Page 26

“I was. Mostly because my shoes were soaked and I desperately wanted to go home.”

I laughed. She rested her forearms on the island and looked at me over her glass.

“I like that part of the job, though. Solving problems when there’s no time to be precious about the original plan. You have to know what absolutely matters and what can change.”

“You’re good at it.”

Goldie lowered her glass. “Thank you.”

“I’ve watched you run that building all day. You know what you want people to experience, and you understand how to get a crew there without making everyone miserable.”

She smiled, but there was something more thoughtful about her expression now.

“That means a lot coming from you. Especially after what we inherited yesterday.”

“You did most of the planning before I got involved. I just made a few things move.”

“A few very important things.”

I could have argued, but Goldie was looking at me in a way that made the exact division of credit seem considerably less interesting than it had an hour earlier.

Instead, I reached across the island and took her hand. She curled her fingers around mine, and we stayed like that while the last of the warmth disappeared from our sandwiches and the house settled around us. Eventually, Goldie glanced at the brownie.

“I think we’re ready for dessert.”

I had a strong suspicion the brownie was only part of what she meant.

Goldie slid off her stool and carried both plates to the sink while I put the leftover fries in the refrigerator and wiped down the island. Her coat hung over the back of her stool with her work bag leaning against its legs, and the kitchen had gone quiet except for the running water and the wind testing the window above the sink. My phone lay faceup beside the toaster, with Lori’s text still the last thing on the screen.

“Do you need to call anyone?” Goldie asked, turning off the tap.

“No. Lori says Sienna’s fine, and whatever’s left to sort out with her can wait until she’s home.”

“Then you have my full attention.”

She didn’t ask anything else, which I appreciated more than I would have known how to tell her. She dried her hands, took the brush out of the side pocket of her bag, and held it up between two fingers.

“This has to be washed before it goes anywhere near food,” she said. “I don’t care how new it is.”

“I’d have said the same thing if I’d known where it was going.”

“You’ll find out in about five minutes.”

She washed it at the sink with more ceremony than I give my own tools, working dish soap into the bristles with her thumb and rinsing until the water ran clear. Then she pressed it dry in a clean towel and shook it once, the way painters do before they trust a brush with a surface that matters. I scraped the maple caramel into a small bowl and heated it for fifteen seconds. When I stirred it, the sauce loosened into a slow, glossy ribbon that smelled of butter and burnt sugar, and I touched a drop to the inside of my wrist before I did anything else with it. It was still far too hot for anyone’s skin, so I left the bowl on the island to cool and broke the brownie in half.

Goldie took the bigger piece, bit into it, and closed her eyes. “Nell was right,” she said when she could talk again. “This is unreasonable.”

She dipped the tip of the brush into the bowl, touched it to the inside of her own wrist, and held out her arm so I could see the small gold-brown mark. “I watched how you tested it. Does mine pass?”

I took her wrist and pressed the spot against my own. “It’s the temperature of tea you forgot about for a few minutes,” I said. “It won’t hurt anybody.”

“Perfect. Now hold still.”

“Why?”

She touched the loaded brush to the tip of my nose.

“You had something right there,” she said, in a perfectly straight voice that lasted about two seconds before she pressed a hand over her mouth and started to laugh.