Hiring Mr. Darcy - Valerie Bowman Page 0,39

like Huckleberry hung above the fireplace. There was no TV.

Huckleberry sat at attention at Jeremy’s side, his giant pink tongue hanging haphazardly out of his mouth. I swear the dog was smiling at me. I liked him immediately.

Jeremy ushered me farther into the living room.

“Great name,” I said, gesturing to the dog.

“His namesake is the infamous Mr. Finn, in case you’re wondering.”

A man who named his dog after a literary character? Could Jeremy be any sexier?

“Excellent choice,” I said in my best professorial tone.

“I also have a cat named Tom Sawyer around here somewhere.”

I glanced around, suddenly a bit panicked. “Allergic to cats,” I admitted.

“I’m just kidding. I don’t have a cat.” He brushed a bit of the sawdust from his shoulder.

“Oh, okay. Great.” I tried to laugh.

“Yep, it’s just Huck and me.”

I leaned down to pat the dog on the head. “Who’s gonna watch him when we’re in England?”

Jeremy pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “My neighbor’s a great lady. He loves her. He’s going to go stay over there.”

Unexpected jealousy bubbled in my chest. “Your neighbor?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Timms is about eighty,” he added. “But still spry enough to take care of Huck. She says he keeps her young.”

“Ah, sounds perfect.” Why was I inordinately pleased to hear that Mrs. Timms was eighty? “Show me around the place?” I said before my courage fled. I needed to see how bad the hoard was.

“Sure. Let me just go brush off this sawdust. I was working in the shop just now. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back. Huckleberry, stay.” Jeremy disappeared down the narrow hallway, presumably into a bathroom.

I’d noticed that he had his shoes on, and since I wasn’t wearing any socks and wasn’t in any hurry to reveal my hobbit feet, I kept my flats on.

I dropped my purse on the wooden table next to the couch and stared at Huckleberry. “Are you a good boy?” I asked the dog, returning his smile.

Huckleberry flapped his long furry tail against the wooden floor. Thump. Thump. Thump. Other than that, he didn’t move, obviously taking his master’s last words quite seriously. He continued to smile at me and pant, however. Both were endearing.

I walked to my right and peered inside what appeared to be a sunroom. Three of its walls were filled with large windows. The room was empty except for a big, cushy outdoor chaise and a small wooden table next to it. Hmm. The hoard must be in the bedrooms or perhaps whatever he called ‘the shop’.

“Where it is, boy?” I asked Huckleberry in a whisper. “Where’s the hoard?”

“Ready?” came Jeremy’s friendly voice.

I cleared my throat and spun around, guilty for asking his dog about his hoard and peering into his sunroom without permission.

“Yep.” I grabbed my bag from the table.

Jeremy turned in a circle. He seemed the slightest bit flustered, which I found adorable. “Looks like you already saw the sunroom. This is the living room.” He walked over to the room that adjoined the living room on the other side and flipped on a light. I followed him. “This is the dining room.”

The dining room consisted of a medium-sized wooden table and four chairs. The furniture fit perfectly into the space, as if it... “Did you make this? This table and these chairs?”

He turned to me and grinned. “Sure did. Took me damned near six months, but I’ve gotten a lot faster since then.”

I stared at the perfect lines of the Mission-style furniture, my mouth open a little. “It’s amazing. How do you know how to make all this stuff?”

“Self-taught, mostly. I’ve been to some workshops up in New England, but you can learn a lot of it from YouTube actually. Plus, there’s this great blogger called The Wood Whisperer.”

“Wow,” was all I could say.

“I made the tables in the living room, too.”

“What?” I glanced back into that room, still in awe. The tables were equally impressive. “So, do you own this place?” Great Meg. Way to be overly nosy.

“Yep. The house isn’t much, but there was great land in the back. I was able to build my shop out there.”

“So you made all these things out of some wood with your own two hands? That’s amazing!”

“Well, some wood, my own two hands, and a boatload of really expensive tools. I built the shop myself too. Wanna see it?”

“Sure.” I hesitated. “What exactly...is a shop?”

“It’s what a woodworker calls the space where he works. Basically, it’s where I keep all my tools and machinery.

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