on the terraces, champagne, martinis, flowers everywhere. Silver trays full of pretty food on white tables.”
“You’re hired.”
She laughed. “I do some party planning here and there.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She tapped the air with her fork. “I know people who know people.”
“I bet. What about you and plans? Your yoga studio.”
“It’s on the slate.”
“I could back you.”
She inched away, just a little. “I like backing myself.”
“No investors allowed?”
“Not yet anyway. I’d like a good space, comfortable, serene. Good light. A mirrored wall, maybe a pretty little fountain. A good sound system the way the one at the church is absolutely not. Lighting I could dim. Color-coordinated yoga mats, blankets, blocks, that sort of thing. Eventually establish enough to take on a couple other instructors but nothing too big. And a little treatment room for massages. But for now I’m happy doing what I’m doing.”
“Which is everything.”
“Everything I like. Aren’t we lucky?”
“I’m feeling pretty lucky at the moment.”
“I meant that we’re both doing what we like. We’re sitting here on our first date, which I like, and talking about plans for doing other things we like. It makes having to do things you don’t like no big deal.”
“What don’t you like?”
She smiled at him. “Right now, right here? I can’t think of a thing.”
Later, curled up warm and loose against him, slipping dreamily toward sleep, she realized she liked everything about being with him. And when she thought of tomorrow, she thought of him.
She understood as she drifted with the sea sighing outside, if she let herself slip just a little more, she would love.
She could only hope she was ready.
Twenty-three
FROM THE NAME—SHERRILYN BURKE—AND THE VOICE over the phone—brisk Yankee—Eli pictured a lanky blonde in a smart suit. He opened the door to a fortyish brunette in jeans, a black sweater and a battered leather jacket. She carried a briefcase and wore black Chucks.
“Mr. Landon.”
“Ms. Burke.”
She pushed a pair of Wayfarers on top of her short cap of hair, held out a hand to shake his. “Nice dog,” she added, and held out a hand to Barbie.
Barbie politely shook.
“She’s got a hell of a bark, but doesn’t appear to have much bite.”
“The bark does the job.”
“I bet. Some house you’ve got here.”
“It really is. Come on in. Can I get you some coffee?”
“I never turn it down. Black’s good.”
“Why don’t you go in, sit down. I’ll get it.”
“Maybe we could save time, and I’ll go to the kitchen with you. You answered the door, you’re getting the coffee. That tells me it’s the staff’s day off.”
“I don’t have staff, which you already know.”
“Part of the job. And, full disclosure,” she added with a smile that showed off a crooked incisor, “I wouldn’t mind a look around. I’ve seen some magazine spreads,” she added. “But it’s not like being in it.”
“All right.”
She studied the foyer as they walked on, then the main parlor, the music room with its double pocket doors that could open to the parlor for parties.
“It goes on and on, doesn’t it? But in a livable way instead of a museum. I’ve wondered. You’ve kept the character, and that says something. Inside matches the out.”
“Bluff House is important to my grandmother.”
“And to you?”
“Yeah, and to me.”
“It’s a big house for one person. Your grandmother lived here alone for the last several years.”
“That’s right. She’ll come back when her doctors clear it. I’ll stay with her.”
“Family first. I know how it is. I’ve got two kids, a mother who drives me crazy and a father who drives her crazy since he retired. He put in his thirty.”
“Your father was a cop?”
“Yeah, he was one of the Boys. But you knew that.”
“Part of the job.”
She smirked. Then turned into and around the kitchen. “This isn’t part of the original, but it still manages to reflect the character. Do you cook?”
“Not really.”
“Me either. This kitchen looks like one for serious cooking.”
“My grandmother likes to bake.” He moved to the coffeemaker as she made herself at home on an island stool. “And the woman who takes care of the house is a pretty serious cook, I’d say.”
“That would be Abra Walsh. She’s . . . taking care of the house for you now.”
“That’s right. Is my personal life relevant, Ms. Burke?”
“Make it Sherrilyn. And everything’s relevant. It’s how I work. So I appreciate getting a sense of the house. I’m also an admirer of Ms. Walsh’s mother. And from what I’ve learned, I got some for the daughter. She’s making an interesting life