She should update her notebook and review her suspect list.She needed to think through everything she’d learned.
Instead, she opened her pantry.
Arlo, who’d been napping in a patch of sunlight, lifted his head with interest.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam told him.“I’m not stress-eating.I’m stress-organizing.”
She pulled out her label maker, the one Nora had given her for Christmas with a note that said, “I know you, dear” and surveyed the chaos before her.
The pantry had been bothering her for weeks.Items shoved wherever they fit.Spices in no particular order.Cans facing random directions.Her Type-A soul had been quietly screaming about it, but there’d always been something else that needed to be done.
Like solve murders.
But right now, she needed something she could actually control.She pulled everything out, creating organized piles on the kitchen counter.Baking supplies, canned goods, pastas and grains, snacks.Spices alphabetized, because of course they would be.
Arlo wandered over to supervise, sniffing at a can of green beans that had rolled off the counter and toward his water bowl.
“That’s a vegetable, buddy.You won’t like it.”
She wiped down the pantry shelves, measured the spaces, and started creating labels.Each one that she pressed into place felt like a small victory.
Sam was so in the zone that she jumped when her phone rang.It was Nora.
“I hope you’re relaxing,” said Nora briskly.
Sam hesitated.
“You’re organizing things, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged,” admitted Sam.“But that’s something that’s relaxing to me.And I’m about to have a bowl of your soup.”
“Good girl,” said Nora.“Although I’m not totally sure about organizing being relaxing.Try to put your feet up before your date.You know your man doesn’t care if your pantry is alphabetized.”
“How do you know I have a date?”
Nora sniffed.“I know everything.Have fun.”
And with that, the omniscient Nora hung up.
Sam shook her head, smiling despite everything.She finished the pantry, stepped back, and felt something in her chest unclench slightly.Everything had a place.Everything was labeled.And at least in this one small area, chaos had been vanquished in a minor way.
That evening, Sam had changed outfits three times before Arlo had given her a look that clearly communicatedjust pick something already.She’d settled on dark jeans and a soft blue sweater that Olivia once said brought out her eyes.
The doorbell rang at exactly six o’clock.Punctual.She appreciated that.
Aiden stood on her porch holding a bottle of wine and wearing a slightly nervous smile that made her heart do some complicated acrobatics.He’d traded his usual teacher wear for dark slacks and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”She stepped back to let him in.“You didn’t have to bring wine.”
“I wanted to.”He handed her the bottle, which was a nice Pinot Noir, not the cheap grocery store kind.“And I should probably confess that Nora ambushed me at the store and offered very firm opinions about what I should buy.”
Sam laughed.“Of course she did.You realize she’s going to interrogate you about this later.”
“I’m counting on it.I need someone to tell me if I’m doing this right.”
Sam took his arm.“You’re doing fine so far.”
