Chapter 7
I turn down the narrow alleyway and head for the stairs behind the post office. Sawyer rounds the corner from the opposite direction. He freezes. The skin under his beard flushes hot pink, and his eyes drop to the scuffed toes of his sneakers.
“Hey,” he says.
I smile. “This is an unexpected surprise.” But a good one.
“Oh, uh… You mentioned you were rentin’ Cain’s old place.” He darts me an almost guilty look. “I wanted to return your plate.” He holds up the porcelain bordered with delicate sprigs of lavender and roses. “It looks like a nice one.”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
Sawyer’s next glance seems to catch on my bare arm, tracing the pale line all the way to where my fingers clutch the knot of my towel. His palm drags down his face as he puffs out a breath.
I bite down on my lip. I don’t look that bad, do I? Maybe a bit like a drenched scarecrow that’s been dragged headfirst through the bay. I should invest in a better brush…
“Comin’ back from the beach?” he eventually says.
I nod. “It’s the reason I moved here. I don’t get into the water as often as I’d like to, though. If this mess didn’t take so long to dry”—I twist my hair into a loose knot over one shoulder—“I’d go for a swim every morning before work.”
His gaze lingers on the damp strands clinging to my skin.
Self-consciously, I reach up to comb my fingers through my hair. “Do you want to come up for a coffee?”
His eyes snap up. “Yeah?” He clears his throat into his fist. “Yes. If you’re sure it won’t be a hassle.”
“Not at all. I’d love some company.”
Sawyer follows me up the stairs. I gingerly step around the rotten planks of wood and grimace with every groan from the timber under my feet. One day, a tread is going to snap, and I’ll plummet to the dusty cement below. I’m certain of it.
At the top, I ignore the door and cross the landing. I jiggle the window until it pops open.
“Elsie?” Sawyer’s voice is uncertain behind me.
I toss my bag through the gap. It lands with a thud on the carpet inside. “I’ve got door issues.”
His gaze flicks to the weathered red paint. “Stuck?”
“It’s decided not to unlock from the outside today.”
“Broken?”
I shrug. “Probably.” What do I know about the mechanics of doors? About as much as I understand about the mechanics of anything. Which is nothing. “Everything here is a little…worn out.”
He frowns. “A bit like the stairs, I guess.”
“They’re only dangerous if you almost fall to your death.” I grin. “Just… Wait there. This won’t take long.”
I cinch my towel extra tight under my armpits, take a deep breath, and start the awkward process of shimmying through the window. Everything’s usually fine until I get to my hips. I should cut down on the breakfast croissants.
I hit the bedroom carpet with an ungraceful thud.
“Elsie? You okay?”
I scramble to my feet and stick my hand out the window.
Sawyer gets a thumbs-up. Then, I race around the bedroom, piling my hair on top of my head in a messy bun.
My towel drops to the floor, but my swimsuit refuses to budge.
The fabric is still damp, and I end up bouncing on the spot trying to strip it down my legs.
Panties pull up. A bra clips on. A cotton dress slips over the top of my underwear, and I pop on the last daisy button just before I yank open the front door.
I’m greeted by Sawyer’s frown.
Breathless, I try to play down the awkwardness of this whole situation. “Ta da!” The door is so temperamental that opening it is something to celebrate.
Sawyer smiles, but his frown is firmly back in place as soon as he steps inside.
His fingertips brush over a loose curl of wallpaper as he passes. “I didn’t realize Cain left this place in such a bad way.” His frown only deepens when he glances up. The light shade above him clings to the ceiling for dear life with a single rusted screw. “I’ll have a word with him.”
“No!” My budget is balanced on a knife-edge. “He’ll put the rent up—”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t. We can’t have you livin’ like this.” Sawyer pauses in the kitchen doorway. A faint smile tugs at his lips as he catches sight of the ocean out the front window. “There always was a nice view up here, though.”
“It’s better than I ever dreamed I could afford.” I flip the switch for the coffeemaker, and the first slow drops splash into the glass pot.
I offer Sawyer a chair, but he shakes his head.
He’s content to hover beside me at the kitchen counter as I pull the cups from the overhead cabinet and search the pantry for some biscuits.
I don’t mind that he takes up so much space…
or that he doesn’t say much. The anxious knot in my stomach untangles when he’s around. I can breathe.
Sawyer’s fingers skim the pile of books stacked on the wooden countertop. “The Age of Revolution: Europe 1789-1848,” he reads out loud. “A bit of light readin’?” He smirks.
“I picked up some books from the library. The one here in town doesn’t have the biggest history collection, but there were a few gems.”
“You like non-fiction?”
“I like all books. What about you?”
“Can’t say I do much readin’.”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“I spend a bit of time outdoors. And I guess I fancy myself bein’ okay at buildin’ things.”
“Are you working on anything in particular?”
“My place is all done. I go back and forward thinkin’ about whether I want an entertainin’ space downstairs.”
“You have a lot of people over?”
He shrugs. “Some weekends. If a game’s on. I’ve been keepin’ myself busy workin’ with Cain on his fence in the meantime.” His eyes drift around the apartment. “He owes me a couple of favors…”
“Milk?”
“And a sugar.” Sawyer’s tall frame wilts as if he almost wants to die inside. “Please. Sorry, I’m not used to bein’ around a…” He waves away the rest of the sentence.
Grinning, I scoop a teaspoon of sugar into the cup and give it a stir. “Not many women on your boat?”
“There are plenty of women everywhere. You’re a lady.”
I pass him the coffee. “Is there a difference?”
He lifts the dainty cup to his lips and winks at me before taking a sip.
Oh.
Does he think I’m fussy? Or pretentious? But he winked at me. He’s teasing me again, isn’t he? “The cups were my grandmother’s, too. They’re part of a set.” I wince. Well, it was a set.
“There’s a story there,” Sawyer guesses.
“That look you spotted was twenty-five years of guilt.”
A bushy eyebrow pops up.
“When I was little, I accidentally dropped the sugar bowl,” I explain. “Grandma’s gone now, but I still hunt antique stores hoping to finally replace it.”
“It means a lot to you to complete the set?”
I nod. “Grandma only used it when special guests visited. Her grandmother gave it to her on her wedding day.” And she passed it down to me on mine, but I leave that part out. “It’s one of the few things I took when… I…” I force a smile, but I can’t share anymore right now. There will be tears.
“Here to start over, huh?” Sawyer finishes for me.
“Yes. Minus a sugar bowl.”
He smiles. “So, uh…” He clears his throat. “You know anythin’ about antiques?”
“I’m not an expert…”
He slides a look to the pile of books on the countertop. “Seems like a polite way of admittin’ you are an expert.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“I’d never laugh at you, Elsie Hoskins.”
His gravelly voice is so sincere, but I still have to muster up some courage. “My job… Before I moved here… I was a historian. Well, officially, I was a research assistant, but by education, I like to think I’m a historian.”
“I thought old men wearin’ coats with patches on the elbows were historians.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “I happen to have one of those coats hanging in my closet.”
“And I might’ve seen you wearin’ it.” He grins. “So, you spent a bit of time at university?”
“You might say that.”
“On the mainland?”
“Mostly.”
“Where else?”
“Um, nowhere important… I did my master’s at…” I turn my head and whisper the response to the countertop.
He leans over and tilts his head so that his ear is closer. “Didn’t quite catch that.” He smiles. He knows I did it on purpose.
“I, um… studied at, um… Oxford.”
“Shit.”
Here comes the speech. You have no direction. You’ve wasted your potential—
“You’re really fuckin’ smart, aren’t you?”
“No.”
He grunts a laugh. “Yeah. You are. Like one of those Rhodes Scholars.”
“Oh, um… Well…”
“Fuckin’ hell. You were an actual Rhodes Scholar?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Christ, Elsie.”
I nibble on my lip. How do I get out of this conversation?
“Well, I… I studied history there, and I enjoyed visiting all the museums and seeing all the artifacts, of course. And I suppose that’s where I gained my appreciation for vintage pieces.
Porcelain, jewelry… And clothes. Obviously…
” I smooth down the Peter Pan collar of my dress and grimace.
“Although perhaps it’s time for a change… ”
“You don’t need to change a damn thing. You’re lettin’ the words you overheard take up too much space in your head.”
“But everything I wear is so…dated.”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with the way you dress. You’re…” His head dips, and now, it’s his turn to mutter at the countertop. “You’re a bluebird day, you are.”
I don’t know quite what to say. That’s one of the strangest compliments I’ve ever received—if that is a compliment. “Th-thanks?”
Sawyer’s cheeks flame under his beard, and his eyes refuse to look anywhere but his half-empty coffee cup. “So, uh… why are you workin’ at the clinic then?”
“I needed a job, and you may be shocked to learn that there aren’t too many options around here for people who know the ins and outs of Lord Byron’s jaunts around Europe.”
“The…poet? You like him?”
“God no! He was so horrible to his daughter. Her letters to him are heartbreaking—” I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop the inevitable rant I’m about to go on. Inching my fingers down, I uncover my lips just long enough to flash him a sheepish smile and say, “Sorry.”
Sawyer shakes his head. “Don’t ever be sorry for havin’ somethin’ you’re passionate about. I like the fire you get in your eyes.”
“Wait until I’ve had a few glasses of wine. You’ll regret encouraging me.” I grin. “Do you like antiques?”
“I’ve picked up a few bits and pieces over the years. Some people might call ’em junk, but they’re sturdy. The reason I asked…”
Waiting, I lift my eyebrow as I sip my coffee.
“The annual Blues Festival is comin’ up.”
“I’ve seen a few of the posters around town.”
He nods. “It draws a big crowd. A lot of rich folk from the mainland head down for the long weekend. The town gets real busy.”
“Do you go?”
“Aw, yeah… I s’pose. I watch a few of the bands. Mostly, I help with the markets to bring in some extra money for the community. We upgraded the kids’ playground with what we made last year.”
“Oh, that sounds so great! So everyone gets involved?”
“A good number of farmers set up stalls. The brewery’s there.
A few food options. We’re organizin’ a bit of a charity flea market again this year, too.
The church and the oldies donated so much gear for us to sell, it’s goin’ to take us weeks to sort through it all.
Problem is… Last year… Some jackass from the city bargained down the prices on a lot of the jewelry, and then we heard him crowin’ at the bar that those pieces were worth thousands. ”
“That’s horrible!”
“A couple of us talked him into givin’ it all back.”
“Talked, huh?”
Swayer’s smile is coy. “Words were spoken.”
“How many fists joined that conversation?”
“I’m not one for throwin’ punches. Cain cozied up to the guy at the bar and promised they could be friends. Close friends. The guy had a change of heart after that.”
“Miraculously.”
“Couldn’t wait to give ’em back.”
“I bet.”
“I’d like to avoid that this year. Either we put a fair price on everythin’, or we give them back to their rightful owners.
Hetty O’Donnell has been wearin’ the platinum brooch to church ever since she found out how much it’s worth.
Gives her a real kick in her step.” He’s back to examining the swirls in his coffee.
“So, that’s why I was thinkin’… Would you… ”
“I’d love to help.”
“Yeah?”
I can barely suppress the smile that’s breaking over my face. This offer is a dream come true. Vintage stuff. Helping. People. I might even make some friends. My heart is bursting.
“A group of us meets at the community center on Thursdays,” Sawyer says. “We sort through the donations, price everythin’, and box it all up. If you don’t mind meetin’ a few new people, I could take you along.”
“Yes!”