notice, there’s a coat closet here.”
“That’s convenient.”
“And there’s a walk-in closet in the front bedroom. I had them set up the bed in there. The back room is really small, but you could put a twin bed in there for company.”
She looked around the empty living area and said, “I think I’ll concentrate on a couch first.”
Tate chuckled. “Yeah, or a chair at least.”
She smiled and nodded. “I understood there was a washer and dryer.”
“That closet in the kitchen,” he said. “It’s one of those stacked jobs with the dryer on top.”
“That’s fine.”
“Okay, well...”
Isabella pointed at the trio of bare windows overlooking the vacant, softly lit street. Tilting her curly head, she asked, “Who’s that?”
Tate and Lily both moved toward the window, staring at the wildly waving figure in the window of the building across the street.
“Oh, that,” Tate said with a grin. “That’s Miss Ann Mars. You know her.”
“Sure. Ever’body knows Miss Mars. She’s had her shop in Bygones forever.”
“I guess you didn’t know that she lives downtown above her shop, too.”
“This ’N’ That,” Lily read the sign on the awning across the street. “What sort of shop is it?”
“Um, sundries,” Tate answered. “You know, needles and pins, candles, handkerchiefs, coin purses, hand mirrors, little stuff. That’s in the front. Out back, now that’s—how do I put this?—mostly junk, I guess.”
Lily raised her eyebrows. Her glasses slid down her nose, so she pushed them back up. Tate fought the urge to smile for some reason. Clearing his throat, he turned away from the window at the same time Miss Mars did.
“Miss Ann is on the committee,” he told Lily, pulling a card from his shirt pocket. “If you need something and you can’t reach me, you can always tell Miss Mars.” He pressed the card into Lily’s hand and started for the door.
“I’ll walk you down,” Lily said. “I want to take another look at the shop.”
Shrugging, he turned a sleepy-eyed Isabella toward the stairs. He ushered his daughter out onto the landing then slipped past her and down a few steps before turning and gathering her into his arms. She laid her precious red head on his shoulders. Laying his cheek against those bright curls, he thought of his late wife, Eve, and the old familiar ache of loss filled him. If their daughter could have known Eve for even a little while, she’d give up her matchmaking ways, but the imp had never known her mother.
After carrying his daughter down the stairs, he nodded at Ann Mars, who scampered across the street in her bedroom slippers and housedress, the coil of her long white hair sliding to and fro atop her head. The tiny, bent old woman had to be eighty if she was a day, and as far as Tate knew, she had never married. If she had family, he was unaware of them. Stepping up onto the curb, she crossed the sidewalk to greet Lily.
Tate made the introduction. “Miss Mars, Lily Farnsworth. Lily, Miss Ann Mars, SOS Committee member and your neighbor.”
“So happy to meet you!” Miss Mars exclaimed, bending far backward to get a good look at the newcomer. “You’re aptly named for a florist.”
Lily smiled and pushed her glasses up. “I guess I am, at that.”
Miss Mars stuck her nose to the window of Lily’s shop, asking, “What are in those big boxes in there?”
“Glass shelving.”
“You’ll have to put it together, I expect,” Tate stated, and Lily nodded. “You have the tools for it and everything?”
She blinked behind those round glasses. “Uh, not exactly.”
Not exactly. Tate shook his head. He supposed he’d better show up tomorrow morning prepared to get those shelves together for her.
“I have to get my girl home to bed,” he said, carrying his daughter to the truck.
Lily called out her thanks as he belted Isabella into her seat. Already thinking about what he would need to bring with him in the morning, he shut the truck door, walked around and got in behind the wheel. He’d be more comfortable about the whole thing if Lily Farnsworth looked less like a fetching, ballet-dancing librarian and more like Miss Ann Mars, but Tate was not one to shirk his responsibilities, no matter how much he might want to.
* * *
Looking up from the half-finished shelving unit the next morning, Lily tilted back her head to peer through her glasses and the thick beveled glass insert of her shop door. She’d already hung a little brass bell over the heavy green door, and it tinkled pleasantly, evoking a smile even before she recognized Tate’s tall, muscular figure. He carried a heavy, somewhat battered metal toolbox at his side. Pushing back the bill of his faded red cap, he stared down at her, his frown at odds with the dimples in his cheeks.
“How’d you get that together without tools?”
She lifted a screwdriver with one hand and a pair of pliers with the other, wishing she’d worn jeans instead of baggy leggings and a cute top instead of this shapeless, oversize T-shirt. Then again, when was she ever really at her best?
“Miss Ann had a few things out back of her shop. We dug around out there after breakfast, although I have to tell you, I think she knows exactly where to find every item in the place.”
“Huh.” He set down the heavy toolbox and parked his hands at his belt, brown to match his round-toed boots.
“Where’s Isabella?” Lily asked, getting up off the floor and dusting off her behind with both hands, though earlier she’d swept the finely refinished wood floor with a broom that she’d picked up at the This ’N’ That.
“With my folks.”
“Ah.” Not with her mother then.
He glanced around at the spring green walls. The short wall in the back had been painted a rich scarlet. He pointed at the unpainted counter. “You didn’t specify what color you wanted that, so the contractor just left some cans of paint in the back.”
“I’m thinking lavender,” she told him, “with the logo and name of the store on the front. I can freehand it later.”
“Really? You can just grab a paintbrush and do that by hand?” He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “Okay, if you say so. What about the humidifiers?”
Confused, Lily shook her head. “They don’t need painting.”
“I mean, have you decided how to fasten them down? State code requires it. Better let me take care of it now. Where do you want them?”
“Hmm, the one in the work area needs to be in the back corner facing this direction.” She held up her hands to demonstrate how she wanted it to face, and he went off to take care of it while she continued to work on the shelving.
Fifteen minutes of scraping and drilling later, he was back in the front of the shop and ready to tackle the display unit there.
“Where do you want this one?”
She pointed to the corner. He shoved the humidifier easily into position, but then she changed her mind. For a good half hour after that, he shoved the thing around from one spot to another, finally winding up right back where they’d started.
“I’m sorry. I—I just wasn’t certain.”
He shrugged, and got out his drill. “Better to be sure.”
They worked in relative silence, the buzz of his power drill the only sound. Every once in a while, a vehicle rolled down the street,