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Tyler had no problem believing what she'd told the girls, that even her hair held magic.
The white strands were scattered down her back and over one shoulder, brushing her forearm. He wanted to wrap himself up in them, in her, tangling them together until there was no way to unknot them again.
"It's a Ceylon," Marguerite said at last. "You've added an Assam, just a touch. . . and rose, I think. " She took another sip, then her expression cleared. "You've also added a fruit. Peach, I believe. "
He shook his head. "You're uncanny. I've never seen more discerning taste buds.
Do you like it?"
"I do. "
"Can you guess the color of the rose I brought you today?"
Her eyes warmed upon him. "You know I can't do that. It's beyond even my powers. "
"I don't think anything is beyond you, Miss Perruquet. " He put the basket on the table and removed the light linen cloth covering them. On top of the carefully arranged group of cut flowers was a yellow rose, the bud not quite open. He extended it to her.
"Here you are. "
Accepting it with a gracious nod, she rose. "I'll get your check and a bud vase for this. "
When she vanished behind the kitchen door, Mr. Reynolds turned his chair, scraping it along the floor, squaring himself with Tyler. For the second time that day Tyler found himself being shrewdly assessed by a protective friend. She was well-fortressed, he reflected. Within and without. Pushing aside the organizer, he gave the man his full attention.
"You know, it doesn't matter what I mix. She guesses it dead-on, every ingredient, every time. None of this, 'I think' or 'I can't quite get that'. Until today. " Tyler met the man's penetrating look. "Was what she told you accurate?"
"Missed the fruit by a mile. It's a mango. "
"Shouldn't you tell her?"
"She'll figure it out herself and call me to find out why I didn't tell her right off. I figured she was flustered enough, though. Just like I figure you're the reason. "
"I think Marguerite is accustomed to having admirers. " Tyler indicated the basket of flowers. Mr. Reynolds shook his head.
"It's not me making her forget her good sense. I assume you have enough to keep her out of trouble until she remembers it. "
"Yes, sir. " Tyler provided the only acceptable answer under the man's expectant look.
"If I was thirty years younger, I'd squash you like a bug on my way to her, son. " Tyler inclined his head. "You could try. " Mr. Reynolds chuckled and Tyler relented with rueful smile. "In truth, I'd say I've already been flattened. She just spent the last half-hour with you, totally ignoring me. "
"Ah, son. You're old enough to know women. It's the ones they pretend to ignore that they want the most. That's the way their evil minds work. I don't think that flush in her cheeks is because of me, though for one delusional moment I enjoyed thinking it might be. "
Marguerite returned with a check and a suspicious glance between the men.
"Just talking with your fancy-looking busboy here," Mr. Reynolds explained, rising.
"He does more talking than working. I'm afraid his career here is short-lived. " The old man snorted. "That's what my wife said about me. But she kept me around for about fifty years. "
Marguerite picked up the tea he'd offered her, took another sip, frowning. "Mr. Reynolds, this. . . I think I was off - "
"You were," he admitted. "And you were quicker to realize it than I expected. " He sent Tyler a significant look. "It's been my experience that women lose their good sense only in temporary spurts. But they can make a man lose his mind forever. " He turned his bright eyes back to a nonplused Marguerite. "You call me when you figure it out, M
iss M, if you want. But don't fret about it. Some of my best days came when I couldn't figure out the answer to anything. I'll pick up the basket next trip. " He collected his thermos and cup, made his goodbyes. Marguerite saw him to the front door and waved him to his car. As she watched him drive off, Tyler studied her from his table. The set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head that said she was thinking.
The yellow rose sat in its vase on the table, alone, perfect. In a day or two, with the magic that was beyond human comprehension, it would begin to open. Minute by minute it would show a hundred different faces of beauty, inspiring wonder in anyone paying close enough attention to appreciate it.
"Tables all done, boss," he said lightly.
She turned on her heel halfway toward him. The sunlight filtering onto the porch limned the outline of her slender figure. His attention covered all that and more. The length of her forearm, the silver glint of her hair.
