Im not going to give you compliments for being brilliant. Theyd go straight to your head, she said.
He chuckled. Okay. So you like it. But now you can see the problem. He motioned.
On both sides of the fireplace were two huge, new bay windows. The Cochrans backyard looked over a ravine, with overgrown woods to the west and a meadow drifting off to the east-a meadow Daisy could so easily imagine in springtime, coming in pale green and then turning lush with wildflowers. Mrs. Cochran doesnt want curtains, she said absently.
No?
Im assuming thats why she wanted a swatch, because she thinks shes supposed to have some kind of draperies. A swatch is a piece of fabric so she could see different designs, see how the fabric worked in the room. But she doesnt want to cover these windows, Teague. There are no neighbors to see in. The view is part of the beauty of the room. Daisy wandered, touched, looked. What shes probably more afraid of is that all these new textures could come across as cold. Attractive, but not warm, not like a home.
Yeah?
Yeah. And the truth is that the textures are cold. Beautiful, but cold. She touched the marble fireplace, the slate wall. The thing she needs to work with, though, is the furniture. No wood, no arms or legs showing. All upholstery. She needs to choose soft fabrics, like ultrasuede or micro fiber. And then colors bright enough to attract the eye-colors with courage. No grays, no colors with gray in the paint. Yellow would warm it up. Or red. Or prints with warm colors. And then she needs a throw rug-just one-round, not rectangular or square. The rug also needs to have some kind of thick texture, like sheepskin or fur or fake fur-something with body and depth She could picture it. Her fingers itched to get into the colors, the fabrics, that could make this fabulous room come to life.
Um, you wouldnt mind telling Mrs. Cochran this stuff, would you?
Daisy glanced back at him, startled. I cant imagine shed want to listen to a strangers advice. I was just woolgathering to you.
Trust me. This is exactly the stuff she wanted me to tell her. Only, I didnt get it. I understood how to make better use of the space, how to make the view come to life, showcase the fireplace, all that kind of thing. Hell, I love those kinds of problems.
And you did fabulously. If this were a room in my house, Id hang out here and never leave.
That was obviously too much praise. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he backed away a few steps, looked out at the snow-covered woods. I like it okay. It isnt my best. Mostly what I like about carpentry is studying someones house, figuring out what works for what they want, what they need, what would make the most of their specific living space. So each job is individual to the person or couple, you know? Except
Except what?
Except that I just cant handle the decorating-stuff part of it.
The way he shivered in mock horror made her chuckle. What, youre afraid of curtains? A great big lug like you?
He turned, pinned her with a look that was suddenly quiet, suddenly intense. His eyes seemed to catch fire. And what are you scared of, Daisy?
She didnt immediately answer, simply because she didnt have to. They both heard the clip of footsteps, and then the Cochrans walked in. Introductions followed, and faster than two women could smell a sale, she was sharing decorating ideas with Mrs. Cochran.
It was well over an hour later before they left the house-with the Cochrans still trailing them, coaxing them to stay for another glass of wine.
By then the temperature had fallen a good dozen degrees and snow glistened in the air. She was warm enough, with fur mittens and a fur scarf, but Teague was hunched in his jacket.
You goof, wheres your hat? she teased him.
The towns decorated with my hats. I dont like them, so I seem to unconsciously leave them wherever they get tossed.
Youre going to freeze. She hooked her arm with his, snuggling closer. Theyd been getting along like brother and sister, she told herself. Teasing. Talking. Just being together. It was only three blocks back to the café.
Unfortunately, it just wasnt long enough to delude herself. She didnt feel like a sister with Teague. He didnt look at her like a brother would. It wasnt working, the pretending, no matter how hard she tried.
When they reached the café, it was closed tighter than a drum. An occasional car dawdled past. Streetlights turned red and green with no one to see. The overhead security light helped her find the key in her purse. She plucked it out, looked at him and then hesitated. Would you like to come up? His expression changed so fast, she added swiftly, Not for the reason youre thinking.
What, you think I planned to jump your bones the instant we walked in the door?
I wasnt worried about you, Teague. I was afraid I might jump you, not the other way around. She could see he liked it, the teasing, but as she led him up the dark stairwell, her heart seemed to be suffering sharp pangs of nerves.
Hed allowed the easy familiarity between them. Hadnt asked her a single question. Hadnt implied in any way that theyd spent one wild, long night naked together, hadnt pushed in any way.
It wasnt natural, a man being that nice. In fact, it was so unnatural it was nerve-racking.
It wasnt that she owed him an explanation of her life or anything else, just because theyd slept together. But there was something about the damn man that made her want to be honest with him. At the top of the stairs she opened the door, but before she flipped on a light, she turned and said seriously, If you see my place, I think itll explain a lot. Enough so that you just might not want to jump my bones the way we did before. That was a blizzard. A wild moment in time.
As compared to this moment, which is?
More like straight old real life. She flipped the light switch. Without looking at him, she slipped off her coat and scarf, tossed her bag on a chair and aimed for the wine. She wasnt trying to create a cozy drink-together atmosphere, but almost anyone could look at her current home and need some whiskey to absorb the shock.
Moments later she handed him a glass of Merlot. Not good Merlot. For damn sure, not French Merlot. Just the stuff shed found in the grocery store-which was even then too expensive. Of course, air was too expensive for her these days.
What in Gods name was this place when you moved in?
Some kind of storage attic. Which is undoubtedly why Harry was willing to give it to me rent free, she said dryly.
She watched him look around. Hed shed his jacket, but he hadnt sat down yet, didnt look as if he was necessarily going to.
Her first week here was right after the blizzard-when shed realized the farmhouse furnace needed a complete overhaul. That wasnt her expense problem. It was Violets. And Violet could afford it just fine. But it was going to be another three weeks before the plumber could even get to the problem, and by then shed realized how much it would cost her to live homeand how bad her financial situation really was. That same day shed seen the Temporary Help Wanted sign in the café window.
This roomwell, it had taken her seven days of scrubbing before she could even stand it. Apparently no one had ever washed it before. Mice and birds and bees had set up housekeeping under the eaves, but nothing human. There was a utilitarian bathroom with a teensy shower; the white porcelain sink was rusty, but it was all usable. And there were two windows built into the slant of the roof.
When her boxes had arrived from France at the farmhouse, she sorted through and discovered that she had all kinds of things. The only thing she didnt have was money.
So there was an original oil over the couch with no springs. The old iron bed was nothing to admire, but the quilt was convent-made, in rich purples and lavenders. Shed covered a hole in the wall with a Versace blouse, draping it as if it were intended to be a wall covering. Shed used scarves-Hermes, Dior, Chanel-to cover the paint-scarred tables. Her china was fine-boned, a pale cream with a rim of gold, even if the rickety card table was the only place to eat. A hot plate and small fridge functioned as her kitchen.
If I tried to explain this to anyone, theyd never believe it, Teague said.
Yeahwell, thats my reality. Im dead broke. And I do mean broke.
Thats not what I meant or thought. Youve made something original and interesting and even beautiful out ofout of God knows what.
Its hardly beautiful.
Yeah, it is. All the color, the scarves and stuffit looks intentional. Not like youre covering up the horrible room. But like you were creating an artsy cool boudoir.
She frowned, confused.
Okay, okay, he said. You want me to take this more seriously. Youre not just broke. Youre really broke.
Yes. She hesitated. Teague, I dont mind you knowing. But Id appreciate it if you didnt say anything around town, because my parents and family still communicate with a ton of people here. I dont want word to get back to my family. Obviously, they know about the divorce, but not much more-and especially not what financial shape Im in. Its justcomplicated. They didnt know I was unhappy.
Somehow she found herself sitting across from him, Teague on the couch, hunched over, playing with that wineglass, and her settled at the bottom edge of the bed. There was no other place to sit, not where she could comfortably face him. Why? he asked bluntly.
Why what?
Why didnt you tell your family how unhappy you were-or that youre this strapped for money?
Because. She lifted a hand in a sweeping motion, one of those gestures that was supposed to communicate there were a zillion reasons. At the time I first realized the marriage wasnt going to make it, my mom and dad were just retiring. I was in another country. They would have worried to death. And I didnt tell my two sisters
Yeah, theyre another question. I thought you said you were really close to your sisters.
We were. We are. But Im the oldest, you know? Im the one they always looked to for advice, to take charge. She added, In fact, Im the one who did a little masterminding behind the scenes to help them hook up with the guys they just married. Good men. And theyre both totally happy-