She stood, hands on hips, awaiting his evaluation. “Your French toast is perfect,” Trent declared. “The best ever.” “It’s not too dark, is it? Shall I make you another batch?” “You won’t get this batch away from me, Rosa. Unless you hold a gun to my head.” He swirled a bite in the warm maple syrup and stuck it in his mouth. “Mmm.” Finally his obsessive-compulsive housekeeper seemed satisfied. “Now you remember that I’m going to my sister Ava’s in Clinton this morning,” she said. “How could I forget? You’ve reminded me every day for a week.” “Ava’s the hostess for her bridge club and wants me to help. I’ll be spending the night.” “Great. Have a wonderful time.” “Can you get your own meals today and tomorrow?” She eyed him skeptically, as if he were the classroom dunce. “Stop fussing. Of course I can get my meals.” Rosa took off her apron. “Well, if you’re sure.” “Positive. See you on Wednesday.” When she reached the door, she turned back.
