“Lili thought I might like to see some of her dad’s research materials. Help us figure out what’s already been done and what we still need to cover.”
Hearing him say my name makes something flutter in my chest. I know he’s only doing it to be polite in front of my mom, but still—I like it more than I should.
“If you don’t mind, that is,” he adds.
Mom waves a hand. “Oh, I don’t mind at all.” She starts toward the heavy door off the stairs, then hesitates. “You know what? I really need to finish getting the upstairs windows open. I’ll never understand why people keep painting them shut, but these have at least five or six layers on them.”
“I’ll try not to keep her long,” Wren says, nodding toward me. “Hopefully she’ll be upstairs to help you in no time.”
I shoot him a glare that he pretends not to see.
“That would be great,” Mom says. “But please don’t rush on my account or I’ll never hear the end of it. Goldie and I can manage today, right?”
Goldie scowls. “She makes us wear masks.”
Mom places a hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the stairs. “That’s because we tested, and there’s lead paint. And what don’t we do with lead paint?”
“Mess around,” Goldie drones.
“Right.”
As they pass behind Wren, Mom turns to me and mouths,He’sreally cute, then gives me an exaggerated thumbs-up.
I shoot her a pointed look, my eyes growing wide. I can’t believe she just did that right behind him. To be fair, I never mentioned that he has a girlfriend, but I definitely don’t need her telling me things I already know.
“Your mom seems nice,” Wren says, all innocence, once they’ve gone upstairs to start the windows.
I look at him deadpan. “Uh-huh. Don’t think I don’t know what you just did. If I end up upstairs chipping away at lead paint, I’m dragging you up there with me.”
He muffles a laugh while I unlock the study. The door creaks open and he squeezes through the narrow doorway after me, his knuckles scraping against the frame. I wince.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you get cut?”
He doesn’t even hear the question as he stares at the piece of furniture in the center of the room. “Is that a Lombard desk?”
Of course that’s what he notices before checking if his hands are bleeding. “I’m not sure. Goldie’s looking into it. All we know so far is that the carved leaves all over it are called acanthus and there are exactly one hundred thirty-seven of them.”
“That’s an oddly specific thing to know.”
I just shrug. “My sister likes to count things.”
His fingers trail over the polished wood. “If it’s real, it probably cost more than my truck. You could sell it.”
My reaction is immediate and vehement. “I would never.”
“I wouldn’t either.” He looks away from the desk, his gaze catching mine. “But most people would.”
His eyes hold mine, and for a second, I almost forget to breathe. My fingers twitch at my sides, and I have to force myself to look away.
“Anyway, this is it.” I step back so he can see the room. “All the books on those two bookcases are Nantucket related. The ones on the far left focus on our family history, including his notebooks on the bottom shelf. The one I brought you is about Kezia, but we should check the others just in case.”
I crouch down, reaching for the first notebook. But before I can pull it out, Wren’s voice breaks through the quiet. “What about boxes or maybe the drawers in the desk? Did you find anything in there?”
I twist on my heel, frowning at the unexpected question. “Yeah, I found his Kezia notebook.”
He shakes his head, his frustration rising. It’s clear he’s looking for something more. “Nothing else? Maybe some pictures? Or did he have a computer?”
“Now who’s being oddly specific?” I raise an eyebrow, irritated that he’s already got something on his mind that he’s keeping from me. “No, no computer. He was strictly analog. Why don’t you just tell me what you’re looking for?”
