He also knew that the problem—besides being shocked at the many changes—was the knowledge that Willow had incorporated these “improvements” with the help of the handsome contractor, Cliff Grant. Even his name had a bit of a Hollywood ring to it. Perhaps it wasn’t the name he’d been born with. Maybe he’d hoped to be discovered for film but hadn’t been. So he’d taken up construction instead. George knew it was silly to make up these stories in his head, but that was what one did when one was jealous. And George knew that he was jealous.
“What should I do?” George asked Baxter on Tuesday morning as they sat in the morning sun together. “Should I try to win her back? Or should I simply apologize and let it go?” Baxter purred with contentment, as if to say, Forget the whole thing and stay here with me.
“Yes, I could do that.” George gently lifted Baxter out of his lap, setting him on the floor. “That might make us both happy for the time being. But it wouldn’t last long.” George carried his coffee mug into the kitchen and began to wash up his morning dishes. His recent goal was to return to his old routines, but not in the regimented ways he used to. According to his self-help book, the first chapter anyway, one key to managing OCD was to rule it instead of letting it rule you.
Laundry could be done on any day of the week and at any hour of the day. And the grass would survive without being mowed every Saturday morning. It was even okay to let the dishes sit in the sink for an hour or two. But then, especially if flies invaded, George would jump up and compulsively wash and dry, putting them safely away. Wasn’t that just good sanitation?
As George dried his dishes, he noticed Lorna outside. Although she was watering her petunias, she didn’t have on her usual stay-at-home clothes. Unless he was mistaken, she was dressed for an outing. Probably one involving shopping. That was Lorna’s favorite pastime and she wasn’t afraid to admit it. Of course, if she knew how off-putting this was to George—or any bachelor who cared about his bank account—she might be more careful of her words. But suddenly, George felt like a shopaholic was just what he needed today. He set down a still-damp bowl, tossed down his dish towel, and hurried out to say hello.
“Oh, hello, George.” She waved.
“Looks like you’re going somewhere.” George tried to appear nonchalant as he went over to the low hedge that separated their yards, picking off a stray leafy twig that he must’ve missed during its last trimming.
“Just going to Lampton.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sale at the outlet mall.”
“Ah, shopping.” He nodded. “You’re quite the expert at that, aren’t you?”
“I’m quite the pro if I do say so myself.” Her expression grew curious. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’m not much of a shopper. Especially when it comes to clothes.” He waved down to his button-down blue shirt and gray trousers. “So much of my wardrobe was for teaching. I don’t really have the sorts of clothes that—”
“Why, George Emerson, you’re coming with me today,” she declared. “That is a fabulous idea. We’ll take you shopping for retirement clothes. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. Are you ready?”
“I guess so. Let me go check on my cat and a few things, and I’ll be right with you.”
“This is gonna be fun,” she called out as he hurried back to his house.
Not surprisingly, George had second thoughts as he changed into his oxfords. What was he getting himself into—and with Lorna? Was he opening up that proverbial can of worms? And for what reasons?
George didn’t really want to admit the motivation behind this madness. Not even to himself. The truth was he hoped to compete with that Cliff Grant fellow. Haunted by images of Cliff’s interaction with Willow while dressed in a casual but attractive manner, George felt the urge to make some personal changes. Although Cliff didn’t wear a suit and tie, which would hardly be the appropriate apparel for a contractor, he always looked well put together—almost like one of those fellows on the cover of GQ. Not that George had ever purchased such a silly magazine, but he’d seen them at the store. And Cliff definitely had that sort of flair and confidence.
As George brushed his teeth and combed his hair, he was willing to wager that one of Cliff’s ex-wives or girlfriends had taught him how to dress. Maybe they even shopped for his clothes for him. George wouldn’t be surprised. It was shallow—he knew it was—but George thought that if he looked a bit more fashionable . . . perhaps it would make apologizing to Willow easier. And perhaps—if he was really lucky—it might even improve his chances of winning her back. He knew that was a stretch, but improving his appearance couldn’t hurt.
“Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Willow said to her designer friend as the two of them rearranged the furniture in the living room again. It was their third try to get it just right. And with just one more day to get everything set for the Tour of Homes, Willow was trying not to feel overly concerned. But between George’s unpredictable behavior and the upcoming deadline, it was difficult not to feel some stress.
“I’ll say. That Mr. Emerson is a hard one to figure.” Donna stepped back to look at the sofa. “But stick to your guns, Willow. You’ve got this house on the tour, and you have to honor that commitment. Sort things out with Mr. Emerson afterward.” She pointed to the pair of chairs. “Let’s anchor those to the other edge of the rug.”
“Do you think this Danish Modern is too much for this room?” Willow asked as she set one of the chairs into place. “I mean, I do like it, but maybe—”
“No, no, I actually think it’s superb in here. I never would’ve done something like this myself. But with those more traditional pieces I brought—and this gorgeous carpet, well, I think it totally works. It’s just getting everything into the right positions that’s the challenge now.” She stepped back to look. “How about that?”
“Yes. That’s it.” Willow gazed over the room with satisfaction. “I personally love this room now. I can’t wait to get the art up and everything else in place.”
“I’m so glad you decided to slipcover the old upholstery in off-white.” Donna pulled a colorful pillow from a box and tossed it onto the sofa. “Really sets these off.”
“George was so worked up over the bills, I actually paid for the slipcovers myself,” Willow confessed. “But that yellow, green, and orange upholstery was pretty jarring. This is much nicer.”
“Well, George should be grateful for how much you’ve accomplished with such a small budget.” Donna continued to arrange the pillows. “Trust me, you could’ve easily spent many times that much.”
“He got me so upset that I canceled the housecleaners I had coming for today.”
“Looks like you’ve got a pretty good crew anyway.”
“Thanks to Savannah, Josie, and Collin. They’ve been hard at it since yesterday.” Willow held a large piece of art above the antique console against the back wall. “What do you think of this up here, Donna?”
“Oh, that’s fabulous. I love the juxtaposition of the modern art over that bulky walnut piece. And I have a pair of brass lamps that’ll be perfect on either end of the console. Is that one of the original Rockwell pieces that you held back?”
“No, this is one that Betty volunteered.” Willow set the painting on it for now. “It’s sweet how many of my friends are helping me with this. I’d like to have a thank-you party after the tour is over, just to show my appreciation.”
“And will you invite Mr. Emerson?”
Willow cringed. “I’m not sure he’d even come.” In fact, she sincerely hoped that George would stay away until the whole thing was over and done with. After that, well, she didn’t want to think about it right now.
The crew continued to work on the house—both inside and out—and by Wednesday evening, the Rockwell Mansion looked better than ever. At least to Willow. She was fairly certain that George wouldn’t agree.
“I’m stunned,” Cliff Grant said after she finished giving him the full tour. �
�This is nothing short of miraculous, Willow. How did you do it?”
“With a lot of help.” Willow tweaked the massive bouquet on the dining room table. The flowers were from her terrace garden, artfully arranged in an oversized pottery vase she’d made several weeks ago. “I keep telling everyone that it’s taken a village to bring this house back to life.”
“Well, you’ve sure managed to do it. Between the art pieces from your gallery, the mix of various styles of furnishings, and Donna’s designer touches, this house looks better than I thought possible. I’m proud to have my name on it.” He grinned. “Although, the truth is, I didn’t really do much more than organize the crews.”
“Speaking of that, I’m in love with the kitchen.” She pushed open the door and went into the renovated kitchen where everything was now perfectly in place.
“I like how you’ve warmed it up with all these copper pieces.”
“Those are actually from my kitchen,” she admitted. “Mine looks pretty stark at the moment.”
“I think this place is going to be a hit.” Cliff ran his hand over the sleek marble countertop. “I really appreciate your efforts, Willow.” He smiled warmly at her. “You’re one hardworking woman.”
“Thanks. And thank you for helping.”
“I’ve known a lot of women who prefer to just sit around while the guy does all the work.” He reached over to push a stray strand of hair off her forehead. “It’s refreshing to meet a woman who knows how to stand on her own two feet. And it’s very attractive too.”
“Well, thank you.” Willow felt uneasy as she turned to adjust a stack of hand-thrown mixing bowls. Was Cliff making a pass at her? Although it was flattering, she had no real interest in any kind of romantic involvement with him. “It’s been a long few days,” she said with finality. “And I’d like to go home to do some repair work tonight.” She held out her hands. “Like a manicure for starters.” She laughed as she headed back through the dining room. “Tomorrow I’d like to look more like an art curator than a common laborer.”
As she led him out the front door, pausing to lock it, Willow turned to give the house one last look. The porch lights were on, illuminating the handsome arrangement of wicker furnishings that Donna had brought over earlier today. All in all, the front porch looked very inviting.
“This is charming out here.” Cliff sat down on the love seat, patting the cushion beside him. “Care to join me?”
Willow didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t want to encourage him either. So she sat across from him in one of the chairs. “And comfortable too,” she said. “I barely had time to check this out earlier. Donna set it all up.” She pointed to the large flower pots. “Those are from her house. Her husband brought them over.”
“Very nice.”
“And look at the view from here,” she said with surprise. “I hadn’t really noticed it before. How pretty the town’s lights look at this hour. It’s really sweet.” She was actually tempted to linger.
“And romantic. All we need is some champagne and—”
“Like I said, I really need to get home.” She stood. “Tomorrow is a big day.” She hurried down the front steps and into her SUV, but as she pulled into the street, she thought she spied a shadowy figure near the oak trees out in front. She slowed down and peered hard. Meanwhile, she noticed lights in her rearview mirror as Cliff’s pickup headed the opposite direction. Too late to call out to him for help.
She reached for her phone. The last thing she needed right now was a break-in or vandalism. Especially with all that art inside—and no security system in place. This could easily turn disastrous. Who knew what a silly, restless teenager might do on a warm August night just a couple weeks before school was back in session. After all, she’d been a teen once. She rolled down her window. “Hey,” she yelled in her best tough voice. “What’re you doing there? Come out and show yourself before I call 911.”
To her surprise, George stepped out from the shadows, holding up his hands as if she were an armed police officer. “It’s just me,” he said sheepishly.
“George Emerson!” She felt a wide span of emotions—ranging from real horror to huge relief. Why on earth was he lurking in the shadows like that? She got out of the car and walked toward him. Was he here to pull the plug on everything? After all, this was his house, his property—and despite him giving her permission, she had nothing in writing and she knew George was unpredictable. If he wanted, he could put a stop to everything—just like that. And there was nothing she could do about it.
“You gave me a good scare,” she declared. “Why are you hiding out here like a criminal?”
“I was just on my usual evening walk,” he said curtly. “Any law against that?”
“A walk through the oak trees, here in the shadows?”
“To be honest, I wanted to get a look at my house. You know, before your big festivities tomorrow. But I didn’t expect to find you here . . . with your, uh, friend . . . Cliff Grant. You two looked pretty cozy up there on the porch.” His tone sharpened. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You wouldn’t have been interrupting anything, George.” She matched his sharp tone, then instantly regretted it. What good would it do to initiate a fight with the only man who could slam the brakes on her involvement in the Tour of Homes? “Would you like me to give you the full tour?” she said more gently. “I’ve actually been wishing you’d come up here.”
“Really?” His tone softened too.
“Come on, George.” She linked her arm in his. “Come and see your house.”
“Humph. Doesn’t feel much like my house anymore.”
“Did it ever feel like your house?” Keeping her arm securely around his, she continued up the front path. “Looked to me like you just let the house sit. It felt like an abandoned house, George. It just needed some love.” She paused on the porch. “Just look how charming this is.” She turned around. “And I never realized you had such a lovely view of the city lights from here. It’s actually rather romantic.”
“I’m sure you and Cliff Grant must’ve been enjoying it.”
She glanced at George in the porch light. Was he jealous of Cliff? Or perhaps, more likely, he was jealous about his house being in the hands of others. “George,” she said. “You look different.” She waited as he unlocked the door. Once she saw him in the light of the foyer, she was surprised to see that he looked unusually stylish. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in blue jeans. Your hair is different. And you’re wearing loafers—without socks!”
He just shrugged, like nothing about this was unusual.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
“I just decided to make some changes. Lorna and I went shopping. She helped me out.” He turned away, looking around the foyer. “I guess maybe it does look better in here. Without that dark wallpaper.” He turned back to her with a sheepish expression. “You know the real reason I came up here tonight?”
“Not really.”
“Well, it was true that I did want to see the house without people crawling all over the place. But I was hoping to find you here too.” He looked down at his stylish loafers with a long sigh. “So that I could apologize.”
“You want to apologize?” She studied him more closely. He actually looked rather handsome with this new makeover. The short haircut was an improvement over his usually slicked-down dark hair. And the blue-and-white-striped oxford shirt with sleeves rolled up was a nice compromise of his usual buttoned-up style gone casual. The blue jeans, which fit nicely, made him look younger too.
“I’m sorry I threw that fit last time I was up here, Willow.” He looked into her eyes. “It was very childish on my part. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Done.” She smiled. “I can understand how shocked you were to see how much had changed. I really don’t blame you for that. This was your childhood home.”
“I suppose I had some regrets about letting you get rid of everything. It was true th
at I’d been in a bad way when I made that decision and—”
“But I didn’t get rid of everything, George. You didn’t give me a chance to explain. I saved back a lot of things.” She took his arm. “Come on, you’ll see.” As she led him through the living room, she explained that the Danish Modern pieces were simply slipcovered. “You can take them right back to their original look if you like.”
“I think they look better like this.” He stood looking all around. “I can’t believe this is the same room. It’s so light and bright and cheerful.” He slowly shook his head. “Maybe this is what my grandmother wanted.”
“This room makes me feel happy,” she said. “Every time I come in here, I want to smile.” She tugged him toward the dining room. “I want you to see everything.”
“The dining room feels very welcoming,” he told her. “I’m glad you reused my grandmother’s furnishings here too.” He turned to Willow. “These were some of the things I felt badly about losing. Thank you for saving them.”
“Oh, that makes me so glad.” She smiled. “Come see the beautiful kitchen. Everyone who’s seen it has fallen in love with it, George. Honestly, if you decide to sell this place, this kitchen will seal the deal.”
He paused in the doorway, looking all around. “It really is nice. Much nicer than I thought when I first saw it.” He looked down at the floors. “I like that.”
They continued the tour downstairs and George didn’t hide his pleasure. But when they went upstairs, he grew quiet. “This was Alex’s room,” he said solemnly.
“I know.” She nodded. “It looked like very little had changed since the 1970s.”
“I removed his record albums and stereo, but everything else was the same.” He looked teary. “I used to come up here sometimes . . . when I missed him.”
Willow felt his sadness and wasn’t sure how to comfort him. “I did ask Collin to help me with this room,” she explained. “And with what I assume was your boyhood room.”
“To help you?” George removed his handkerchief, dabbing his eyes.
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 26