Relief ran through him. “Take your time.”
When she disappeared inside, his bear practically purred.We’re going on our first date.
Not a date,Spencer muttered.
Ten minutes later, they were heading away from Pine Cottage. Spencer kept his focus on the road while Meryl looked out the passenger window, the silence between them not exactly uncomfortable, but certainly a little awkward.
His bear nudged him.Say something. Anything.
“The place belongs to Joe Olson,” Spencer said. “Been there about thirty years. His son runs it now, but Joe still comes in most days.”
Meryl glanced over. “Do you go there often?”
“When I need to. They’ve got a good eye for what’s worth saving.”
She nodded and looked back out the window. After another mile of silence, she spoke again. “About yesterday...”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Spencer said quickly.
“I think we do,” she replied, her voice steady. “You were right about the beam.”
His bear let out a sigh of relief.See? She just needed a little time.
Spencer kept his eyes on the road. “Doesn’t mean I handled it well.”
“Neither did I,” Meryl admitted. “I panicked. Every time I turn around, there’s another problem with the cottage.”
“I know it’s overwhelming,” Spencer agreed. “But we don’t have to solve everything at once.”
The wordweslipped out before he could stop it. Meryl didn’t correct him, though, and he took comfort from that.
With the air cleared, the conversation shifted to easier things. By the time they pulled into Olson’s yard, it was almost as if yesterday had never happened.
The salvage yard sprawled out before them, a maze of organized chaos. Old doors leaned against each other in rows. Stacks of reclaimed timber sat beside bins overflowing with doorknobs, hinges, and latches. Weathered mantels and porch columns waited for new homes.
Meryl got out of the truck slowly, taking it all in.
“This is...” she began.
“A lot,” Spencer finished.
“No,” she said, surprising him. “It’s amazing.”
His bear rumbled happily.She gets it.
Joe Olson spotted them from across the yard and waved. He was in his seventies now, white-haired and wiry, with hands permanently stained by decades of working with old wood and metal.
“Spencer!” Joe called, making his way over. “It’s been a while.”
“Joe.” Spencer shook his hand. “This is Meryl Aldwick. She’s fixing up Pine Cottage.”
Joe’s eyes brightened with interest. “Hilda’s place? I know it well. What are you looking for today?”
“Hardware mostly,” Spencer said. “Door hinges. Window latches. Maybe some trim if you’ve got anything that matches the original.”
“And I might need a new mantel, remember,” Meryl added, surprising Spencer.
Joe nodded. “Let’s start with the hardware. I’ve got a fresh batch from that Victorian teardown last month.”
