Chapter Ten – Spencer
It’ll be fine, Spencer’s bear assured him as he drove to Pine Cottage the day after their disagreement over the beam.
Spencer wasn’t so sure. Meryl might be his mate, but he didn’t know her well enough to guess what mood he was going to find her in today.
But he had a plan to keep things on neutral ground.
Or, more precisely, a visit to Olson’s Architectural Salvage.
The place was on the outskirts of town, a sprawling yard filled with everything from vintage doorknobs to reclaimed timber that could give Pine Cottage exactly what it needed.
It would also give Spencer and Meryl what they both needed: a break from Pine Cottage.
That was exactly what Spencer intended. He’d spent half the night thinking about how to bridge the gap between them after their argument. The salvage yard seemed like the best solution, practical enough to be necessary, but different enough from the cottage to ease some of the strain between them.
When he pulled up to Pine Cottage, Meryl was already outside. She stood on the porch wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, with her hair pulled back. The sight of her made him regret their falling out even more.
She’s waiting for us, his bear said happily. That’s a good sign.
Hopefully, Spencer replied. I mean, she could be waiting to tell us she no longer wants our help.
No, his bear insisted. Never.
There was only one way to find out.
Spencer parked and got out, trying to act natural, as if nothing had happened. “Morning,” he called.
Meryl looked up. Her expression was guarded, but not cold. “Morning.”
“I thought we might try a different approach today,” he said, climbing the steps. “There’s a salvage yard about twenty minutes from here. Olson’s. They’ve got some period hardware that might work for the cottage. Door hinges. Window latches. Maybe even some trim that matches what’s already here.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Salvage yard?”
“It’s where old houses go to donate their organs,” he said, then immediately regretted the awkward metaphor.
But Meryl’s mouth twitched. “Poetic.”
“Practical,” he corrected. “No sense buying new when old will match better. And it’s usually cheaper.”
That caught her attention, just as he’d hoped. “How much cheaper?”
“Depends on what we find. But worth looking, don’t you think?”
She hesitated, and he could almost see her weighing the offer against the lingering tension from yesterday.
That’s it, his bear encouraged. Give her space to decide.
“I do. Let me get my purse,” she said finally.
Relief ran through him. “Take your time.”
When she disappeared inside, his bear practically purred. We’re going on our first date.
Not a date, Spencer muttered.
Ten minutes later, they were heading away from Pine Cottage. Spencer kept his focus on the road while Meryl looked out the passenger window, the silence between them not exactly uncomfortable, but certainly a little awkward.
His bear nudged him. Say something. Anything.
“The place belongs to Joe Olson,” Spencer said. “Been there about thirty years. His son runs it now, but Joe still comes in most days.”
Meryl glanced over. “Do you go there often?”
“When I need to. They’ve got a good eye for what’s worth saving.”
She nodded and looked back out the window. After another mile of silence, she spoke again. “About yesterday...”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Spencer said quickly.
“I think we do,” she replied, her voice steady. “You were right about the beam.”
His bear let out a sigh of relief. See? She just needed a little time.
Spencer kept his eyes on the road. “Doesn’t mean I handled it well.”
“Neither did I,” Meryl admitted. “I panicked. Every time I turn around, there’s another problem with the cottage.”
“I know it’s overwhelming,” Spencer agreed. “But we don’t have to solve everything at once.”
The word we slipped out before he could stop it. Meryl didn’t correct him, though, and he took comfort from that.
With the air cleared, the conversation shifted to easier things. By the time they pulled into Olson’s yard, it was almost as if yesterday had never happened.
The salvage yard sprawled out before them, a maze of organized chaos. Old doors leaned against each other in rows. Stacks of reclaimed timber sat beside bins overflowing with doorknobs, hinges, and latches. Weathered mantels and porch columns waited for new homes.
Meryl got out of the truck slowly, taking it all in.
“This is...” she began.
“A lot,” Spencer finished.
“No,” she said, surprising him. “It’s amazing.”
His bear rumbled happily. She gets it.
Joe Olson spotted them from across the yard and waved. He was in his seventies now, white-haired and wiry, with hands permanently stained by decades of working with old wood and metal.
“Spencer!” Joe called, making his way over. “It’s been a while.”
“Joe.” Spencer shook his hand. “This is Meryl Aldwick. She’s fixing up Pine Cottage.”
Joe’s eyes brightened with interest. “Hilda’s place? I know it well. What are you looking for today?”
“Hardware mostly,” Spencer said. “Door hinges. Window latches. Maybe some trim if you’ve got anything that matches the original.”
“And I might need a new mantel, remember,” Meryl added, surprising Spencer.
Joe nodded. “Let’s start with the hardware. I’ve got a fresh batch from that Victorian teardown last month.”
As they followed Joe through the yard, Spencer watched Meryl. She moved with growing confidence, pausing to run her fingers along the edge of a weathered door, bending to examine the patina on an old brass hinge. Her hesitation faded quickly.
She’s enjoying it, his bear observed.
They reached a long shed filled with organized shelves of hardware. Joe left them to browse, promising to check back once they’d had a chance to look around.
“This is where we find what the cottage needs,” Spencer said, gesturing to the rows of hinges, latches, and pulls. “Old houses like specific things.”
Meryl nodded, already examining a bin of brass window latches. “These look like the ones in the sitting room.”
Spencer moved closer. “They do. Good eye.”
She held one up, testing its weight in her palm. “It feels more substantial than the new ones at the hardware store.”
“That’s because it is,” he said, unable to keep the approval from his voice. “They made things to last back then.”
When they moved to the section with larger salvaged pieces, Spencer was in his element.
He ran his hand along a stack of old trim.
Oak. Good grain, even under the dirt. Nearby, salvaged mantels leaned against the wall, and beyond them sat a jumble of porch brackets, newel caps, and carved panels waiting for someone to make use of them again.
Meryl stopped in front of a short length of carved oak trim, half hidden beneath a pile of baseboards, and bent to pull it free. Simple leafwork, rounded at the edges.
She brushed the dust from it with her palm. “This is beautiful.”
Spencer stepped beside her. “It is.”
Her thumb ran over the worn edge. “That’s what I like about the cottage. All the little details you don’t find in modern buildings.”
Spencer looked at the trim, then at her. “No, you don’t. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy working on Pine Cottage with you.”
Not the only reason, his bear murmured.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “There we agree on something.”
“We agree on a lot of things,” he replied.
“Yes, I think we do.” She placed the trim back where she’d found it.
Then it happened. They both reached for the same brass door handle at exactly the same moment.
Their fingers brushed, and Spencer felt the familiar jolt of recognition. But what caught him more was the look on Meryl’s face as she locked eyes with him. It was as if they had reached a deeper understanding, and not just where Pine Cottage was concerned.
“This one,” she murmured, and held up the handle as they broke contact.
“Yes,” he agreed without hesitation. “It’s perfect.”
A smile spread across her face, small but real. “Like it belongs there.”
His bear was practically dancing. Yes!
They were more on the same wavelength as they continued through the yard.
A set of porch brackets that matched the original design.
A length of quarter-sawn oak that could replace the damaged threshold.
Brass cabinet pulls with just the right aged finish.
A plain shelf bracket that Meryl dismissed at first, then picked up again because, as she put it, “it looks dependable.”
In an hour, they had assembled a small collection of finds that felt coherent. Pieces that belonged together and, more importantly, belonged in Pine Cottage.
They loaded their finds into the truck carefully, wrapping the more delicate pieces in old blankets Spencer kept behind the seat.
As they drove back toward the mountains, the silence between them felt entirely different from the morning’s awkwardness. Meryl had her notebook open, listing where each piece might go, occasionally asking Spencer’s opinion on installation details.
“I think the hooks should go in the entry,” she said. “For coats and bags.”
“Good place for them,” he agreed. “We could add a shelf above.”
When they were halfway back to the cottage, Meryl closed her notebook and looked out at the mountains. “Thank you,” she said. “For today.”
“You’re welcome,” Spencer replied, keeping his eyes on the road, though his pulse had quickened again.
“Not just for all the wonderful pieces we found for the house, but also for finding a way to get us past yesterday,” she added.
Spencer was quiet for a moment. “I’m not one to dwell on yesterday.”
But he wanted to dwell on all the tomorrows he could have with his mate.