“You left me a message—where the hell—you mean on that damn little phone I can’t figure out how to use? All those little pictures on the screen, and—well, blast it all. Next time call Iva if it’s something important. She knows how to use hers.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear at least one of you has the ability.” Gideon looked out his office window at the moonbeam-washed street. It was too late to go somewhere for dinner. He’d have to settle for a frozen pizza—if he had any left from the last time he’d gone to the market.
There was a muffled noise on the other end of the line and the static got worse for a moment, then his grandfather’s voice came through clearly. “Sorry about that. Iva wanted me to tell you we’re going to be back in Wicks Hollow tomorrow because that big class reunion she’s going to is coming up soon. She wants you to join us tomorrow for dinner at that place down there she likes—Trib’s. She won’t take no for an answer, and since I know you don’t have any plans on a Saturday night, I told her you’d be there.”
Gideon opened his mouth to refuse, then closed it. There was no good reason for him to do so, and the fact of the matter was, he liked Iva Bergstrom. A lot. Mostly because of how she’d changed his grandfather from an unyielding, business-minded workaholic to a kinder, gentler soul who’d been walking around as if he’d been struck by Cupid since they’d met last April. Gideon had never seen him sohappy.
He also appreciated Iva because she’d helped his grandfather, who was over seventy, slow down a bit when it came to work. He was even talking about semi-retirement—an idea the younger Gideon fully supported. Not because he was eager to take over the firm and move him out—he had no reason to push on that—but because he was worried about his grandfather’s health.
“That sounds fine. I’ll be there. What time? Do we need reservations? Shall I call and make them?”
His grandfather laughed over the phone. “No, no, Trib’s a friend of Iva’s; she’s got it all worked out. What, honey? Right, Gideon, it’s all set. See us there at five-thirty, all right?”
In Gideon’s mind, even six-thirty was far too early for Saturday dinner, but when you were dealing with senior citizens, you went with the flow. He just hoped the place had a decent wine list. Wicks Hollow was supposedly a trendy place that attracted a lot of people from Chicago and Ann Arbor as well as Grand Rapids, but that didn’t mean this restaurant would be up to snuff.
“I’ll be there. Give Iva a kiss for me, all right, Grandfather?”
“I will. But I think it’s time you got yourself home, son. A man doesn’t need to work as hard as you do.”
You do when your dad is a screw-up.
“All right,” Gideon said, shoving away the thought. “I’m closing up the laptop right now.”
“Iva sends her love—and promises you a smooshy kiss—her words, not mine—tomorrow night.”
Gideon grinned in spite of himself. “Ask her not to wear bright red lipstick then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” They disconnected the call, and Gideon sighed, then closed his laptop.
He shoved a few files into his briefcase and zipped up his laptop inside. Then he rearranged a stack of papers on the desk so they were aligned neatly, replaced his fountain pen in its gold-plated holder, and turned off the desk lamp.
He started toward the door, his gaze sweeping the office one last time to be certain nothing was awry—for even the cleaning service didn’t work on Friday night—and noticed a glint on the floor under the small conference table.
Stooping, he reached beneath it and picked up the flat, circular object. It was a small gold compact with a Celtic design etched on it, and he realized it must belong to Fiona Murphy. No doubt it had fallen out of her huge bag when she knocked it over. He flipped it open and found himself staring at his own steel grey eye in the unsmudged mirror inside.
He snapped it closed, dropping it in his pocket, suddenly remembering the spark in her amber eyes and the thick, wild auburn hair that gave her a tousled, rumpled look. She was a very compelling woman, even if she looked like a wild gypsy.
Gideon closed the door behind him, walking into the hallway toward the front of the office. He paused at Claire’s desk to put a stack of papers in her in-box, and hesitated. His fingers slipped over the smoothness of the gold compact in his pocket.
He could have his admin call Fiona and drop it in the mail to her.
The memory of her mellow lips, puckered in concentration during his explanations yesterday, and the way they quirked in a smile of enthusiasm at the end of their meeting flashed into his mind. Surprising, for he hadn’t realized he’d taken such note of her features…other than the objective realization that she was uncommonly striking.
He rubbed a thumb thoughtfully over the compact. He was going to Wicks Hollow tomorrow. Maybe he’d check out the antiques shop and return it himself.
* * *
By late afternoon on Saturday, Fiona had run out of excuses to avoid returning to the antiques shop.
Yesterday, after her aborted attempt to explore the little store, she’d gone back to Ethan’s house—he’d offered to let her stay at his lake cabin while she was in town—and tried to come up with as many different explanations as possible for what had happened with the lamp.
Then, instead of going back to the shop, she’d spent a few hours on the Internet, doing “research”—which she admitted was just another procrastination.
But when Saturday morning arrived, she knew she had to get up and do something productive. Ethan and Diana were coming in that evening, and she’d be hard-pressed to explain why she couldn’t show them the inside of her new property.
It was a very sunny day, and even though it was past the high tourist season, the fall colors were at their peak so there were also weekenders who’d come to town. The result was that with the extra pedestrians, the shop didn’t seem as dim and still and lonely as it had yesterday.
But when she got to Violet Way, Fiona still wasn’t quite ready to go inside.
Instead, she went to the boutique next door to meet her tenant.
