Free The Taste of Lavender by Emma Shane Page B

make my home more presentable.
    I checked the time, like I had done for
the past two hours and hurried to the living room window. Just as I thought, I
could see my neighbor leaving her front porch. I mentally cursed and sprinted
to the mirror over the mantle. I did my best thirty-second smoothing of my run
away locks, straightened my blouse and pulled in a few cleansing breathes.
    I had no idea why I was so worked up
over a simple brunch, but ever since we'd made the date a week earlier I had
been on edge and distracted. I just wanted everything to be perfect. I finally
had a friend.
    As lame as that sounded, it meant more
to me than anything had in a long while. I'd been a loner most of my life and
had lost contact with most of the people I'd been close with. But Maribel was
different. We connected on some wacky, cosmic level. The thought of losing that
connection sent me into a tizzy. Just like it was doing at that moment.
    A knock sounded from the door. I turned
from the mirror to see Maribel smiling at me through the warped antique glass.
Even when she looked like something Van Gogh would have painted, she was still
stunning.
    I pulled open the door, attempting to
wear an easy smile, but my skin felt tight like I was wearing an avocado mask.
"Right on time!"
    "It's a first, I assure you."
she joked. "I am not known for my punctuality, you see.”
    We laughed together as she came into the
house. I closed the door and without thinking, I locked it. Why did I do that?
It must have been a force of habit and I found a new reason for the adrenaline
to course through my veins. Had she noticed? Did she think I was a
psycho-stalker trying to lure her into my lair?
    Ye Gods, I was losing it.
    "I brought some scones,"
Maribel held out a basket covered in a floral towel. "I wasn't sure what
you'd like so I went with my favorites instead."
    Trying to pull myself together, I leaned
over the basket and inhaled the baked goodness."Mmmm. Lemons? Some sort of
berry?"
    "Lemon Poppy seed and cream-filled
Raspberry." Maribel uncovered the pastries while nodding.
    My stomach growled audibly and a flush
colored my cheeks. "Come on, I've got tea waiting in the sun room."
    Maribel followed me through the kitchen
and into the converted back porch. A few years earlier we'd closed it in with multiple
banks of windows. Now it served as my space to relax and read. And have brunch
with my exotic neighbor.
    "What a lovely space!" she
said gesturing to the white-washed wrought iron table and then over to the
seating area; with its overstuffed white couch and colorful throw pillows.
"The light, the colors! It's so inviting. So you!"
    "Thank you. It's the one room that
feels right to me. That sounds silly, I know." I blushed yet again, and
found myself wondering how many times I could do that without having permanent
rosy cheeks?
    Maribel took a seat at the bistro table
and motioned for me to join her. I hesitated briefly. I really wanted to sit
right beside her. Maribel was that kind of woman- she exuded her own
gravitational pull. Instead I sat down directly across the table from her.
    "Nonsense," she replied.
"I know exactly what you mean. Every woman needs a room of her own to
allow her true self time to just be. And this is your room; every inch your
reflection."
    I shook my head instinctively. I wanted
her to go on, to describe what the room said about me. But part of me was
scared that all she'd see was a scatterbrained housewife with an average
intellect, zero creativity and a painfully boring life.
    "Yes, it is true." She poured
herself a glass of tea and I mentally kicked myself for forgetting my manners.
"In this room I see a creative, lovely soul who appreciates beauty in all
its forms."
    My face must have been bright red. I had
no idea exactly what she'd meant, but whatever it was made me feel all fuzzy
regardless. I decided to change the subject. "So, how's the book
coming?"
    She leaned back lazily. "Oh, you
know. It goes. Slowly, as the