Chapter Fourteen
She woke in the morning, calm and clear, and early enough to address some of the domestic chores she’d neglected the day before.
As she worked, she reconsidered the idea of a cleaning service. And dismissed it, again. It was just her, and she—by nature—kept a clean and organized house.
But above all that, she couldn’t talk herself into feeling comfortable having a stranger in her house. Not yet, just not yet.
Plus, she told herself as she headed to shower, all done now.
She took her time with her makeup, worked her hair into a fishtail braid—no small feat. When she put on the dress, checked the mirror, she decided the time and effort were worth it.
She’d meet people. That prospect didn’t bring on anxiety. She could leave anytime she wanted or needed. But by God, she’d make a damn good first impression.
She put on the earrings, the locket, the little white sweater and nude heels. And considered herself dressed for a Sunday brunch.
“Overdressed? Shit. Stop it. Too late now anyway.”
To cap it off, she turned to Zorro.
“Forgive me for this.”
She hooked the red bow tie around his collar.
“You look dashing.” And a little perplexed.
Downstairs she pulled the champagne out of the fridge and nestled it in the pretty cloth bag she’d bought for it. After hooking on Zorro’s leash, she kissed his nose.
“You’ll meet people, too, so best good boy behavior.”
She walked him out into the warm, puffy-cloud day. Even in the heels she could manage the short distance.
She’d seen the house on her drives to and from town, and admired it.
A paved path bisected the charming front garden and led the way to a house with a stone base rising to golden cedar shakes. Its wide windows sparkled in the sunlight.
She walked to the bold red door, pressed the bell. And heard the chimes play “Für Elise.” She still had a smile on her face when Jamie opened it.
Since he wore a silvery blue vest over a pink shirt, she decided she hadn’t overdressed.
“Look at you! A ray of sunshine.” Taking her shoulders, he kissed both her cheeks. “And you, young dapper gentleman.” After greeting Zorro, he took Arden’s hand. “Come in, come into our humble home.”
She saw nothing humble about the high-ceilinged foyer with its modern take on a crystal chandelier, the curvy antique benches, the table holding a vase of pink lilies and white roses.
“It’s beautiful, but I expected no less. Thanks for having me.”
She offered the champagne.
“And she brings us bubbly! I take credit for having a classy neighbor.”
He led her past the curve of a staircase to an enormous kitchen with the biggest island she’d ever seen, a dining room with a table already set like something out of a magazine, and a generous lounge.
And people, at least a dozen people, along with a few dogs.
“Nick, my love, the lady needs a mimosa. Everyone! This is the magnificent Arden and her handsome escort, Zorro. I’m going to introduce you, darling, but don’t worry about remembering names this first round.”
A good thing, Arden thought, as he reeled them off, including dogs. Zorro already made himself at home, sniffing dogs, shoes, everything.
She knew Tessa, though she might not have recognized the painter at first glance in the swinging floral dress and her sunny hair loose and nearly to her shoulders.
She met Tessa’s Hawk with his quick grin and curly brown hair, and learned he served as a sergeant in the Riverbend police department.
While she tried to file names with faces—Marcus, Leo, Bonita, Rosa, Will—the doorbell rang again.
Jamie went to answer while Nick brought her a mimosa.
“Thank you. This is amazing. Your kitchen is just spectacular.”
“Made to order. That and Jamie’s studio were priorities. And we decided if we loved and stayed together after that, we’d make it through anything.”
“Cissy, Dom, this is Arden, our new and treasured neighbor, and her handsome Zorro. You know everyone else. Now it’s time for all good dogs to go out and play. Come on, boys and girls. Arden, come with me so you can be sure your boy is safe and happy.”
He led her out to a paved patio. Beyond it, a fenced area—white picket—held what she could only call a dog playground.
It boasted a tunnel with the head of a dachshund, a low seesaw, a two-sided ramp, padded mats to lounge on, hoops, benches, a watering station.
She thought of it as a kind of doggie condominium.
“Wow.”
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
Yes, but also—“Sweet and charming.”
“Isis loves her playdates. There’s a nice little dog park in town, but this is right here. All right to leave Zorro?”
He was already running around with a poodle with a bow in her hair.
“I’d say he’s found a slice of doggie heaven.”
“Then let’s go back in. It’s nearly time for the feast.”
He didn’t exaggerate.
She didn’t know what crème br?lée French toast was, exactly, but she wanted some. And mini cinnamon rolls, omelets, a fancy quiche, herby hash browns served in triangles, bacon, scones with lemon curd, and more.
The table sat twenty, and every seat was filled. The guests covered the bases with gay, straight, married, single, Black, White, Brown, young and old and in between.
Conversation flowed easily, and so did the champagne.
She ate, talked, laughed, and remembered she enjoyed socializing from time to time, even outside of family and the familiar.
While they drank cappuccino, and some actually had room for blueberry crumb cake and whipped cream, Jamie drew Arden from the table.
“You haven’t had the house tour.”
“Oh, I’d love one. And a chance to walk off some of that food. Honestly, Jamie, it’s all amazing. Like something out of a movie.”
“Could there be a better compliment?”
“You actually do all this every month?”
“We do, and enjoy every minute. So many of our friends lead busy lives. This is a chance to get together for part of one day, and not lose the connection.”
He took her down, and she wasn’t surprised to find the lower level beautifully finished, including an antique bar she now coveted, then back upstairs to the second floor.
When she stood at the open French doors of the main bedroom, she sighed.
“Now I want one of these for my own. French doors, a balcony.”
“You’ll never regret it. Nick, Isis, and I often sit out here, watch the sunset, or come out to linger in the moonlight.”
“Other than Zorro, I don’t have anyone to watch or linger with.”
“You will.”
Maybe. Someday.
“Not on the list yet.”
“You told me about your lists. Put your dream man on there.”
“I’d have to come up with dream man qualifications first. You and Nick really have made a beautiful home. Every detail’s just perfect.”
“We are fussy.”
“You’re discerning men with excellent taste. Nick told me the kitchen and your studio were the big ones. Can I see your studio?”
“Next and final stop.”
He led her to another set of steps.
“The attic,” he told her. “Every artist needs a garret.”
At the top, he opened a door.
They’d left the beams exposed, and between them the sun poured through the skylights. One section of a wall had exposed stone, and they’d added a fireplace and a cozy seating area. A napping couch, two leather chairs, a planked wood table.
Paintings hung along the walls; others leaned against it.
Beyond that lived the artist’s world. A bench table with a stool held organizers for brushes, palette knives, and other tools she couldn’t name. Shelves held paints, some in tubs, some in tubes, brush cleaners, stacks of canvases.
In the center of it all stood an easel, and the unfinished painting on it of a single tree, flaming red, on a rocky hillside.
“This is some garret, Jamie.”
“A dream of mine, a long-held dream of mine, come to life.”
“It’s a really good dream. And that?” She gestured toward the canvas. “It’s going to be wonderful. The solitary tree, but brilliant in that solitude.”
“You get me,” he murmured.
“I’ve seen your paintings throughout the house.”
“Nick loves me.”
“I’m sure he does, but that’s not the only reason for it. I bought the one in my bedroom before I met you, so that wasn’t love of the artist.”
She turned to him. “Do you take commissions?”
“Sweets, I have to earn my keep, so absolutely. And if it’s for you, no question.”
“I want something for my library, over the fireplace I ordered. I don’t know what it should be, but your work, well, works.”
“I’d be thrilled to do a painting for you. Why don’t Nick and I walk down later and take a look? Tessa told us your library—the color—makes her think of an old manor house in England, so I’m dying to see it.”
“Yes, please.”
When she walked home with Zorro, she felt comfortably tired from champagne, food, and company.
“We had a hell of a good time, didn’t we?”
If dogs could smile, he did.
Arden went to work on the second draft. With the family visit coming soon, she had to lock that out of her mind through the day.
In the evening she worked on her cookout menu. Not burgers and dogs, not this time. Steak and salmon. She had no idea how to grill salmon, but that’s what the internet was for. It could also prove useful for finding the best sides to go with both.
For dessert? Nick would provide.
She had to make time to buy a picnic table, some deck and patio furniture. She decided not to resist the strings of party lights, which required the purchase of a ladder.
As she set up the ladder, she congratulated herself on time management. Her second draft hummed along, she had a picnic table on her deck, the cute outdoor chairs, the Adirondacks and umbrella table on the patio.
Now all she needed was the grill, and the ability to hang party lights.
She’d consulted the internet there, too, and if she failed, she’d text the much handier Zoey.
She’d studied the process, bought everything needed. She took a long breath, then climbed the ladder to measure and mark where the cup hooks needed to go.
Satisfied, she got the hooks to screw them in. Which, she discovered, wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked in the demo.