Chapter Ten #2
“Thank you.” Zoey hugged her. “But don’t think you’re getting out of shopping with me. Next Saturday. We’re going to work on making your wardrobe worthy of that closet. No argument,” she added. “You’ve already shopped without me for a bed and dining room furniture.”
“And I love all of it.”
“I’ll see for myself when I pick you up on Saturday.” Zoey glanced down to where Maddy made music and Lexy squeezed her pink horse. “And you owe me.”
They ended dinner with cake—which didn’t disappoint—and a family video call. Travis and April sat on their deck, views of the Pacific at their back, with Jonah, the oldest, on his father’s lap, and Trent, busy at almost two, on and off his mother’s.
“That ocean view.” Jen pressed a hand to her heart. “I’ll never get used to it. And Zoey, your garden’s beautiful.”
“I’m still surprised how much working in it relaxes me.”
“We need a family chat from your place, Arden,” Doug told her.
“That’s a promise. I may not be able to whip up a meal like Boone, but I can manage.”
“And you’re all having a gorgeous day. It’s pouring rain here.”
Travis pointed at the screen. “Come west, young man and woman.”
Smiling, Jen took Doug’s hand. “Eighteen months.”
“Really?” Zoey pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Really, really?”
“We worked it out,” Doug said. “Eighteen months is pushing it, but doable.”
“May I point out, again, the view of the mighty Pacific.” April flowed her arm back.
“Hey, hey!” Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Oregon has that, too. And your choice of mountain ranges. Add wine.”
“We don’t know which state, but”—Jen held up a finger—“we’re aiming for something between all of you.”
“Zoey and Boone already have Arden,” Travis pointed out.
“Don’t put me in the middle.”
“The middle-ish is what we’re hoping for. We’ll figure it out.” Jen leaned her head on Doug’s shoulder.
Arden put finding the right location on her list.
She made more lists, and one to start on the next week.
She wanted that throw, those pretty pillows for the bed. And even with the larger bed, the room could use a chair or bench or something.
And if she had a china cabinet, she needed to find some interesting things to put in it. Not all at once. That way lay madness.
She didn’t think she could brave the flea market again so soon. But she could handle downtown.
She opened a bank account, tried a couple of gift shops. She found a dragon carved in carnelian. Though she knew Boone would love it, she loved it, too.
It would go in her china cabinet.
She fell in love with a wooden bowl, saw it on her sideboard. Then learned she’d picked up another piece of Joe Riley’s grandson’s work.
In the gallery Zoey’d recommended, she fell for a painting by a local artist. All the dreamy greens of the thick forest, the quiet tones of the stream, the subtle light and shadows would be another calming touch for her bedroom.
She loaded the car and promised herself she’d take a month off from buying things she wanted but didn’t need.
She did, however, need her doorknobs, so she put Zorro on the leash and walked to the hardware store.
Joe stood behind the counter again and sent her a smile.
“Afternoon. I was about to give Elvis a treat.” When he said the word, Zorro plopped down to sit. “Somebody’s got somebody trained.”
“I’m not sure which of us, but he’d love one.”
Joe passed them out. “Show Zorro where you have your snack.”
Elvis led the way behind the long counter.
“I’ve got your doorknobs in the back. You’ve got a load of them. Where are you parked?”
“Oh, just a half block down. I can carry them. I’m stronger than I look.”
“That may be, but Gideon’ll take them down for you. Have you got someone to switch them out for you?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I tried and failed, but my cousin’s pretty handy. I can ask her.”
“Good customer service has kept me in business for forty-seven years. My grandson—here he comes.”
“Pop, I’ve got…” He broke off when he saw Arden. “Sorry.”
Arden’s first thought was it shouldn’t be legal for a human being to be that good-looking. He had his grandfather’s height—maybe an inch more—and lanky build. From the black streaks in Joe’s hair, she imagined the older man had once had the same thick black mane, though the younger’s waved a bit.
He had the same cat-green eyes, sharper features, with cheekbones that looked like they could slice an apple.
She and her teenage friends would have deemed him smoking.
“Gideon, this is Arden Bowie. The writer I told you about.”
“Right. Doorknobs.”
“Yes. I … just bought one of your bowls.”
When he frowned a little, Joe chuckled.
“Vickie over at Valley Gifts nagged him into putting a couple of his pieces in there.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. I’ll get your hardware.”
“You do that, Gideon, and go on over and install them for her.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”
“Save your breath,” Gideon advised. “He looks easygoing. It’s a mirage. I need an address.”
Joe reeled it off before Arden could try another protest.
“Meet you there,” he said, and walked into the back.
“He’s good with his hands,” Joe said. “Puts time in the store because he thinks I need the help. Was a cop down in LA. A detective.”
“Oh.”
“Well, things happened,” he said simply, vaguely. “And when my wife passed near to two years back, I guess I did need the help.”
“I’m sorry. It’s so hard to lose someone we love.”
Joe’s eyes softened, shifted to hers. “You say that like you know it.”
“I do.”
“He’ll like changing out doorknobs more than checking stock or mixing up paint. You’re doing me a favor.”
“That’s sneaky.”
He grinned. “Sneaky works. But it’s true enough. You come visit anytime, and not just when you need hardware. Elvis likes the company.”
“You can count on it.”
She walked Zorro back to the car.
Now she’d have Mr. Smoking Hot installing doorknobs all over her house. Upside? Doorknobs.
She couldn’t really find a downside. She couldn’t imagine a grandson of Joe Riley’s as less than trustworthy. Add former police detective who’d come to help his grandfather when he needed it.
True, she’d felt a flutter in her belly and a tingle through her body she hadn’t felt in a very long time. But she considered that a good thing.
She might spend her life as the doting aunt, but she could still appreciate a seriously attractive man.
He beat her to the house, so she got out of the car quickly.
He drove a big, burly pickup. He looked like a man who could drive a big, burly pickup. Or a sleek, curve-hugging sports car. Or an eat-my-dust motorcycle.
“Sorry. I know Joe put you on the spot.”
“Not the first time.”
Zorro leaped out of the car and bounded over to the new human.
And Arden saw that sharp-featured face could soften with a smile.
“Hey there. You’re a handsome bastard, aren’t you?”
In agreement, and as if to return the compliment, Zorro leaned against Gideon’s legs, looked up at him with desperate love.
He gave the dog a fast, full-body rub that had Zorro crooning in his throat, then singing full out.
“Listen to you.”
“He sings when he’s happy. Well, especially happy, because he’s always happy.”
“I hear that. Got a name?”
“He does. He’s Zorro.”
“Sure he is.”
“I’ll let you in. You can start anywhere. I just have a few things to get out of the car.”
“One of the exterior locksets on the front door?”
“Yeah, and the other on the side, the mudroom, and the third off the kitchen to the back deck.”
When she unlocked the front door, Zorro bounded in.
“Anywhere there’s a standard brass knob, it gets switched out.”
Zorro bounded back with his tug rope. Shaking his head, he danced in front of Gideon.
“We’ll get to that.” But he gave the rope a couple of tugs. “I’ll get my tools, start at the front.”
He went to his pickup, Arden to her SUV, and Zorro paced back and forth between them.
Gideon glanced over, saw the load in her cargo area.
“A few things?”
“Well. I just moved in last week, and my house was smaller than this one, so…”
“Right. I’ll give you a hand.”
Together they carted in boxes, bags, the wrapped painting. And the leather pig she intended for the library.
“You bought a pig.”
“Footstool. For the library. When I make the library. Ah, can I get you something? Coffee? Pepsi?”
“Maybe later.” With that, he went out for his tools.
Arden hooked the bag holding her new pillows and throw over her shoulder, and managed to carry that and the painting upstairs.
By the time she took a painting down, put the new one in its place, arranged the pillows, the throw, studied, fussed, approved, then set the other painting in the guest room for future hanging, she found he’d replaced the front door lockset and had started on the coat closet.
“It’s better, isn’t it? That finish and style.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, good. You get to the lower level through the kitchen. It’s unfinished down there, but it has a few doors. Just shout out if you need anything.”
“Got it.”
When she walked off, and the dog trailed behind her, Gideon considered the fact that he was installing a privacy lock on a closet.
He knew his pop, and Joe would’ve explained about pass-throughs. So why, he wondered, did anybody want privacy knobs on closets?
Not his business, he reminded himself, but he was curious. Puzzles, questions without easy answers, secrets, they always pulled at him.
He’d been a cop for nearly ten years, so training and instinct pushed him to look under the surface, read signs, read people.
Take the closet. One winter coat, two insulated vests, one dressier coat—maybe cashmere—hung on one side. Two hoodies, a leather jacket, given her height would hit her mid-thigh, a lightweight jacket hung on the other side.
Nothing flashy.
Winter boots—two pair—hikers, obviously new, stored in clear boxes. As were a few scarves, winter caps, and gloves.
Maybe she hadn’t had time to get messy, but considering the closet and what he could see of the rest of the house, she struck him as a woman who liked order, leaned toward the practical.
She didn’t lack style—she was right about the damn doorknobs—but she kept it low-key.
As he worked, moving on to a bedroom—what he pegged as a guest room suite—he passed the time analyzing her.
Guest room because why buy a two-and-a-half-story house, then live on one floor? And it didn’t feel lived-in. Welcoming enough, he supposed, but not used.
No, there’d be another main suite upstairs, and that would be hers.
When he changed out the closet knobs—empty closet but for spare pillows and a neatly folded blanket—he nodded in satisfaction.
Guest room. He liked figuring out the hows and whys.
And Christ, he missed being a cop when figuring out the hows and whys mattered, made a difference. Almost two years now, and he still missed it.
He didn’t think about it every day, couldn’t let himself, but he still missed it.
Instead of doing what he believed mattered, he’d spend a couple hours—probably more—changing out doorknobs.
That’s how his life ran now, and no point bitching about it.
So he put it aside as he worked his way through the main level.
Obviously, the room with stacks of boxes clearly marked BOOKS—add the leather pig—she intended for that library.
Needed a deeper paint color, bookcases, furniture, and, to seal the deal, a fireplace.
As he worked his way through, he decided he liked the house. Great layout, excellent views. And he couldn’t fault her taste.
Maybe it struck him as odd to see his bowl on her dining room sideboard—but it always struck him as odd to see something he’d made in someone else’s space. And he couldn’t figure out why she had an orange glass dragon as the only piece in the cabinet.
But the furniture, the space, and the use of it got top marks.
The dog came back to him as he finished the exterior mudroom door. And this time dropped a ball beside him.
“Can’t play now, pal.” But he gave Zorro’s head a rub.
When he walked back into the kitchen from the mudroom, Arden came in from the other direction.
“Sorry. If he’s bothering you—”
“He isn’t.”
“It’s a lot of doorknobs.” She smiled at him. “Do you want a break? A cold drink, coffee?”
“I wouldn’t mind coffee. Black coffee, if that won’t insult your fancy machine.”
“It lives to serve. And you get to be the first black coffee it’s served in this house.” She took a white mug out of her perfectly organized cabinet.
“This is taking up a lot of your day. I could make you a sandwich.”
Amused, he studied her while the machine ground beans. “What kind of sandwich?”
“Oh, well, I’ve got deli turkey, ham, salami. Swiss, pepper jack, and provolone cheese, arugula, sprouts, radicchio.”
Fully entertained, he slid a hand into his pocket. “No peanut butter and jelly?”
“I’ve got the jelly. Not a fan of peanut butter.”
“Maybe next time. What do you want to do with the old knobs?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” Her bottom lip poked out a little. “I shouldn’t just toss them. Recycle? Maybe someone could use them?”
“I can take them back. Pop will know someone or someones. What do you want for them?”
“Oh, nothing. Really. I’m happy not to have to figure it out.”
“Okay. I’m going to head downstairs. Your boy wants to play ball.”
“Yeah. I’m going to take him out.”