“And coffee, too,” I say. “Just how you like it.”
She walks over, picks up the mug, and sniffs. “Was that Leon Bridges playing in the parlor?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, though I do feel like I walked into someone else’s maladaptive daydream. That kind of music . . . in my mind, it doesn’t suit you. It’s very wistful before breakfast.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I can be wistful. You’ve only just met me,” I say. “You have no idea the depths.”
Her shoulders stay high, the tension not yet eased by caffeine. I bite my tongue to keep from pushing. I’m trying to be decent this morning.
She winces as she lowers herself into the chair.
“You good?”
“I didn’t sleep much,” she says. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“You want to sit for a while? Eat some pancakes?”
“If I take a few Advil, I can be ready to start climbing ladders in an hour.”
“I was thinking we might take a walk first. Head into town.”
She blinks. “Why?”
“I want to stop by Bobby’s shop. Grab another heater. Maybe swing by Haven & Hearth, see if they’ve still got those antique window latches. They’d be perfect for your room; help keep the heat in better.”
“You want me to go on a hardware run with you?” She frowns. “Wells, I’d rather not putz around the town running errands. We need to get this place cleaned up, assessed, documented, and then listed.”
“You said ‘we,’” I interrupt. “But I’m just the guy fixing the busted steps, remember? This isn’t my house. If it was, I wouldn’t be doing any of the things you just listed. I’d be fixing it up to host guests again in Elspeth’s name.”
She opens her mouth, shuts it again, then gives me the kind of glare that could melt frost. It looks good on her—the scrunched nose, the forced pout, the fire in her eyes—but I refuse to let her know that.
“I’m just saying,” I continue, “we’ve got time. You’ve only been here for a couple of days. Thought maybe you’d want to look around, breathe a little, get your bearings first.”
“I don’t need to look around,” she says quickly. “I need progress.”
I turn back to the stove, flip another pancake, lower the heat. She still hasn’t sat down.
“Elspeth used to say no decision was worth making on an empty stomach.”
She sighs. “I know what my own grandmother used to say.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “It’s just a walk. An hour, maybe less. We can hit Bobby’s shop, grab another heater. Then stop by the window guy’s place for that sash lock replacement. I think the one in the Garden Room’s about to give out, too.”
She taps her nails on the counter. Three tiny clicks, then, “Well, okay. But only so you can’t continue to lord the heater over me.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say, sliding the first pancake onto a plate.
She eyes it like she half expects it to bite her, then finally pulls out a chair. Her posture’s stiff, but she picks up the fork slowly and shoves a tiny bite into her mouth. Devours three more bites in record time.
I wipe my hands on the towel and head for the hall. “I’ll meet you back down here in an hour.”
She looks up. “You’re not eating pancakes?”
“Nope. I made ’em just for you, Hart.”
7
