‘What a pretty little place.’ She pointed to the neat, single-story house opposite with its fresh white paint, glossy sky-blue front door framed by lush, colorful hanging baskets and surrounded by an immaculate garden.
‘Yeah, Harold Morton and his partner William Puckett live there. They’re both retired teachers and enthusiastic gardeners.’ He chuckled. ‘If they get chatting with you, don’t be surprised if they bend your ear about British history and the royal family. They’re huge Anglophiles. I’m afraid Becca’s been a bit of a dead loss for them . . .’
He hesitated. Deke was concerned about his wife’s lack of interest in their neighbors, but it wasn’t Griff’s place to gossip about Becca to her sister. ‘She’s been too busy for socializing.’ He left it there. ‘The gray brick house to the right of William and Harold’s place belongs to Tiffany Hunt. She’s in her early thirties and a physical therapist over in Franklin. Tiffany moved here from Minnesota last year. If you ask her why, she’ll say it’s mainly because she was tired of digging her car out of the snow every winter. We sure don’t get much of the white stuff here.’
‘It’s rare in Cornwall, too. We’re surrounded by the sea on three sides, so it tends to be mild and damp. Great for the gardens.’
‘Yeah, it would be.’ It was on the tip of his tongue to say he’d love to see them one day, but she might take that the wrong way. ‘Poor ole Miss Grey disapproves of us all for different reasons.’ A wry smile sneaked out. ‘Deke’s a degenerate musician with a foreign wife. I’m a long-haired layabout. Harold and William — well, you can probably imagine whatshethinks ofthem. They’re about equal to Tiffany in Ruth Mae’s mind — the old dear considers her a damn Yankee — that’s the derogatory name for a northerner who comes to the South and stays.’ He stopped talking when Lyndsey stifled a yawn. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been rattling on again—’
‘Please don’t apologize, but I’m certain you’ve got better things to do with your Saturday evening than babysit me, so shall we get on inside?’
After traveling, all he ever wanted was a hot shower and bed. Making small talk with a stranger would be his worst nightmare too, and he’d bored her long enough.‘Yeah, sure. Deke asked me to show you where a few things are, so I’ll do that, then get out of your hair.’
Griff walked back to the truck and retrieved her bags. He headed up the three broad steps onto a spacious wraparound porch.
‘I love this. We don’t generally have anything like this back home. It’s not worth the expense of building it, because the English weather is so unpredictable.’ Lyndsey’s amusement brought added light to her face and stirred an unexpected frisson of desire in Griff’s gut.
She ran a hand over one of the four glossy red-painted rocking chairs lined up facing the road. ‘Do people really sip mint juleps on porches like this, or have I been reading too much Southern Gothic literature?’
‘Some do, I guess, but I’m more a cold beer or Jack Daniels man myself.’
‘Where is your house, anyway?’
‘If you bend down and peer through those trees you’ll see the roof line.’ Griff gestured over to their right. ‘It’s not fancy like this place.’ He cracked a smile. ‘Like my truck, the cabin’smade for practicality, not good looks.’
‘I see the house now.’
An invitation to come see it anytime danced on the end of his tongue, but he swallowed it back down. He dangled a brass key on a guitar-shaped keyring in front of her. ‘You want to do the honors or me?’
‘Go ahead, please.’
‘I even know how to make a real British cup of tea, if you want one? Becca’s given me lessons.’
‘No, thank you. I’m sure my sister still drinks the PG Tips we grew up on, and that’s not my preference these days. Sorry.’ A hint of apology crept into her voice. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, though.’
Griff got the impression that for her to unbend that much was a rare occurrence. He unlocked the cherry-red front door and pushed it open, standing aside to let her enter first.
‘Oh.’
No wonder she looked dumbfounded. If he didn’t know better he’d be convinced a tornado had recently blown through, wreaking a trail of destruction. The hall’s traditional black-and-white chequered tile floor was buried somewhere under a sea of abandoned shoes, coats and baby paraphernalia.
‘How about I show you the kitchen?’ Griff offered. Anything to get her out of there as fast as possible. ‘Deke assured me there’s plenty of food in the fridge and the freezer is well stocked, so you shouldn’t starve.’
‘Thank you.’ Lyndsey’s voice was faint with dismay.
He steered her down an equally cluttered hallway and into the spacious kitchen diner, part of the addition Deke had built at the back of the house.
‘Wow, this is an amazing space.’ Her bright green eyes darted around.
Griff agreed with the unspoken criticism. Itwouldbe a whole lot better if the sleek pale wood countertops and long farmhouse table were visible. This time, the culprits were piles of dirty dishes wedged between wobbling stacks of magazines, newspapers and junk mail. The deep butler’s sink under the window was crammed with more dirty dishes, and he dared not contemplate what his feet were sticking to on the wood floor. He ran through the basics of where things were as fast as he could, relieved when she didn’t ask any questions.
‘I’ll show you your bedroom.’ Deke had been explicit about which guest room he’d picked out for Lyndsey.I tidied it as much as I could and cleaned the en suite bathroom. It both amused and saddened him to picture the famous front man for a chart-topping band scrubbing the toilet for his fussy sister-in-law.
‘There you go.’ He flung open the door to reveal a generous sized room, simply decorated in blue and white, and clutter-free apart from a stack of brown cardboard boxes in one corner. It was a huge improvement on everywhere else, and he caught Lyndsey’s small sigh of relief. ‘Is there anythin’ else you’d like me to show you?’
‘No, thank you, I’ll be fine.’
‘At least let me give you my phone number.’
