“For one thing, I’m a history buff, and you have a fascinating old house. I’m especially intrigued by that secret room of yours.” A hint of a grin tweaked his face, slight but with an amazing effect. All at once he looked impish and overwhelmingly appealing, like the type of guy she would have fallen for in high school.
Determined to escape his spell, she pretended to be engrossed by a butterfly that landed on his foot. She noticed that the dock shoes he was wearing were slightly scuffed. Today she didn’t feel so self-conscious next to him in her paint-stained clothes.
Her gaze wandered up to his shirt. The short sleeves revealed a pair of well-proportioned arms.
She forced her focus back to his face and rewound to what he was saying. He recognized that he’d been overbearing yesterday. She suspected that she hadn’t been entirely reasonable either--not that she was going to admit it. But it might be better not to burn her bridges with the historical society yet, in case she came up with another plan for the studio that they would find palatable.
“Okay,” she said. “I mean, apology accepted.”
He looked surprised, then his grin deepened. “I was hoping you’d say that. In fact, if you have a minute, I have a little token of friendship I’d like to give you. It’s right out in the car. I’ll get it.”
“That’s not necess–” she started, but he was already running down the front steps and out to the street.
As he went around to the far side of the car, she stepped onto the porch and let the screen door close behind her. When he came up the walk again he held a large briefcase, stuffed to capacity. He climbed to the porch, looking downward. Finally he opened the briefcase and pulled out a large-format book. “I brought you a copy of my latest.”
“Oh...I couldn’t.” Almost against her will, her gaze slid to the cover photo, a shot of a gorgeous gingerbread Victorian house. “Thank you, but I can get my own copy. I intended to already.”
“This is your copy. See?” He opened to the title page, where she glimpsed her name scrawled in a masculine hand. Before she could read any further, he snapped the book shut. “Now you have to accept it.”
She didn’t know whether to feel pleased or bribed. “I...I’m not sure what to say. You shouldn’t have.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. But I hope some of the houses in it will appeal to your artistic sense. After you’ve had a look, I’d like to hear your impressions.”
“Well, okay. Thank you.” She broke down and smiled. Taking the book from him, she resisted the urge to open it back up and read the inscription. “Would you like to come in? I could make some coffee.”
“I don’t often turn down coffee in the morning.”
She held the door open for him. “This will give you a chance to see a little more of the house--not that the kitchen is much to look at. I’d better warn you that it was remodeled in the nineteen-fifties and remains in that decade to this day.”
Leading him through the main hall, she purposely hurried past the studio. He lagged behind a little, taking in the decor, but when she stopped at the kitchen door to wait for him he quickened his pace and caught up.
“Have a seat.” She nodded toward the dinette set, a metal-rimmed relic she’d picked up at a yard sale. While he sat down, she set his book on the table, which, luckily, was clean this morning. Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out a container of ground coffee. “Maybe you and I can agree on this room. Pretty hideous, isn’t it?”
He glanced over the straight white rows of cabinets and the worn linoleum floor. Focusing on two large windows on the outside wall, he said, “There’s plenty of space and light.”
“True.” She pressed a filter into the coffee maker. “It has all the warmth of an emergency room.”
“I wonder what’s under the linoleum.” He tapped his foot. “The construction is really solid. Even if the material’s in bad shape, it might be an improvement over this.”
She paused between scoops of coffee to look down. “You might have something there. I’ll rip it up this afternoon.”
“Are you serious?”
“Whatever’s underneath can’t look worse than this. I’d start the job right now, but my matte knife is dull. I need to buy some new blades.”
“I think I have a utility knife.” He leaned down to open his briefcase. The bag was so full he could barely squeeze his hand inside. He pulled out a fat white envelope and set it on the table next to his book, then tried again.
Surprised, she watched him rummaging. She hadn’t taken him for the spontaneous type. From what she’d seen the day before, he fought change tooth and nail--like Ron.
She frowned to herself and switched on the coffee pot. First he brought her a gift, now he was jumping at her whim. She couldn’t help but suspect he was trying to get on her good side so she’d change her mind about the studio.
“Here it is.” He pulled a utility knife from the bag and slid out the blade. “Do you think this will work?”
“As long as the blade hasn’t been used too much. Are you sure you don’t mind lending it to me?” She made a wry face. “I might return it to you dull.”
“Actually, I thought I’d start the job for you now, if you really do want to rip up the floor.” He lifted his brows in an unspoken question.
She stared at him, not sure how to interpret this. If he was trying to indulge her, she wondered how far he’d take the game. She waved the back of her hand over the linoleum. “By all means, take a stab at it.”
As the coffee maker began to trickle and fill the room with the aroma of a Sumatra brew, he walked to the outside wall and stooped near the corner. She stepped up behind him and peeked over his shoulders, momentarily distracted by the V-shape of his back, a form Michelangelo could have sculpted.
He slit into the linoleum and peered under the corner. Until that moment she hadn’t quite believed he would do it.
“There’s another layer,” he said over his shoulder.
“Cut it.”
Now that she knew he meant business, her curiosity kicked in. As he bent forward a second time, she shifted along with him. She could feel the heat of his cotton-covered thigh next to her bare shin.
He pulled the first layer back, revealing an even uglier pattern below. Cutting a small slice into it, he wrested the corner loose and yanked it. Only after the third layer did he reach the bottom. Leaning closer, she got her first peek at the original brickwork floor.
“Wow.” She squatted next to him for a better look.
“Nice.” He turned to her and smiled. “Are you sure you want to get rid of the linoleum? If I cut much more, we won’t be able to put it back down.”
“Oh, please.” She laughed. “Slice away.”
He turned back a large portion of the first layer, using the knife whenever a spot got sticky. Together, they rolled the piece back across the room until the dinette set got in the way.
“Can we move this?” he asked, nodding toward the table. “Or will it be too heavy for you?”
Having struggled with it before, she knew exactly what effort the move would take. “I could handle one end, but it would be asking too much of you. You didn’t come here expecting to take on a home improvement project.”
“How do you know?” He grinned and stepped to the far end of the table. “Can you get that side?”
Realizing she wouldn’t be able to do the job on her own, she decided to accept his help. But his comment made her wonder what he had come expecting. As they struggled with the heavy piece, the envelope he’d left on it caught her eye.
“What’s in the package?” she asked between grunts.
“My new manuscript.” He shuffled backwards into the adjoining dining room, whose empty state made it useful, for once. They set down the table, and he brushed his hands together. “Actually, I was hoping you’d take a look at it...and consider letting me include your house.”
Learning that he had a second reason for coming doubled her suspicions. She should ha
ve known that the urge to apologize wouldn’t have been enough to bring him back. Now she saw his real purpose, hidden within this proposal. His books had a historical slant, so he would ask her to put off renovating until after his photo shoot. Next he’d want her to make up the studio to look like a Victorian library. The idea would be to get her to fall in love with the traditional decor and decide to keep it.
She dodged his gaze. Though she understood his concerns about the house, she didn’t like his attempts to pressure or charm her into changing her views. He had no clue what her plans for that room meant to her. That room, more than any other, exemplified her ex-husband’s stubbornness. Though Ron had designated it her work space, he’d never even allowed her to put a drawing table in it. With him gone now, she wanted a full-fledged studio--and she was going to have it, one way or another.
Starting back toward the kitchen, she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t see it working.”
“Why not?”
She went to the coffee maker and poured two cups, listening to his footsteps as he followed. “You and I don’t have the same vision for this house. A project like that would cause a lot of tension I’d rather avoid. ...Milk and sugar?”
While she opened the refrigerator, silence loomed. She grabbed the milk and turned around to face him.
His eyes looked big and sad, like a lost little boy’s, and she felt a pang of regret. As an artist she loved to share beauty, and she knew her house had potential for a lot.
“Both, please,” he said.
Apparently he couldn’t deny that they would have problems working together. She fixed his coffee and handed it to him. Picking up her own mug, she sat down on one of the dinette chairs, now stranded without a table.
He took the seat opposite her. “There’s another reason I stopped by.”
“Yet another? They’re beginning to add up.”
His mouth tugged at the corners, and he looked down into his mug. “I’ve been wondering ever since I left here yesterday about the secret room. Were you able to get around to exploring it?”
“Oh, that.” She felt herself stiffen and tried to hide her reaction by sipping her coffee. “No, I wasn’t. I was caught up in work all day yesterday.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m shocked. I thought for sure that once you’d had time to get over our, um, disagreement, you’d change your mind about taking a peek.”
Her face felt numb, as if the blood had drained from it. She couldn’t come up with a response.
“Look,” he said. “If you’re worried about spiders or mice, I’d be glad to check it out for you. I have a camping lantern out in the car today. I brought it just in case the opportunity arose.”
His offer tempted her. Finding out what the room held might help her get over her silly fears. But she didn’t like the idea of his taking on the role of big man, braver than her, protective of her, knowing what’s best. Put in a position of dependence on him, she might end up being influenced in other areas, like in her plans for the house. Her freedom from Ron had been hard-won, and she wanted to guard every shred.
She got up and stepped to the counter to add milk to her coffee. “It’s not that. I just...I don’t have time today either.”
“You don’t have a couple of minutes to look around?”
“You know very well it would take more than a couple minutes.” To avoid his gaze, she watched herself stirring. “I mean, probably. Just moving the bookcase back out could be a struggle.”
“It wasn’t yesterday.”
“Yes, but you almost got hurt when you triggered the door.” She lifted her mug and peered over the rim at him. “What if something like that happens again? That book seemed to fall out of nowhere onto your head. Who knows what other accidents are waiting to happen behind the bookcase?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant. There’s probably nothing back there but an empty room.”
“In which case we’ll have wasted our time, something I can’t afford to do. I have a lot of work around here, and now we’ve started another project on top of everything.” She gestured toward the floor. “I can’t leave the kitchen like this. I’m going to have to spend the rest of the day ripping up linoleum.”
“It’s really not that big of a job. Don’t forget you have me to help.”
“You’ve already done too much.”
“I’ve hardly done anything--”
“Yes, you have.” She set down her coffee and finally met his gaze straight on. “Look, Mark, you came over here with an autographed book for me; you offered to feature my house in your next one; you even helped me start tearing up my kitchen floor. That adds up to ‘too much.’ I don’t want to feel obligated to you, like I need to change my plans for the studio because I owe you or something.”
“That’s absurd.” His eyebrows crunched together. “I’m not trying to build up a debt for you, as if that were even possible. I may have hoped my book would give you alternative ideas, but I certainly didn’t think it would oblige you to change your mind. The same goes for including your house in my new manuscript. And I helped with the floor because I wanted to see what was beneath it, the same way I want to see what’s in the secret room.”
He looked her in the eye, apparently telling the truth, but she wasn’t sure it made a difference. She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe another time.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
She shrugged. “I have other things on my mind. I appreciate your offer to help--I really do--but I just wouldn’t be comfortable accepting it.”
“Well...if that’s how you feel, there’s nothing I can do about it.” He got up and went to the sink. Setting his mug down on the drain board, he turned back to look at her. “I guess I’d better go and let you get back to your projects.”
She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’ll tell you what: When I get time to check out the room, I’ll call you and let you know what I find.”
“I suppose if I can’t explore it with you, I’ll have to be satisfied with that.” He went back to his chair and picked up his briefcase, reaching inside. “I’ll give you my card again. But if you change your mind about letting me help, please let me know. You’d be doing me a favor.”
Taking the card, she set it down on the counter. She wished she didn’t have to disappoint him, but the fact that she felt so sensitive to his response reminded her to be cautious. The man made her feel vulnerable. “We’ll see. I can’t promise anything.”
A hint of a frown creased his forehead. “No, of course not.”
Looking away from her, he fiddled with some papers in his briefcase and tried to stretch the buckle far enough to latch it closed. The effort was clearly hopeless.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
He shook his head. Giving up on the briefcase, he grabbed it by the handles. “Something you said just reminded me of something.”
“What did I say?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, but the mood between them had definitely changed. He turned toward the hallway and strode out of the room.
She followed him to the front door, hurrying to keep up. What had she said to make him go cold? Her only guess was that a combination of all the strife between them had gotten to him. And, of course, his plan to bribe and charm her hadn’t gone exactly as he’d hoped.
He opened the door himself, stopping at the threshold to face her. “There’s one thing about you I don’t understand, Lara. You call yourself an artist, and judging by the way you announced your profession yesterday, you seem to take pride in your field. But you have this beautiful house, and you can’t seem to see the art in it. I’m not just talking about your plans for the studio. You’re not even curious about the secret room. Is that the way you would want your work to be viewed?”
She stared at him, too astonished to speak. On one hand, he seemed to have a point, but a house wasn’t a work of art, not essentially. A
house was built for shelter. Aesthetics played a secondary role.
Before she could form an answer, he pushed through the front door and darted down the porch steps.
As she watched him get into the car, her shock gelled into irritation. Whatever his point, who was he to criticize her--to try to tell her about art? His sudden lecture was nothing more than sour grapes. She hadn’t given him his way, so he wanted to get back at her.
With all of this alternating cajoling and jabbing, he was as controlling as Ron, though in a less obvious way. Well, she wouldn’t let either of them compromise her dreams. Maybe she could get a loan to renovate her studio. Today was Saturday, but she had a good mind to apply for a building permit Monday morning as soon as the town offices opened.
Turning away from the door, she swept back through the hall. This time if he looked up as he drove off, he wouldn’t catch her watching, the way he had the day before. She didn’t care enough to watch him go.
When she reached the kitchen, the sight of the floor hit her like a slap in the face. Why on earth had she started another project? If he hadn’t come over, the stupid idea never would have occurred to her.
She sank into one of the dinette chairs and leaned back, closing her eyes. Her one consolation was the thought that she’d probably never see Mark Vereker again. After the way he’d tried to manipulate her, she didn’t care if she broke her promise to call him about the secret room.
When she opened her eyes, a glimpse of something white over in the dining room caught her attention. On the table beside the book Mark had given her, his manuscript lay, forgotten in his hurry to leave.
“Oh, no.” She jumped up and ran to the front door.
Naturally he had left.
Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head to herself, then retraced her way to the rear of the house.
Back in the dining room, she glared at the fat envelope. So much for not seeing him again. She wasn’t about to lift a finger to return this manuscript, but she had an idea he might feel differently about getting it back.
Chapter 4
By the time Lara got up on Monday morning her anger had cooled, and she’d regained some of her sense. She still felt determined to build her studio the way she wanted to, but she wasn’t eager to take out a big loan to do it. Her mortgage payments already kept her strapped for cash. In fact, she doubted a bank would even approve additional credit for her.
Eternally Yours Page 4