Small Town Cinderella. Caron Todd

      Had he heard anything she’d said? “You’re staring. Past eye color, past freckles, right down to DNA.”

      “Sorry. I guess I zoned out. Maybe it’s the drive.” He gave a quick, unconvincing smile. “Car lag.”

      It wasn’t the drive. “You must be worried about your aunt. Or great-aunt, I suppose. Has Daniel called to let you know how she’s doing?”

      “Not yet.”

      “I wouldn’t mind talking to him—”

      Matthew wasn’t listening. He lifted his hand to brush her cheek. “What a very nice woman you are.”

      Oh boy.

      She stood, casually she hoped, and moved off the rocks. Funny what one touch could do. All those questions about time and character vanished.

      She patted the bark of the tree closest to her. “This is a poplar. Good for firewood, not so good for building, because it tends to twist. Do you have poplars in Ontario?” Silly question. Of course they did.

      “Aspens.”

      “Oh, right, trembling aspens. I love that name. My mother told me it comes from the way the leaves are attached. There’s something unusual about the stem that makes them shake and flutter in the breeze.”

      He had the most intense eyes. They had been intense at Daniel’s the first day, especially when he heard her name. They had been intense yesterday while he stood with Treasure Island in his hand. They were intense now, in a way that confused her. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or putting her under a microscope, and if he was putting her under a microscope she had no idea why.

      “My cousins and I used to climb these poplars on windy days. We’d pretend we were up in the rigging of a tall ship out on the ocean. Cartier’s ship, usually, or pirates off Newfound-land’s coast. The tops of the trees swayed so much you could just about get seasick.” She was talking quickly, and a lot. Chances were her attempt at a casual retreat hadn’t fooled him.

      “Sounds like fun. The girl cousins, I suppose?”

      “Susannah and Liz.”

      “Daniel told me about the three of you. They both left and you stayed. No wanderlust?”

      “They had good reasons to leave. I didn’t.”

      “Did you have reasons to stay?”

      “Why would I need reasons? I live in a beautiful place with clean air and clean water. We produce most of our own food. We know exactly what’s in it and on it. I love my job, I love my family, and they love me.”

      “It sounds perfect.”

      “It is.”

      “Except for the archives?”

      “That’s a little thing.” She patted the poplar again, encouraging him to focus, the way she did with six-year-old boys in the library.

      “So,” she said, her voice sounding too much like a teacher’s, “the woods at the Rutherford place would have been exactly like this. My grandmother might have pictures. I’ll call her later today and ask.”

      He kept looking at her, evaluating, adding and subtracting, amused, and then he allowed his attention to be redirected to the trees around them. She could see that unlike the six-year-old boys in the library, he was only humoring her.