Lib Novel Page 102
When she got to the kitchen, Sonya set the chair down with a clang. “Did I dream it, or did we pile a mountain of serving dishes on the island that aren’t there now?”
“God, you don’t suppose Molly cleaned them and put them all back.” Setting her own chair down, Cleo shoved her hair out of her eyes.
“She’s too smart for that.” Trey shifted his hold. “Keep going, Owen. Get the key to the apartment.”
“The apartment!” Leaving the chair where it stood, she rushed over to dig out the key, then ran outside with the animals flying after.
She unlocked the door.
It smelled fresh with a hint of orange oil. Cushions plumped, furniture gleaming.
The folding tables and chairs they’d earmarked were neatly stacked against the side wall. All the serving dishes were organized, according to type, on the kitchen counters.
“This is amazing,” Sonya murmured. “Just amazing, and so kind. Dobbs thinks she can scare us away with her meanness, her tantrums? Never going to happen. Not when we have others, so many others, who’ll do so much without being asked, without any of it expected.”
Clover responded with TobyMac and “Love Is in the House.”
Trey walked in behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, set his chin on the top of her head.
“Love’s in the house,” he said. “And the house is packed.”
Chapter Fourteen
After unearthing pots, planters, and other useful things, they sat out on the deck with Trey-made sandwiches and ice-cold Cokes.
Cleo and Sonya huddled over paint colors.
“This!” Sonya said.
“That, oh yeah. Ocean Mist? Couldn’t be more perfect. For the bench, right?”
“Definitely, then what about Sea Green for the chairs?”
“We have a winner. Two winners. Sonya, how about we find little copper tables for either side.”
“Copper tables is genius.”
“Rob Farmer can make them.” Eyes shut, Owen leaned back in the old metal chair. “He might have something already in his shop.”
“Rob Farmer.”
“Metalworks,” Trey answered Cleo. “He’s got some pieces at Bay Arts. He’s got a shop out on Red Fox Road, two miles out of the village.”
“How long would it take?” Sonya wondered.
“Won’t know till you ask.” Owen took out his phone. After scanning his contacts, texted the number.
“Now you’ve got his number. My job is done.”
“And I’m using it right now.”
She got up, wandered off to make the call.
“A coffee table, too,” Cleo decided. “Not copper. Too matchy. Wood. Nothing fancy—a rustic, raw-hewed sort of thing. Even better, one of those live-edge tables.”
Feeling her gaze, Owen opened one eye. Then closed it again.
Cleo just sighed, knowing she’d planted the seed.