Page 24
Goldie checked the time on her phone.
“Good. We’re still where we need to be. The performers have their last briefing before eight-thirty, and I want to walk the guest route once more before we let anybody inside.”
“You’ve got enough people handling the final preparations?”
“Yes. Everyone knows which areas they’re responsible for, and I’ve told them not to start changing things because they get nervous. We need the last hour for testing and cleanup, not a burst of artistic inspiration.”
I smiled as I closed the tool case.
“You sound like someone who’s dealt with artists before.”
“I’ve dealt with artists, caterers, performers, lighting designers, and a florist who once decided the morning of an event that she needed to redesign an entire ballroom. I respect creative people enormously. I just prefer them to have their revelations before the doors open.”
That earned a laugh. She smiled at me, plainly pleased, and for several seconds I considered drawing her off the stool and kissing her again.
Instead, I cleaned the metal filings from the bench and secured the second repair in its case. Goldie’s phone vibrated on the bench.
Goldie glanced at the screen. “That should be dinner.”
I looked at her. “You ordered food?”
“Before I left the Factory. I didn’t know how long these repairs would take, and I figured neither of us needed to spend the rest of the night operating on coffee and determination.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “I had them deliver it to the house. I hope you like turkey melts.”
“I like practically anything I don’t have to cook tonight.”
“Excellent. Because I ordered fries and dessert too.”
I switched off the task lamp, leaving the overhead lights on while I packed the tools we’d need at the Factory. Goldie collected her notebook and phone, then went to the entrance for her coat.
I followed with the two repaired assemblies and set the cases near the door.
“Leave the work bag here if you want,” I told her. “We can pick it up on our way to the Factory.”
“I need a couple of things from it, but I’ll bring everything else back when we leave.”
She bent over the bag, looking through one of its compartments before retrieving her wallet and a small packet of tissues. Then she noticed the new brushes I’d stacked on a shelf beside the finishing supplies.
“Are those unused?”
I followed her glance.
“Brand-new. I haven’t opened the package.”
She studied the assortment for a moment, then looked at me with unmistakable amusement.
“Could I borrow one of the small soft ones?”
I was accustomed to people asking for my tools. I was considerably less accustomed to the expression on Goldie’s face when she asked.
“What are you planning to paint?”
“I have an idea for dessert.”
I looked at the brushes, then back at her. Whatever she had in mind, the prospect of finding out was worth sacrificing a brush. I opened the package and handed her a small one with soft bristles. Goldie slipped it into the side pocket of her bag, smiling to herself. I decided not to ask any more questions.
The walk from the detached workshop to the house took less than a minute, but the cold had sharpened while we’d been inside.
Wind pushed through the bare branches overhead and sent a scattering of leaves across the stone path. Goldie walked beside me with her coat pulled closed, carrying her bag while I took the cases containing the repaired parts.
