“I’ll set up a meeting,” I said, taking a bite of a lemon scone.
“Are you sure? They must be busy.”
I shook my head. “They do consults all the time.” That wasn’t true at all. But for her, they’d have an open line whenever and wherever she needed.
Winona looked touched. She tried to say something about the cost, and that she had enough budget for probably a few hours of consultation, but I reached over and wrapped my hand around her wrist, taking a threatening bite of her muffin.
“Say that again, and I’m eating the whole thing.”
“Mitchell!” She laughed, incredulously.
“You think I'm kidding." I took another bite before she jerked it out of my way.
“Hands off my muffin!”
I grinned, chewing and washing the contraband bite down with the coffee she'd made. “Winona, you shouldn't negotiate with me aboutmoney.”
I regretted the words the moment I said them—they sounded entitled as hell, and the implication that she couldn’t compete was shitty, even if it was true.
But Winona didn’t take it that way. She just tilted her head. “So if you’ll do this for me, maybe I should milk you for some other things I need, too. Like a new wardrobe.”
She was joking, but I set down my scone and reached into the pocket of my jeans.
“Mitchell, what the hell are you doing?”
I pulled out my black card. “You make an excellent point. Not that I want you changing anything about your clothes.” My eyes drifted down the loose cotton top she was wearing, which was a sexy pale pink color and draped over her curves in a highly distracting way. I forced my gaze back to her eyes, snapping the card down on the table in front of her. “But so long as I’m here, you should get whatever you need for the business. And whatever else you want. I don’t get the statements, and Sal—or whoever—pays this one off directly from my personal accounts. No questions asked.”
“Mitchell.” She said my name emphatically this time. “I’m not taking your card.”
“You’d be foolish not to, Winona. I’m dead serious.”
I took another bite of scone.
“What about you? Don't you need that?”
I raised an eyebrow. "I rarely leave my lair, Winona."
"What about online shopping?"
I gave her a look that made it clear I didn't do my own online shopping. "I have more cards,” I said. I swallowed the last bite of my scone and dusted my hands. “So. Can I still see the house?”
Winona opened her mouth, then shut it again. “I’m leaving the card here,” she said.
“Does anyone else come in here? I’d hate to see them benefit and not you. I’d neverknow, though.”
Her expression was incredulous.
But I stood up, giving her no more room to argue. It really meant nothing to me to give her one of my cards, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. But so long as I was in any way involved with her—hell, even if I wasn’t—she wouldn't want for anything.
I strode over to a wall where a dozen different copper molds hung. I looked over my shoulder. “I’m just going to do the tour myself if you don’t take me,” I said. “I mean, you can always kick me out. But I’m not taking the card.”
Winona shook her head, standing up, still looking at me like I was nuts. But that was nothing new.
She walked over to me and looked up at the molds. “My mother collected these,” she said. “These aren’t hers, of course. But they look just like them.”
Of course. I had so many questions already, and we’d just gotten started.
The love Winona had for her home was evident in the way her hands slid over the wood frames of each doorway, and in the way she smiled when she showed me all the secret places, like the old larder and the entrance to the creepy basement. Even if there were parts she’d left undone, she still took pride in her home. Just like she took pride in this town, telling me about all the people who'd helped her when she first moved here, and the origin stories of all the things passed down to her. She talked about Quince Valley the same way my brother did. Like there was magic here.
