“I heard that.” Fully stacked, Marianne carried another load to the shed. Over her shoulder, she asked, “How’s your new book coming?”
“Good,” he said simply. Some customers talked his ear off once they discovered he was a published author, and today he didn’t want to invite that opportunity. He hoped to keep his deliveries as short as possible.
Malcom had finally started giving him the clues he needed late last night, and he was eager to get back to the words. But more than that, he itched to work on his new plan to win Sophie’s heart. “Got Malcom tied up in another murder mystery, of course.” He almost added,two bodies this time. But those were the early details he saved solely for Sophie.
“I can’t wait to read it. I have all your other books, you know. Well, I’m missing the first one. Loaned it out to a friend and never got it back. Just haven’t gotten around to ordering it.”
Denver wouldn’t admit it aloud to anyone but Sophie—and Sherlock since he seemed to be good about keeping secrets—but his first Malcom story was his favorite. Always would be. “Who’s your favorite character?” he asked, unable to contain the question as they carried the final armfuls of firewood around the house.
“Oh, that’s an easy one.” Marianne closed the shed and padlocked its latch. “That crotchety Horace Greenwell.”
“He’s a favorite for sure.” Any true fan never said the detective was their favorite. They loved Horace Greenwell. The crabby, eccentric neighbor who always planted at least one clue. That’s how Denver identified who actually read his books and who was flirting with him.
“Let me grab you a check,” Marianne said when they were back in the driveway. Nose poked out of the open window, Sherlock watched them closely, no doubt hoping his new friend would magically produce a treat.
“I’ll wait here.”
“I have coffee inside. Fresh pot.”
Denver looked at his watch when he thought Marianne’s back was turned. The battery had died weeks ago, and though he fully intended to replace it, he’d gotten used to it not working. “Afraid I can’t stay—”
“I’ll fill ya up for the road. It’s good stuff. Bring in your thermos.”
Not one to turn down free to-go coffee, Denver fished his cup out of the truck. “Stay here, boy. I’ll be right back.”
He knocked on the screen door and stepped inside after his warning.
“In the kitchen,” she called. “Be right out to grab your cup.”
Denver waited in the log-sided living room, hands in his pockets as he scanned it for details he might later use in a book. Red curtains. Sunflower-patterned crocheted blanket hanging over a rocking chair. Framed pictures above the fireplace. His gaze dragged along the photos, finding in them a much younger, smiling Marianne Baxter with her husband at her side. In one, he held up a halibut the size of his torso. In another, they waved paddles from a tandem kayak with a glacier backdrop.
“Henry loved the great outdoors.” Marianne reached for his thermos. “That’s why he moved to Alaska. He thought it’d be his greatest adventure yet.”
“Was it?” Denver dared asking.
On her way back to the kitchen, Marianne turned in the doorway. “Said it was.” Light warmed her hazel eyes as a smile curled her lips. “Because he met me.”
Denver turned his attention back to the photos on the mantel while he waited. All that adventure together. It was what he yearned to share with Sophie and Caroline. Alifetogether. He couldn’t imagine living twenty-plus years without his other half.
All night, he’d contemplated ways to tell Sophie he wanted more than friendship. But every conjured scenario left too high a risk that he’d destroy their friendship if he didn’t get the outcome he sought. As hard as it had to be to live without someone who passed, he expected it would be far greater torture to live without the woman he loved if she were only blocks away.
“Here you go. Hope you don’t mind, I added a little hazelnut creamer.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Baxter.”
“Marianne, please.”
“Thanks, Marianne.” Sherlock let out a timely bark, reminding Denver he still had three more deliveries to make. “I better get heading. Let me know if you need anything else?”
“Don’t you worry about me.” She handed him a check and added a wink. “I’ll see you at the book club next week, then?”
“You bet.”
Any thoughts Denver had about waiting before executing his secret admirer tactic disappeared on his walk back to the truck. Marianne’s photographs tugged at his mind. Time wasn’t always guaranteed.
* * *
I need to start today.
