“Sorry.” She took another bite. “I didn’t mean to preach at you.” She tipped her head toward the side fence where a blonde head was peeking over. “And, don’t look now, but we have an audience.”
“Mrs. Atwood?” he murmured without turning to see.
Willow nodded. “Should I invite her to join us?”
“No.” He bit into a muffin and thoughtfully chewed. Then his eyes lit up.
“Better than a cupcake?”
“Most definitely better.”
“Do you think I’ve given the wrong impression by showing up like this?” She lowered her voice. “I mean, for your neighbor.”
He grinned. “Well, if you have, I owe you my sincerest gratitude. Thank you very much.”
“Hey, I do what I can.”
Willow’s concerns for crashing in on him like this slowly evaporated as they pleasantly visited and dined in the sunshine. Although she suspected that George was still somewhat dumbfounded by her actions, she felt that he was enjoying himself ... and the food too. “This has all been so unexpected,” he said as they finished up. “But much appreciated.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“I had a rather sleepless night,” he confessed. “I normally don’t drink coffee beyond the noon hour. I’m afraid it kept me awake.”
“You’re sure that was the coffee?” Willow hid her smile as they carried the breakfast things back into the kitchen. George insisted on cleaning up, and she felt a fresh wave of pity for this man. He lived such a barren and colorless existence. Almost as if he’d gotten stuck somehow, or perhaps had a primal fear of fully participating in life. Whatever it was, she felt more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it. But she suspected it wouldn’t be easy. It would probably require a lot of gentle pushing on her part. And perhaps some less-than-gentle prodding too.
six
George felt bewildered as he hurried to wash up the breakfast dishes. Willow hadn’t appeared eager to depart and, although he hated to leave dirty dishes in the sink, it didn’t feel very hospitable to let her sit alone in his living room. Even so, he couldn’t just leave the kitchen like this. Willow might be a good cook, but she certainly left a huge mess behind.
George wasn’t quite sure why it made him so uneasy to think of Willow roaming around his little house. He didn’t have anything to hide. But it was disturbing to think she’d gone through his fridge and cupboards and such. Equally disturbing to imagine her out there “making herself at home.” Truth be told, George was not the ideal host. In fact, he’d never been a host at all. As much as he liked Willow, she certainly did push him from his comfort zone.
“Well, that will do for now.” He joined her while still holding a damp dish towel. “I’ll finish up later.” He dried his hands on the towel then folded it.
“You’re sure I can’t help?” she offered from her position on his small sofa.
“No, thank you.” He looked nervously around the room.In the sunshine, he could see several surfaces with a slight layer of dust. He resisted the urge to use the damp dish towel to wipe it now. Probably not a hospitable move.
“I’ve just been admiring those gorgeous cabinets.” Willow stood, going over to the wall of cabinets that George and his grandfather had built more than twenty years ago.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve tried to imagine what you keep in there.” She grinned. “I suspect it’s books, but I’ve resisted the urge to peek.”
“You can look.” He opened the cabinet nearest to him.
“Oh my goodness!” She rushed over to see it more closely. “Vinyl records—there must be hundreds of them.” She turned to him. “You’re a collector?”
“Only by default. The oldest ones belonged to my grandparents. My grandfather was a jazz aficionado. My grandmother loved the crooners—Sinatra, Crosby, and such.”
“But these are from the sixties and seventies.” She removed an album. “Beatles?”
“Those belonged to my brother.”
She continued to look through them. “The White Album? You have the Beatles White Album?” She carefully removed it from the cover. “In mint condition too.”
“My brother had most of the Beatles’ albums.”
“Amazing.” She slid the album back into place. “Do you ever listen to them?”
