My aunt laughed. “Yes, dear niece, she is fully aware of the amount of labor involved. She’s a sucker for hard work, always has been. Plus she’s more than ten years younger than I am.”
“What about . . . you know?”
Aunt Frances tipped her head and considered me. “All that college education, a career among books, and yet you still have moments when you’re about as articulate as a toddler. And far less articulate than Eddie.” She shook her head. “Celeste is well aware of the arrangements of the boardinghouse, spoken and unspoken. She has agreed to continue my matchmaking efforts for at least a year if I help her with the guest selections. After that, it’s up to her.”
I nodded approvingly. “Well done.”
“And,” Aunt Frances said, poking me in the shoulder, “she said she won’t mind a winter guest as long as said guest doesn’t mind her.”
On the surface, it sounded good, but I sensed there was more to the story. “And?” I asked, drawing out the word.
My aunt looked at the sky, looked at the sidewalk, and finally looked at me. “She has three little dogs,” she said so fast, it sounded almost like one word.
“Three.”
“I’m sure they’re well behaved,” Aunt Frances said. “I can’t imagine Celeste having any other kind of dog. She’s meticulous about housekeeping and is always concerned about doing the right thing.”
She was sounding worse and worse. “Well,” I said, putting on a smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone in the family to take on the boardinghouse. Everything else is just details; it will all work out.”
Aunt Frances blew out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you think so.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’m off to tell Otto the good news. See you later!”
I watched her go and slowly started walking again. Everything around me seemed to be changing. The library was shifting yet another time, and who knew what direction the new director would want to take? Kristen was going to marry Scruffy, and though she protested an undying commitment to her restaurant, with Scruffy based in New York, I could easily imagine her spending more and more time there. Aunt Frances was going to marry Otto, and the boardinghouse was going to be taken over by a cousin with three dogs. Change could be good, but so much all at once was a little overwhelming.
With so much going on in my head, I was afraid I’d absentmindedly walk into the middle of the street and become a traffic hazard, so I wandered down to the waterfront.
In summer, the wide sidewalk would have been crowded with people, strollers, and dogs. On this fall evening so close to winter, even though the sun was out and the air still, the only company I had were a few seagulls and a floating flock of Canada geese settling in for the night.
My aimless steps took me down to the marina, where there were only two boats left in the water. I stopped at the dock where my houseboat had been moored all summer and felt a pang of sadness for the months gone by.
It wasn’t regret I was feeling, not precisely. It was more like nostalgia for a more innocent time. Which was ridiculous, of course, because I was just as naive about many things now as I was then, but at least last summer I hadn’t—
“Minnie! Have you gone deaf, or what?”
For a moment, everything around me seemed to stop. Then I felt my heart beating, my lungs pushing air in and out, and my five senses sensing.
I turned around. Rafe Niswander was standing on his porch, hands in his pockets. “What do you want?” I asked. Because I really didn’t feel like talking to him. What I wanted was to feel sorry for myself for a little while then go home to my cat. I’d pick either a book to read or a movie to watch—maybe make popcorn—and we’d snuggle together in front of the fireplace. What I did not want to do was talk to the man I loved with all my heart.
“Get over here,” he said, motioning with his head.
I stayed where I was. “Why?”
“Because.”
“Not sure that’s reason enough,” I said. But since it was clear he was going to hound me into doing what he wanted, I started walking. “Is this going to take long?” I asked. “There are things I need to do.” None of them important, but he didn’t need to know that.
Rafe, running true to form, ignored my question and opened the front door. “I want to show you something.”
“The crown molding looks fine,” I said automatically.
“You didn’t even look.”
Against my will, I felt a smile seep onto my face. “Well, no, but I’m sure it’s fantastic.”
“Of course it is,” he said, “but that’s not what I wanted to show you. Come on back.”
He led me through the front room, through the formal dining room, and into his kitchen-like space. “I finally have a plan for this room,” he said.
“Took you long enough.”
He grinned. “You can’t rush these things.”
I loved him so much that I was afraid he would see it all over my face. Turning away, I said, “What’s the plan? Although what I’d really like to know is why you’re asking me. You know I avoid cooking if at all possible.”
Once again, he ignored my questions. “Over here is where the refrigerator is going. A double-wide thing so there’s lots of freezer space.”
A bit of his enthusiasm trickled into me. “That would be nice,” I said.
“Right. And over here, sticking with the work triangle theory of kitchen design, is where the sink will be. The electric oven goes here”—he pointed— “and the gas cooktop will go under that window.”
“Six-burner, I assume?”
“Nah. Who wants to cook that much? I kept wanting to put the sink under the window, but I think this works better.”
I looked around the space, trying to imagine the shapes. “You’re right. This way when you’re at the sink, you’re facing the dining room.” I stepped forward and mimicked washing a few imaginary dishes, which were my favorite kind. “What do you plan for cabinets?”
“Got a buddy who took down a bunch of maple he had milled. It’s stored in his barn, gathering dust. He’ll sell it to me cheap.”
I looked around the large room. “Are you going to stain or paint them?”
“Not sure yet.” He shrugged. “But it’ll take me eight months to build the things. I figure by spring I’ll have figured out what to do to them.”
“Eight months?” I tried not to sound disbelieving.
“Yep.”
“You seriously think you’re going to build a full set of kitchen cabinets in eight months?”
“What, you think I can’t do it?” He looked affronted.
“I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure you will.”
“For your information,” Rafe said loftily, “I have full confidence that this house will be completely done by the end of next summer.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been putzing around on this house for years. Why on earth would you suddenly start working hard enough to finish it within the next decade?”
“Well,” he said reasonably, “where else are you going to live next fall, with a stranger running the boardinghouse?”
“Where . . . what?” I stared at him.
“I ran into your aunt at the post office and she told me about that cousin. I mean, sure, you might want to keep staying up there in the winter, but don’t you think it’s time?”
I kept staring at him. “For what?”
Rafe sighed. “For moving here.”
My mouth hung open. Then I figured it out. “You need a roommate,” I said flatly.
“How can someone so smart be so stupid?” he asked the ceiling. Then he took a step toward me. “I’ve been renovating this house for you all along,” he said. “Why do you think I was always asking you questions about what I should do?”
“Because I was nearby?” I asked, and my voice squeaked a little.
“Well, that didn’t hurt. But mostly I wanted to build the house of your dreams, a house you’d fall in love with . . . because then maybe you’d fall in love with me.”