Page 55 of To Hold and Protect

“Coffee. I’ll make it while you divvy up the batches.”

“Great. Coffee’s in the pantry until the kitchen’s finished. There’s a box of assorted flavored pods. I’ll take a chocolate one. Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffeepot.”

He found the box and choose a dark roast for himself. Her cabinets were in, but the granite hadn’t been installed, so plywood was serving as temporary countertops. “I like your cabinet style and colors.” The upper cabinets were cream color with glass doors, and the kitchen island cabinets were cobalt blue. It was a great contrast.

“Thanks. I fell down a rabbit hole, looking at kitchen colors and what would fit a Victorian-style house. The granite will be here next week, and I can’t wait to see it all come together.”

And as soon as the house was finished, she’d put it up for sale and leave. That was what he wanted, or thought he had. He wasn’t in such a hurry anymore for her to leave. They carried their coffee mugs and a container of cookies out to the porch.

“Tell me about your bad day,” she said when they were seated on the swing.

“Someone set fire to Josephine’s tree.”

“Who’s Josephine?”

“A cat.”

She stilled with a cookie halfway to her mouth. “Huh?”

He grinned. “Thought that would get your attention.”

“A cat has a tree? Does it live in the tree?”

“No, Josephine only goes up the tree so her owner has a reason to call the fire department, which then gives Mrs. Stubble, Josephine’s owner, the opportunity to feel up the firefighters.” He should have waited for her to swallow the drink of coffee she’d just taken because she spewed it. He laughed, and while he was laughing, the image of a finished canvas flashed in front of his eyes. “I need to go paint.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Why don’t you come over? Bring your laptop and the cookies. You can write while I paint.”

“Okay.”

The piece was wonderfully whimsical, and as he painted, he kept stealing glances at Willow. She’d made herself at home on the daybed and was typing away as fast as he was putting paint on the canvas. That feeling of contentment he’d felt with her before settled over him. She was going to leave, so there wasn’t any harm in imagining what it would be like if she stayed and there were more nights like this, where he painted and she wrote, two artists doing their thing together. It was not to be, but he liked having her here. If he was unblocked because of her, great, but it didn’t mean anything.

A few hours later, he glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see that so much time had passed. He hadn’t put on any music because he didn’t know if she needed silence to write, and it was so quiet that he glanced over at her to see if she’d fallen asleep. But she was still typing away.

As if she sensed him watching her, she looked up and smiled. “I need some fuel. Time for a cookie break.”

“How late do you usually write?” It was almost midnight, and he’d go another hour or two.

“Sometimes until two or three in the morning if I’m on a roll like I am now.”

Good. He liked having her here. “Want something to drink? Coffee, water?”

“Water’s fine. Can I see what you’re painting?”

“Sure.” He got two bottles of water, took the caps off, handed her one, then followed her over to his easel. “I need to add the layers, but you can tell what it is.” Whimsical wasn’t his usual style, and he was curious to see her reaction.

“Oh,” she said, then laughed. “Is this Josephine in her tree and her cop-a-feel owner?”

“Well, they were the inspiration.” A fire engine was parked next to a tree, and a firefighter was at the top of the ladder, his hand reaching for the tuxedo cat perched on a branch. On the ground, a firefighter and a petite white-haired lady were standing next to each other as they watched. The view of them was from behind, and the elderly woman had a handful of the man’s butt. The painting had a cartoonish feel.

“This is fabulous, Parker. It makes me smile.”

“Thanks. Listen, I’ve been thinking. What if we had two copies of your and Everly’s book made? One for you to give her for her birthday, and one for you to keep?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I’d love that. Are you sure you’re okay with it, though?”

“As long as you promise there will only be two copies...make that three. One for me, too. And you’ll have to wait until after her birthday party to give it to her, so no one else is around. And instead of her name as the illustrator, make it Ladybug.”

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