Chapter Sixteen #2
Those gentle hills, the vineyards, the farms and homes, the mystery and majesty of the circling mountains, all washed in moonlight. A single cloud, thin, wispy, floated over the dreamy full moon that sailed in a diamond-studded sky.
“It’s so right, Jamie. Moody, romantic, peaceful. The light, the shadows, the stillness. You’ve only to look at it to know everyone’s safe and at rest.”
“Not only so right for the room,” Zoey said. “Arden, it’s so you. You get her, Jamie.”
“It was love at first sight for me. Thank God she didn’t turn out to be a bitch.”
“I grew out of that. It’s an energy drain.”
“She wasn’t much good at it anyway,” Zoey told him. “So you take commissions?”
“For the right person.”
“I’m marketing director for Valley Vineyards, and there’s talk about doing a fresh new label for our twentieth year.” Zoey hooked an arm through Jamie’s. “We should talk.”
“Talk over dinner. Boone, would you get the dogs a you-know-what? Joe, if you’re ready to carve the ham?”
“When it comes to ham, I’m always ready.”
“I hope mine makes the grade.”
While Joe carved, Arden pulled out sides. The rainbow carrots she’d roasted, the rustic mashed potatoes—a new one for her, so fingers crossed there—the green beans, and finally the biscuits.
“We’re doing family style, so please, dig right in.” She went back for the ham platter.
“I snuck a piece—the benefit of carving. The grade’s an A plus.”
He carried the platter in for her. “You’re all in for a treat. When Gideon and I packed up those cabinets, we weren’t expecting to be invited to a feast. We appreciate your hospitality, Arden.”
“As do we all.” Nick lifted his glass in a toast. “Everything looks delicious.”
“Let’s find out.” She passed the potatoes to Gideon.
She felt a glow because the food was good—whew—and the company excellent.
“Arden, Boone wants the recipe for these potatoes. Rustic,” Zoey added before Boone could speak. “That says manly to me, so you’d be in charge of them at our house. Arden’s almost always been good at biscuits. Almost.”
“It was one time!”
“One time, the first time. But she persisted.”
“I figured baking powder, baking soda, what’s the difference? And found out.”
“You know your way around more than sandwiches.”
She smiled as Gideon went for seconds. “I do. I don’t do a lot of cooking. It’s just me, but when I do, I like it.”
“It’s the focus.” Boone bit into a second biscuit. “Arden’s got laser focus on the task at hand.”
“Except IT stuff. I moved here so I could call on Boone for that. Then there’s Zoey for household repairs. Though Gideon did change out my doorknobs and tighten my slip nuts.”
Jamie burst out laughing. “Girl!”
“Truth. I have Jamie for art, Nick for sugar and spice, and Joe, who helps me find just what I want. I’m so happy you could all be here for my first dinner party.”
“If I get much happier, Gideon’s going to have to roll me into the truck.”
“Eat up,” Gideon suggested. “I can wheel you out on the dolly.”
“In that case, maybe just a sliver more ham. A family favorite,” Joe added. “My wife would make it whenever Liam—my son, Gideon’s father—would come to visit. We did have to make accommodations that time, remember, Gideon? Which was the vegetarian, Dorcas or Julia?”
“Vegan, Julia, the third one.”
“That’s right. Colleen made up some fancy pasta dish, and it was just fine. But we went back to ham next time, as that was Julia’s first and last visit. She didn’t like we had chickens.”
“You have chickens?”
Joe smiled at Nick as he ate. “We do. Our girls live in a hen palace Gideon and I built.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Jamie told him. “Nick’s making noises about getting chickens. Fresh eggs for baking. I don’t know if—”
Eyes wide, he broke off.
“Liam Riley? Your son? Not the director!”
Joe beamed. “That’s my boy.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Nick said.
“Well, God! I absolutely adore Beaten Path. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen it.”
“I know, right?” Arden lifted her wine to sip. “I can come across it when it’s half over, and I’ll still watch to the end.”
“And Slip Knot. It terrifies me, but I can’t look away.”
“Did he direct that? I love that movie.”
“One of ours, too,” Boone put in. “Our second date. The scene where who you thought was the good guy’s revealed as the bad guy, and he’s got the rope and the knife. He’s walking up the steps in the creaky old house where the heroine’s hiding. Zoey watched it with her eyes closed.”
“I still do.”
“Wait a minute.” Jamie actually did jazz hands. “That means Scarlett Dash is your mother! She’s glorious. A goddess, an icon. I adore her. She has such … presence.”
“She’s got plenty of that,” Gideon agreed.
“I read they’re back together. So romantic. Lovers reunited. Oh, tell me you like her,” he begged Joe. “Tell me she’s wonderful. Lie if you must, but don’t shatter me.”
“No need to lie. I love her. Always have. She kept in touch with Colleen and me after the divorce. More, if Liam couldn’t bring Gideon for a visit—if he was on location or tied up—she would. She’d bring Ethan, Liam’s other son, too, and Grace, her daughter. We stayed family.
“They were young the first time around. And just starting their climb. When it didn’t work, they didn’t go at each other. I’m hoping it sticks this time.”
Following Boone’s prediction, the rain started as a shower over dessert, then poured.
“October in the PNW,” Zoey said. “It’s good for the vines, and hell on my hair. I hate to break up the party, but we’ve got a babysitter to cut loose.”
“And I need to get these old bones home.”
Arden arched her brows. “I don’t see any old bones.”
“Trust me, I feel them. This was a wonderful meal, Arden, and an unexpected treat, from the first sip of wine to the last bite of apple cobbler.”
“Couldn’t have said it better. We need to scoop up Isis, Jamie, and make the dash home.”
“We’ll drop you off,” Gideon told him. “You’re right on the way.”
“We’d appreciate it. This weather’s hell on my hair, too. Now, remember, Arden,” Jamie said as he rose to hug her. “Zoey and I are dragging you out for a shopping spree.”
“Neither of you will let me forget.”
“It pains me that my lovely friend considers shopping for herself a chore rather than a delight.” He turned to kiss Zoey. “I’ll text you.”
Arden watched them all drive off in the rain, locked the door. In the glow of success, she walked back to clear dessert, blow out candles, wash the wineglasses.
Then she went up to change into sweats for comfort, pulled her hair into a tail.
She couldn’t think of a better way to spend a few hours on a rainy night than shelving books in her library.
On the rainswept drive, Joe, relaxed and well fed, stretched out his long legs.
“She’s a damn good cook.”
“Who?”
“You can’t fool me. And she’s got a good, sharp brain in her head, and a kind heart. Pretty, too, and not in a dolled-up sort of way.”
“Are you going to ask her out?”
On a snort of laughter, Joe shook his finger. “Maybe I would, but you’ve got an eye on her.”
“Just one eye?”
“You’ve got both in that direction. I may not have your grandmother’s sense about these things, but I see what I see, know what I know.”
“She’s interesting.”
Joe puffed out a breath. “What’re you going to do about it?”
“Haven’t decided.”
“These days.” Joe sighed it, and got a grin from Gideon. “Young people don’t just jump in the pool, swim around some. No, they’ve got to analyze the water first, get the exact temperature and depth, the pH before they stick a toe in.”
“Maybe I stuck a toe in.”
“Well then. Jump.”
“She might not want to take a swim. Me either.”
Joe shook his head, sat a moment in silence.
“Let me ask you something. Would you bring her around if I were making chicken potpie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. You make really good potpie.”
“In all these years, you never once brought a girl home to meet me or your grandmother. I think Arden’s one you would.”
Gideon slanted Joe a look. “Are you making potpie?”
“Bring her home and I will.”
When Gideon pulled up to the house, Joe started to get out of the truck. But Gideon sat, tapping his fingers on the wheel.
“Problem?”
I don’t know, Gideon thought again. Maybe. Probably.
“I think I’ll drive back over there, give her a hand shelving books.”
Joe let out a cackle. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Get going then. Come on, Elvis, let’s get into the warm and dry. I’ll see you tomorrow, Giddyup.”
Gideon waited, watching Joe and the dog walk through the rain, then into the house. Waited until he saw lights go on.
Unnecessary, he thought, but he felt better leaving knowing they were in the warm and dry.
In the library, Arden set out some of what she thought of as interesting things. Deciding what and where required more time than putting books on the shelves. After all, she wanted the right things in the right place.
So she sat on the floor and visualized. Changed her mind, tried again. She’d just picked the first interesting thing when the beam of headlights washed over the windows. And Zorro raced barking to the door.
For a moment she didn’t move, couldn’t move. Who would come after nine—nearly ten—on a rainy night? Almost everyone she knew in Riverbend had left only a half hour or so before.
Forgotten something. One of them forgot something, that’s all.
And the door was locked, she had her phone, she had the dog.
She pushed herself to her feet, walked toward the wagging dog and the firm knock on her door.
Then her mind went to worst case. An accident. One of them had had an accident on the way home, and the police …
She ran the rest of the way to the door, snapped off the locks. When she yanked the door open, she saw Gideon.
“Joe? Is he hurt? Should I—”
“No. Hey, no, he’s fine.” Because they trembled, he put his hands on her shoulders. “He’s fine. I dropped him off at home.”
“He’s okay? Everyone’s okay?”
When she closed her eyes, he debated between pulling her in or letting her go. He let her go.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I should’ve texted first.”
“It’s all right.” She ran her hands over her face, back into her hair. “Why does the mind always flip to the bad? Come in. Did you forget something?”
“No. I had an impulse to come back and give you a hand shelving books.”
“Oh.” Her heart, on its way to settling, took another spin. “Why do you think I’m shelving books?”
“Tell me you’re not, I’ll call you a liar.”
“I save all my lies for writing fiction. You drove back here to help me in the library?”
“Why not? I built the bookcases.”
“Yes, you did, and yes, I’m just getting started on filling up the ones you brought tonight. I guess we’d better hang up your jacket.”
“That’d be a start.”
She took it from him, hung it while he gave Zorro the attention the dog desperately asked for.
“I’m just deciding what I’m putting where.” She turned to lead him back.
“I thought it was alpha order, by genre.”
“For the books, yeah. I’m mixing in some pieces every other cabinet.”
“Every other.” Of course she was. “Systematic.”
“Yes, but I don’t want it to look regimented. The books are different, and that’s organized.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it. Top shelf, first on this wall. You’re taller so you can put it up there. In the center.”
He took the dragon, wings spread as it sat on a large green egg. As much, he thought, defending as nesting.
“You’ve got a thing for dragons.”
“I’ve got a thing for dragons. That’s it. Perfect. I’m putting mysteries, suspense, thrillers in this section, and it won’t look regimented when I’m done.”
“That part doesn’t.” He gestured to the three she’d filled. “Regimented’s when you buy books by the yard so they all look the same and you never plan to read them anyway.”
“That’s right. And that’s not a library, it’s…”
“A status display.”
“That’s right!” she repeated. “The next two shelves are all books. Hardcovers. Then a shelf for things, the next for a combination of books and things, and the bottom shelf for paperbacks.”
He started at the top; she started at the bottom.
“Why aren’t your books in here?”
“I’ve already read them.”
“Like you haven’t read most if not all of these? Something wrong with your work?”
“No.”
“You’ve got copies, go get them.”
Crouched at his feet, she looked up.
“You wrote books. This is a library. You put books in libraries. And, apparently, dragons.”
She stood up. “You’re right. My books, my library. I’ll be right back.”
He went back to shelving, leaving room. When she came back, he took them, slid them into place.
“I’m next to Lawrence Block. Isn’t that a kick in the ass?”
Gideon tapped When the Sacred Ginmill Closes. “Hell of a story.”
“It really is. I nearly shelved it in Classics.”
He tapped one of hers, her newest. “This was pretty good.”
“You read it?” It still came as a jolt.
“Pop wasn’t going to give me any peace until I did. I liked it.”
“Thanks.”
She looked at him, and he saw her bottom lip poke out a little, as it did when she thought something through.
“Okay. I want to tell you, right off, I’m not very good at this.”
“Shelving books. More like scary good at it.”
“You didn’t come back just to help me in the library.”
“That would be up to you.”
“That’s right, and I’m not going to pretend like I haven’t thought about it, about you. Or that I didn’t know how this could go if I asked you in. I asked you in anyway, so I’m letting you know I’m not particularly good at sex.”
Interesting, he thought, yet again. The woman was so damn interesting.
“So I should lower my expectations?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. And you should also know if this turns into a one-off, I won’t hold it against you.”
He waited a beat. “Thanks.”
“I still want my bookcases, and the library ladder I’m going to talk you into building.”
“Okay. Is that it?”
“I guess so.”
“If this turns into a one-off, I won’t hold it against you either. You’ll get your bookcases. We can discuss the ladder.”
“Fair.”
“Let’s try this again first.”
He kissed her much as he had the first time, in what she felt was barely controlled need. And like the first time, it made her yearn for more. All those flutters and aches reminded her she could yearn and feel and want.
“Arden.” He pulled the tie from her hair, wove his fingers through it as it fell down her back. “Let me take you to bed.”