Abigail looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because I’m a nice guy?” He phrased it as a question.
She leaned against the counter and thought about his words for a moment. “No,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I don’t think that’s it.”
Andrew’s gaze shot to me. He shrugged. “Okay, the truth is, I’m wooing Kathleen.”
Abigail’s eyebrows went up, more from amusement than surprise. “Really?”
He nodded. “I was stupid enough to let her get away before, but I came to my senses and I plan to spend the next two weeks changing her mind about me. If I help you, that will make me look good to her and heaven knows I need all the help I can get in that department.”
Abigail turned toward me. “Is this all true?”
“Yes, it is,” I said, pulling at the top edge of the nylon sling, which was rubbing against the inside of my arm. “Andrew and I used to be a couple, before I came to Mayville Heights. We had a . . . falling-out.”
Her eyes immediately went to Andrew. “I sort of . . . accidentally married someone else,” he said, at least having the good grace to look a little shamefaced.
“Yeah, I hate it when that happens,” Abigail said dryly.
“He has the idea that he can convince me to go back to Boston with him when my contract here expires,” I said.
“Can he?”
“I don’t think so.” I glanced at my watch. Andrew and I needed to get on our way if we were going to have time to walk through both tents.
Abigail reached for her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. “It seems to me that you and I may be working at cross-purposes,” she said to Andrew, “because I want Kathleen to stay here. On the other hand, I’ve never been one to say no to free labor and I think watching you—as you put it—woo Kathleen is probably going to be fairly entertaining. So, thank you. I accept your offer.”
She grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil off the desk, scribbled something on the paper and handed it to him. “I need a stage that’s twelve feet wide and between four and six inches off the ground. Bring whatever plan you come up with to the Stratton Theater tomorrow morning about eight and we’ll go from there.” She smiled at me. “Have fun at the food tasting,” she said, and then she headed for the second floor.
Andrew didn’t say a word until we were on the way to the Riverwalk. “Are you mad because I told your friend about us?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Are you impressed that I offered to build the stage?” He nudged me with his shoulder.
“No,” I repeated.
He bumped me again. It was like I was walking down the street with a big, bouncy dog. “Not even a tiny bit?” he asked, his mouth close to my face.
It was hard to keep a serious expression with his warm, teasing voice in my ear.
“If I say yes, will you stop asking me about going back to Boston and will you stop talking about wooing me, as though we were characters in some kind of bodice-ripper novel?”
“So I am making progress!” he crowed.
“Only in driving me crazy,” I said, but I couldn’t keep from smiling, which pretty much negated the effect of my words. I would rather have been walking down Main Street with Marcus, but I wasn’t. On the other hand, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and we were on our way to get a bowl of Eric’s chocolate pudding cake.
Andrew was still grinning at me and I gave up and smiled back. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He held up two fingers like a peace sign. “Two weeks, Kathleen,” he said softly. “Who knows what could happen in two weeks?”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” I said.
Of course I was wrong.
4
The next week passed in a blur of preparations for the festival. Andrew built not one but two portable stages for Abigail, and helped Oren with a new ramp at the Stratton. He was ingratiating himself all over town, dispensing charm and that killer grin. His self-deprecating story of how he’d ruined things with me by getting drunk and marrying a waitress from a fifties diner somehow had the effect of making people like him even more. More than once I found myself remembering how much fun we used to have together.
Only Owen and Hercules seemed to be immune to that charm. It wasn’t as though they didn’t like Andrew. They just ignored him completely. The two times he’d been at the house, both cats acted as though he weren’t even in the room.
On Friday morning I decided to walk down to Eric’s Place for a breakfast sandwich and coffee. Maggie and I had spent the previous evening after tai chi class painting the stages Andrew had built. Hannah had brought us hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls, which made the work go a little faster, but I was still tired when I woke up. And by the time I gave Hercules and Owen their breakfast I didn’t feel like making my own.
Marcus was waiting at the counter. I walked over and touched his arm. He turned, smiling when he saw it was me. That smile made my chest tighten for a moment.
“Hi,” I said. “Are you here getting breakfast, too?”
He nodded. “I have a pile of paperwork on my desk and I thought it might go a little better with one of Eric’s breakfast sandwiches and a decent cup of coffee.”
“Everything goes better with a decent cup of coffee,” I said. A lock of his dark hair had fallen onto his forehead and I had to put my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching up and brushing it back.
“Yeah, I seem to remember that,” he said.
More than once I’d taken coffee to Marcus when he was working on a case. At least once I’d had to resist an urge to pour it on his shoes.
He gestured to my left arm. “How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s better,” I said. I could see the skepticism in his gaze. Marcus knew how much I disliked hospitals and doctors. “I swear.” I held out both hands. “The sling came off yesterday and I’ve been checked by Roma and my own doctor.’
“Good to know,” he said.
Claire came from the kitchen then with a brown paper take-out bag. She handed it to Marcus and then took my order. After she’d relayed it to Eric, she got me my own cup of coffee. I took a big sip and sighed with pleasure.
“How late were you and Maggie painting?” Marcus asked.
“Too late,” I said. I looked at him over the rim of the cup. “How did you know?”
“I picked Hannah up after her rehearsal. She’s staying with me.” He set the take-out bag on the counter and pulled out his wallet. “I should get to the station,” he said. “It was good to see you, Kathleen.”
“You too, Marcus,” I said.
He turned toward the cash register.
“Thank you for the hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls last night,” I said.
He stopped and turned halfway around, his face reddening. “You knew?”
I set my briefcase down on one of the stools at the counter. “I didn’t until just now when you said you picked Hannah up. She brought them in to us and I thought she’d just made a lucky guess.”
“It was Hannah’s idea to get you something,” he said. “I just stopped at Eric’s. I remembered how much you like his cinnamon rolls and I didn’t think you’d want coffee so late.”
“Well . . . thank you.”
His hand moved as though he was going to touch my arm and then he jammed it in his pocket instead. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you, Kathleen,” he said.
I nodded without speaking and watched him walk over to pay Claire for his food. A moment later Eric stuck his head around the swinging door. “Hey, Kathleen,” he said. “Thank you for recommending me to Ben Saroyan to cater the opening reception for the theater festival.”
“Does that mean you got the job?”