The Warlock brings out a bottle of Shiraz—it’s dusty, older than I am—and pours two glasses. “Lazlo’s having an illegal amount of fun cooking for you.”
I sip the wine. It’s fantastic, of course. He must have a stash hidden in some pocket of the farmhouse. I need to findthat. “I reject the idea fun can be illegal.”
“A twenty-year-old me would have agreed. The Eldercraft… not so much.” He hesitates. “I wanted to apologize in a way that would mean something to you. Anything less would be insincere. You came here to do your job and I haven’t made it easy.”
The basil bouquet, the wine, the tablecloth. Two candles flicker between us. Two! Did he really go to all this trouble to saysorry?
“I hope you didn’t find new clothes just for me. For dinner, I mean.”
“Don’t think me that industrious. Lazlo found these items at the back of my closet. You should be grateful I’m not in a waistcoat or a bow tie. Or both.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop a giggle. Really, what’s gotten into me? Have I been on so few dates recently, I’ve forgotten how to do this? But this isn’t a date. So it doesn’t matter.
“Probably for the best.” I give my best non-date shrug of indifference. “You don’t have the Adam’s apple for a bow tie.”
“I’ll have to burn my collection, then.”
I grin over the lip of my wineglass. “If it makes you feel better, I borrowed this dress from Ms. Zeen. All I had clean was a single apron and a pair of knee socks.”
He coughs roughly, sputtering. You’d think a wizened old Warlock could handle his vintage.
Just as he recovers, Lazlo appears with the appetizer. “Tomato and beet salad,right from the garden.” He levels A Look at the Warlock. “Hedidn’t want me to mention that part, but Ms. Zeen said he’s too modest.”
Then he scampers back to the other side of the kitchen.
Notjusttomatoes. Heirloom tomatoes and glistening beets, hues of rusty red and poppy orange and indigo purple, like a sun is setting across the sky of my plate. The first bite is pure sunshine. Simple. Maldon salt, young basil, balsamic vinegar, olive oil.
Half my dish is already gone when I stop to speak. “You are too humble. Ms. Zeen is right. But don’t tell her I said that.”
The pink tint on his cheeks is gone so quickly, I might’ve imagined it. “Ms. Zeen has an aversion to the disruption of any historically proven routine.”
“Something in the water around here, huh.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Twirling a beet in pooled olive oil, I add, “She told me you were a real helligan when you were younger.”
“Ms. Zeen is…” He stares hard at his tomatoes. “She’s a formidable and welcome force of good in the midst of my mistakes.”
“Her power comes from her cardigan sets.” Swear on my cast iron, I get the smallest smile out of him. It only makes me want another.
“I think she only wears those shoes of hers so I can hear her coming and won’t be startled,” he says. “I was too used to my own silence before she arrived.”
Jesus, and here I thought the place was awfully dead when I gothere. Before Ms. Zeen, he would’ve lived completely alone. For years. What must it have been like?
Incredibly lonely. That’s what. I try not to think about it.
The Warlock bites into a tomato as yellow as a Meyer lemon. “Ms. Zeen says you’re writing a book. Tell me about it.”
Oh, that woman. Shedoeslisten to me. But only to gather embarrassment fuel. “Ah, it’s not really abookbook.” I shrug so it feels less serious. “I’m just compiling cooking tips and life lessons courtesy of the Frost family, gems I don’t want to lose. And I wanted my favorite recipes in one place.”
He refills my glass. “That sounds like a real book to me.”
“My Momaw inspired the idea,” I say, perking up. “Her stories about growing up got me curious about food culture here. Like the connection between resources and wealth, culinary heritage. These small towns can’t guarantee passable roads, and even then, fresh goods can be tough to source and keep, refrigeration or not. Ironic, given the farms, but a lot of the farmland around here back then went to tobacco. So these hollers end up with cookbooks full of recipes dependent on canned items and what you grow yourself. Even my mom never saw an actual bulb of garlic growing up. It was only garlic powder…”
I stop. He’s watching me, silent. Not even eating.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble.”
