own a crib or baby clothes. She had no nesting instincts to rely on. So she ignored the future in favor of the present.
"Perfect," she murmured happily as she glimpsed the upstairs. "Look at those windows! I could turn the front room into a gallery if we didn't have to live here." Wrinkling her nose at the thought of Cleo's ugly plaid couch desecrating the marvelous airy space, Maya crossed the wide front room to look out on the street below.
"Streetcars used to go up and down that road on the half hour."
She hadn't heard Axell come up behind her, and she caught her breath at his sudden proximity. His square build seemed so solid and reassuring, she had to resist leaning into him. What would it be like having a man like him to lean on?
Boring, she reminded herself. Just because she was scratching the bottom of the barrel financially and longed for the security he represented didn't mean she'd be happy with riches. She needed a man who understood her dreams, not a stiff Norse god who'd never had a dream in his life.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to have one of those cute little trolley cars going up and down someday? Tourists love trolley cars, and this town would be ideal for an artists' colony. With these huge old windows in most of the stores, we could have art galleries for paintings and pottery and textiles. There's room for antique dealers specializing in the arts. Then in some of those larger places, someone could have flea market and craft items for the less wealthy. An ice cream parlor! Wouldn't that be fabulous?"
"Would I have to serve artichoke hearts and radicchio?"
She heard the sarcasm and shrugged it off. "Men would love your place with the dark paneling and steaks and hearty fare. Someone else would have to open a tea room for the women. And a bakery! With traditional Southern desserts—mud pies!" She drooled of dream heaven. "There's room for all kinds."
"I'm glad to know there's still room for me. In the meantime, don't you think you ought to be putting together some kind of business plan? You can't continue operating on a song and a prayer if you expect to make a profit."
Maya wrinkled up her nose. "You and Selene sound just alike. Where's the room for creativity in a business plan?" She turned and nearly bumped her nose—well, her belly—into his chest.
Axell stepped back, putting more distance between them. "I'm amazed Selene knows the definition of 'business plan.' Are you going to look at the rest of the place?"
"Selene has vision, which is more than I can say for most people," Maya said pointedly, traipsing across the front room and aiming for the back.
"I don't know a damned thing about art galleries," he called after her, "except they can't possibly be profitable. People have to eat and wear clothes. That's where the money is. You'll have a hell of a time finding a market for the inventory your sister left."
"Admittedly, there are better places to sell enlightened art than this two-bit backwater, but the city is out there. We just have to reach it." Maya peered out the back bedroom windows overlooking an alley. She'd prefer trees and grass, but beggars couldn't be choosers. It was better than Cleo had before.
"The people here are more practical than the dilettantes in the city with more money than sense," Axell argued from behind her.
"And beauty isn't practical." She carried her bulk to the narrow galley and shrugged off the comparison with Axell's enormous state-of-the-art kitchen. Well, at least the place came furnished with a stove so she wouldn't have to move that abomination from Cleo's home.
"I didn't say that," he answered grumpily. "I just said you'll have a hard time selling it out here."
She was avoiding looking at him. She wasn't much on self-analysis, but generally she didn't avoid looking at people. She didn't usually argue with them either. Maybe some of his distancing technique was rubbing off on her.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Well, I can't sell groceries, and I'm not much of a cook, so I guess I'm stuck with Cleo's inventory for now. I'll just have to make it work."
With this admission of her weaknesses, Axell crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter, master of all he surveyed. "I think in your own best interests, we need to form a partnership," he announced.
Chapter 9
Auntie Em: Hate you, hate