Page 31 of V is for Valentine
“So…what time tomorrow?”
“Seven.”
He refrained from commenting on the much later starting hour, but she read the amusement in his expression.
“You can say it,” she said.
“You ruined it.” He let the smile break through. “See you tomorrow.”
“Danny?”
“Yeah?” He stopped at the door, looking back to where she stood wiping her hands on a shop towel, little crumbs of dried joint compound falling to the drop cloth beneath her feet.
“I…” She hesitated, then made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing.”
He gave her another second to reconsider, thinking that it was odd to see Felicity anything less than decisive, then pushed open the door. “See you.”
Sandra was standing just outside the door of the coffee shop when he pulled up, her shoulders hunched against the cold.
“You could have waited inside.”
“I gave up my table and the place is too tiny to loiter. Besides, I like the cool air. My temporary office here has one temperature—hot.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the man I’m renting from controls the heat and he likes things toasty.”
“We have the opposite trouble. The furnace has been a bit temperamental today. We have a guy coming in to see if he can get her to work better so that the texturing material and paint will dry on time.”
Bertha the furnace had been stingy with the heat output for most of the day and eventually quit working altogether, at which point Felicity phoned the city maintenance engineer, who explained how to reset the furnace and promised to send a repair guy. Next week. Fortunately, the reset worked, and they’d had heat for the rest of the day.
Danny pulled up to the dark warehouse, and the headlights glinted off the new windowpanes.
“Nice change from the plywood,” Sandra said.
“They won’t be finished until Monday afternoon,” he explained as they got out of the car and stood admiring the work of the window crew. “They have about half of the opposite side left to go.”
“It is a lot of windows,” Sandra said. “Glad I don’t have to wash them.”
“Washing aside, it’s part of what I love about this building.”
“It’s perfect for a brewery.” Her expression grew serious. “Speaking of which, Fork Horn didn’t jump on my offer. The rep causally mentioned that they were considering another potential site.”
“Ah.” His tone belied the way his stomach knotted. He wanted the brewery as his first resident.
“I think he’s bluffing, and I mentioned the river locale and the possibility of a deck.”
“Good selling point.”
“I’ll bring this deal home,” she said, folding her arms over her chest, still studying the building. “My concern is parking. We need that lot next door, and I’d like to nail it down before we start doing walk-throughs with potential clients so that the price doesn’t jump.”
“Have you made inquiries?”
“As myself, yes.”
“Covert.”
“Strategic.” She dropped her arms. “This looks great and will look even better in the daylight.” She gave him a sideways look. “Did you say something about pizza?”
