“So we’re finished now?”
“You appear quite eager to quit.” George eyed Collin. “Big date tonight?”
Collin grinned. “Marissa and I are going to a movie.”
“Aha.” George nodded. “Well, you better get moving, young man. Might take some hard scrubbing to get that pimento paint out of your fingernails.”
After Collin took off, George washed the paintbrushes in the bathroom sink. He could hardly believe that he’d stayed here this long. But there was something surprisingly satisfying about it this day. A reminder of when he and his grandfather had worked together so many years ago. Only today, George had played the “grandpa” role.
“This looks great,” Willow declared as George laid the cleaned brushes on a rag. “And the kitchen cabinets too. You and Collin do good work. Thank you.”
As he washed his hands, he explained that the paint needed to dry before the pieces could be put back together. “And I know Collin is working at the bookstore tomorrow, so how about if I come back and put the cabinets back together?”
“Oh, George, that would be wonderful! That’s so generous of you.”
They discussed what time to meet up and then George excused himself to leave, but Willow walked down the stairs with him. “I’m sure you must be worn out,” she said. “But if you were interested, I would love to fix you dinner—as a thank-you. I have a couple of lovely grass-fed organic New York steaks. Well, unless you’re a vegetarian.” She grinned. “I used to be vegetarian, back in my thirties. Now I enjoy a good piece of red meat from time to time.”
“Steak?” George felt his stomach rumble. “Uh, will Josie be dining with you too?”
Willow frowned. “I haven’t invited her. To be honest, I could use a Josie break. But I’m sure she’ll want to spend the night in my apartment since hers is still such a mess.” She held up a finger. “How would you feel about me bringing my steaks to your house to cook?”
As tempting as a New York steak sounded, George wasn’t sure he wanted Willow to cook them in his tidy little kitchen. The smell, the smoke, the grease, the mess, the stress ... it just wouldn’t be worth it. “I’m not really set up for fancy cooking in my kitchen,” he confessed. “To be honest, I’ve never made a steak there myself.”
She blinked in surprise. “Oh ... okay. How about a rain check then? And just so you know, I’m a very good cook. With a good oven and good broiler, I can make a mean steak. Even better on an outdoor grill.”
George was still reluctant to give up on that steak. “I have an idea,” he said without really thinking it through. “My grandparents’ house has a big, well-equipped kitchen. My grandmother was an excellent cook and—”
“That’s perfect!” Willow’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to see the inside of that house. And it will give me a break from Josie. What time should I come?”
Of course, now George began to second-guess himself. He’d never taken anyone into his grandparents’ house since they’d passed. Aside from his visits when he’d dust and sweep and vacuum the main rooms, no one ever went in there. But Willow was already enthusiastically going over her menu, and he knew it was too late to change his mind. They agreed to meet at seven. That would just give George enough time tograb a quick shower then get up there and make sure all was in order. But as he hurried home, he had serious misgivings. This felt like a big mistake.
Willow could hardly believe it. Not only was she going to see the inside of the Rockwell Mansion, she was going to fix dinner up there. Who would’ve thought it! Of course, it was entirely possible that before the evening ended, George could regret the whole thing. He could resent that she’d pushed him some. But without pushing that man, he’d probably be stuck in the mud indefinitely. Besides, he was about to get a really great meal out of this.
As she drove up the hill, cleaned up and wearing a comfortable caftan, she felt surprisingly energized. Today had been a good day. And this evening had the potential to be even better. But as she parked in front of the majestic house, she felt dismayed. The place looked so secure and closed up and uninhabited. Had George even arrived yet? Even worse, had he changed his mind? She’d suspected by his expression that he’d been unsure of his suggested plan, but she hadn’t given him the chance to back out.
As she got her bag of dinner ingredients from the car, she knew that George wouldn’t be comfortable having her up here. But she also knew that George wasn’t comfortable with much of anything outside of his norm. By now, Willow felt fairly certain that George had some form of OCD. Naturally, she hadn’t mentioned this to him. Not yet anyway. Perhaps one day, when their friendship was more solid, she would.
She went up the front porch steps. Although people referredto this house as the “Rockwell Mansion,” it wasn’t exactly huge by today’s standards. A hundred-plus years ago, it would’ve been. It was a handsome brick house with Edwardian architecture that gave it a dignified look. It had three stories and a generous wraparound porch. Although it appeared solid and maintained, it had a look of neglect about it. Or perhaps it was sadness. Maybe the house was simply lonely. Willow hesitantly rang the doorbell. To her surprise, George answered.
“Oh, you’re here!” she exclaimed.
“I said I’d be here.” He opened the door wider.
“Yes, but I wondered if you’d change your mind.”
He gave her a curious look, but let her in. “I was just starting to open up some windows,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s a bit stale in here.”
Willow looked around with wide eyes. The foyer was about the size of her whole apartment. An enormous brass chandelier hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the marble floor, a dark Persian rug, and an elegant entry table with a large Chinese vase in the center of it. “This is beautiful,” she told George.
“According to my grandfather, nothing has ever changed in this space. Even the wallpaper here is original.”
She took in the dark, somber colors. “Interesting.”
“Some of the other rooms have been updated somewhat over the years. Not necessarily improved, but made more comfortable, I suppose.”
Willow admired the wide staircase, imagining a lovely woman from a previous era gracefully coming down ... perhaps to meet a beau. “So you grew up in this house, George?”
“Yes. Some of my earliest memories were in this house. Then, after my parents died, this was my home.”
