The man was a real grump. And somewhat intimidating. She swallowed and fumbled for the letter in her back pocket, pulling it out so she could hold it up and show him his name on the front. “I have a letter for —”
“Not interested.” He turned to go.
The nerve. There was rude and then there was this guy. Now she was mad. “Hey,” she yelled. “It’s from Arlington Marsh and it’s for you. Unbelievable as it sounds to me, apparently you two were friends.”
Mitch reappeared, still glowering, but at least his attention was focused on the letter. “Why do you have a letter from a dead man?”
“It was one of his requests to me, that I deliver it to you. It was in with the things I got from his attorney.” She left out the part about only finding it now and not a year ago when the package had been delivered.
She cut herself some slack on that. She’d been grieving and in no mood for what was certainly a bunch of dry lawyer-ese. She’d known about inheriting the cottage already. Wasn’t like she’d expected anything else.
Mitch hmphed and disappeared again.
She snorted out a breath. Was that it? Where was he? Didn’t he want this letter? She backed up further to try to see if he was still on the balcony, lifting up on her tiptoes to get a better angle.
“Well?”
She looked straight ahead. Mitch had come down and opened the front door. He was standing there barefoot in worn jeans and a T-shirt, revealing a slim, muscular figure that had been previously hidden by the trees and brush.
A lot of women would probably think he was handsome. Even with the stubble. And the scowling. Which had to be permanent, since it seemed to be his only expression.
He held his hand out.
She put the letter in it, gave him two seconds to respond, then said, “You’re welcome.”
He cut his eyes at her.Almostlike he was amused. Or surprised that she’d said anything. “Why did Arlington give this to you to give to me? He could have mailed it. Or his attorney could have.”
She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Maybe he worried the mail would lose it.” She wasn’t going to tell him about the befriending part.
“Maybe.” Mitch inspected the letter, then lifted his gaze to her again. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s it.” She sighed. That wasn’t it. Arlington and his befriending. Ugh. “You know, if you ever want to chat or come over for a drink or—”
“I’m good.” He shut the door.
She stuck her tongue out, which was childish, but made her feel better, then turned on her heel and stomped back to her place.
This time, she took the overgrown path.
ChapterNine
Mitch tossed the letter onto his desk as he went into his office. He grabbed his nearly empty coffee cup and took it to the kitchen to refill it.
Naturally, the new neighbor had to choose the exact moment to visit when Joyce was out running errands. He drained the carafe into his cup and turned the machine off. He wanted to make another pot, but he’d had enough caffeine already.
Her interruption had completely derailed his train of thought. He’d been on the verge of a breakthrough; he could feel it. A new idea taking shape. Now, it wasgone.
And all her fault.
He leaned on the counter and sipped the coffee. Screw it. He was making another pot.
Another part of his mind whispered that he was just procrastinating. He ignored it, focusing on the mechanics of this new pot. Filter added, grounds measured, reservoir filled, power on, brew set.
That hadn’t taken much time. Now he had no excuse not to go back to his office.
He took his cup and returned to his desk.
The letter lay across the legal pad he’d been using to jot down thoughts and ideas. Arlington’s handwriting was unmistakable. Especially the dramatic peaks and valleys of the M. Mitch frowned and sat in his Herman Miller desk chair, his eyes never leaving the letter.
