught it and shrugged her shoulders.

“Croissants, lemon bars and some sugar cookies.” I whispered as I handed her the bakery boxes. “Roger says hello.”

Violet clapped her hands together. “Perfect timing. I just put the kettle on.”

“I like apple turnovers,” the old man grumbled.

“I’ll bring some next week,” I said with a bubbly smile.

“All right.” He looked back down at the crossword puzzle in his lap, but he didn’t pick up his pencil.

Their apartment always smelled like lavender and vanilla, a combination of Violet's perfume and the candles she loved to burn. Watercolor paintings covered nearly every wall, most of them Violet's work from before her arthritis made holding a brush difficult. Landscapes of the mountains, still lifes of flowers, portraits of Luther when his hair was dark and his smile easier to find.

“How’s Luther been doing this week?” I asked Violet as I followed her into the kitchenette.

“He’s had good days and bad days.”

“It’s true,” he called from the living room. “But I still remember the song my Violet sang on our first date.”

“What song was it?” I asked.

“'Blue Moon.” His voice softened. “She had the prettiest voice you ever heard. Still does, when she thinks I'm not listening.” It was disconcerting how he slid in and out of his spells, but I’d mostly learned to roll with it. Violet was an expert, and it didn’t seem to bother her at all.

Violet gathered everything for the tea tray, her cheeks pink with pleasure. “Luther Randolph, you old charmer.”

“Will you sing for me?” Luther asked quietly, his eyes soft.

She set down the tea tray, then went over to Luther and cupped his cheek. “Tonight, darling. Tonight, I’ll sing for you.”

I felt like a voyeur as I witnessed this moment of deep intimacy. A jealous voyeur. What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of love in my life.

She held out her hand and guided him to the love seat so that he could have tea as well. I sat in the chair beside them. We took a few minutes eating lemon bars and croissants and enjoying Violet's tea. Finally, I pulled my latest quilting project from my bag, a lap quilt in soft blues and greens that I'd been working on for weeks. “What do you think of the border pattern?” I asked Violet.

Violet set down her tea and examined my work with the critical eye of someone who'd been sewing since childhood. “Beautiful stitching, dear. The colors remind me of the pond behind our old cabin.”

“The one with the tire swing,” Luther added suddenly, his face brightening with a clear memory. “You loved that swing.”

“Still do.” Violet poured him another cup of tea, her movements careful but steady. “Ruby, you're getting better every week. Dorothy must be proud.”

“She's a good teacher. Speaking of which, I need to leave for class in about twenty minutes.”

“I made some homemade ambrosia for you to take to Dorothy. Let me go get it.” Violet stood up and went to the fridge. When she opened the fridge, she sighed. “Darn it.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, the fridge has been on the fritz. The ambrosia still hasn’t set.”

“Have you called maintenance?”

“The maintenance man said he couldn't look at it until next week.”

I immediately stood up. “Let me call down to the front desk.”