Which meant that Harrison was paying her a lot.
“He said I should have my rate doubled because it is the holidays. Is there someplace I can set this up?” With her chin, she indicated the massage table.
“Hillary…I am so sorry that Clay sent you all this way from…from where?”
“Detroit.”
“Detroit. But I don’t need help. I mean, I do, but nothing that warrants him sending you here during the holiday season.”
“I don’t mind! It was snowing buckets and was so cold in Detroit. Do you mind if I come in? I really need to set this up.”
Harrison looked at her massage table. “It’s just that I don’t—”
“How’s your knee, anyway?” she asked, and somehow managed to slip right by him into the foyer with her massage table.
His knee hurt, especially after last night’s activities, and he knew that Hillary could help him. He sighed with defeat. “This is highly unorthodox.”
Hillary laughed. “Okay, professor.” She walked into the house and paused in the grand foyer to look around. “Wow! Is that Bing Crosby I hear?”
“Yep,” Harrison said. “He sings here a lot.”
“Look!” she said, pointing up at a giant clump of mistletoe, festooned with red ribbon. “I’ll be careful to avoid that.” She giggled and ducked around it, swept by the nutcrackers, and entered the living room.
Harrison noted with some chagrin that he and Amy had not picked up the evidence of last night.
“Did you have a slumber party or something?” Hillary asked with a laugh. “Look at that tree! That thing is massive. And Santa and his sleigh! Soawesome,” she said, admiring the sleigh and eight reindeer hanging from the ceiling.
Harrison opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of Duchess barking interrupted him, and here came the weenie, running straight into the wall before self-correcting and letting her nose find Hillary.
“Look atyou,” Hillary crooned, and knelt to receive Duchess’s kisses. “I didn’t know you had a dog. Is she blind?”
“Very,” Harrison said. “Her name is Duchess.”
“Hello, Duchess, what a sweetie you are. What asweet, sweetpup you are, aren’t you?” Hillary sang as she rubbed the belly Duchess had instantly presented for a rub.
She finally stood up and let Duchess sniff her table. “Where shall we set up? I’d say in here, but…” she gestured to the pillows and toy Santas and snowmen. “It’s not too cold. We could go on the deck. Oh my Lord, look at the view!” she cried, picking up her table and heading for the sliding-glass doors.
Harrison had no choice but to follow her. He stepped out onto the deck and glanced at the studio. He didn’t want to disturb Amy but didn’t know how they would avoid it. For starters, Hillary’s massage table was massive. And she was a talker.
“You have a club handy, right? I can’t imagine a golfer anywhere in the world without a club handy. Do you?”
Duchess had also followed them out and was sniffing her way back to the studio. Harrison worried about the stairs.
“Do you?” Hillary repeated.
“What?” Harrison couldn’t force himself to look away as Duchess began to navigate the steps. “Yes, I do. Somewhere.”
“You should get one.”
Duchess made it down the steps, much to his relief. He turned back to Hillary. “Pardon?”
“Grab a club. I need to check your swing.”
Harrison stood there, hands on hips. He didn’t like that Clay had sent Hillary, but then again, he wouldn’t mind if she checked his swing. “They are in my room. Hold tight.”
“You’ve got it, boss,” she said cheerfully.
When he returned, Hillary had set up an artificial turf pad that mimicked the feel of the earth under a club. Duchess had taken up a spot under her table, seemingly unbothered by the cold.
