“What did you have in mind?” Lucy asked. And wouldn’t it be better to wait and let him choose what he wants?

As if she had read Lucy’s mind, Miss Caroline said, “I know it seems odd that I want this done while he’s gone without consulting him, but if we wait on him he will sleep in the first place he puts the bed. He won’t do anything. I want him to be comfortable. I want his surroundings to be pleasing.”

“I see,” Lucy said and she did. Miss Caroline wanted him to stay. Good luck with that. Didn’t she know he was a runner?

“You can take some pieces from this house. Goodness knows there is too much here. And we can buy whatever is necessary. But I want to put this in your control. If I choose it will be to my liking. I want Brantley to like it.”

“I’m not sure—” she began.

“You’ve known my grandson for a long time. And you know how young people like to live. For instance, I cannot abide a television in the living room.” She gestured to the room around her. “But I imagine Brantley would like to be able to use his computer, watch television, and be comfortable all in one room.”

Lucy nodded.

Miss Caroline rose. “Then why don’t you come back and take a look at his furniture this afternoon? And you can go from there.” She reached into her pocket, brought out a key, and handed it to Lucy. “Take this so you can come and go as you please.”

“Just call me when it arrives and I’ll come over,” Lucy said as she got to her feet.

“Splendid! I trust you implicitly.”

As they made their way to the door, an apricot cat scuttled from beneath a chair and rubbed up against Miss Caroline’s ankle. She could have weighed no more than five pounds but she wasn’t skinny. Her frame was small and her meow was so quiet it was almost a squeak.

Monster cat?

Aghast, Lucy said, “Is that your cat?”

“Well, yes. Princess.”

“Your only cat? You don’t have another one?”

Miss Caroline shook her head. “She’s a timid little thing but Evelyn and I love her.”

Monster cat, indeed.

Chapter Eight

Pam, who worked part time at the shop, met Lucy at the door when she returned.

“Annelle called and said for me to bring these fabric samples to Sophie Anne McGowan’s house as soon as you get back. Sophie Anne didn’t like any of the ones Annelle took over.”

“Better you than me,” Lucy said. Sophie Anne was one of those clients who always had a project going and could not be pleased.

Lucy was feeling that right now. No. Not true. Throttling Brantley Kincaid would please her; it would please her to no end. Eller trotted up and wagged her puff ball of a tail.

“I am going to kill him,” Lucy said to the dog. “What I ought to do is take you over there and dump you on Miss Caroline. You’d like it there. Go get in your bed or I will.”

Eller did not go get in her bed.

“You’re just like him. You do what you want. Are you a runner?” The dog jumped onto the rose colored watered silk chaise lounge and lay down. Lucy started to shoo her off but changed her mind. “Yeah, you just stay there and shed all over it. I’ll put that in his bedroom. Miss Caroline gave me free reign.”

That gave her an idea. She pulled paint chips and fabric samples, took them to the counter, and began to put together palettes. Lilac and lemon for the living room. Peach and cream for the bathroom. Shades of pink for his bedroom. The window treatments would be floral. That was given.

She sat back on the stool and sighed. She wouldn’t do it of course. Even if she didn’t care about her professional integrity, Aunt Annelle would stop her if Miss Caroline didn’t. She shoved the sherbet colors aside and began to pull neutrals. She needed to call the painters and have them meet her there in the morning. Custom drapes were out of the question given her time frame. She’d measure the windows when she went over to look at his furniture later. There was a place she could order decent premade window treatments, but she needed to do that soon—today if possible. Also, it would be helpful to know when he was coming back. “About a week,” he said, which meant nothing, or worse—that he didn’t know and didn’t care. That was the way of a runner. Was this how working on the Brantley Building with him was going to go?

“Aw, Lucy. You worry too much. We’ll be done on time. When am I going to be done restoring that woodwork so you can bring the painters in? Well, let’s see. Hmmm. About a week? Give or take.”

What had she gotten herself into? She put her face in her hands.

The front door chimed and Mr. Reed from the jewelry store—impeccably dressed, every snowy hair in place—stepped inside. He was the kind of man who wore seersucker suits in the summer and bow ties and French cuffs year round. His wife had been in many times but Lucy could never remember seeing him in the shop before.

She got to her feet. “Good morning, Mr. Reed. What can I help you with today?”

He smiled broadly, like he always did. “Well good morning there, young lady. I’ve got a little something for you.” He set a small bag with handles on the counter. She peeped inside to see an oblong wrapped package. She almost asked who it was from, but she knew; she knew only too well.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to bring it over.”

“Oh, but I did. Brantley was very specific.” He chuckled. “He would only talk to me. Called all the way from San Francisco. Tickled me. Used to be, there were a lot of people who would only talk to me. Now, they want my son. Or the ones your age want my granddaughter. But you would know Louisa. From the Junior League and all.”

“I do.” And if it had been Louisa who had delivered this, Lucy would have sent it right back with her. Brantley knew what he was doing when he sent Mr. Reed. “Thank you for bringing it over.”

It was only when Mr. Reed smiled wider and nodded to the bag that Lucy realized he was waiting for her to open it. There was nothing to do but remove the silver ribbon and white paper. She absolutely was not accepting jewelry from Brantley. From the shape of the box it could be a bracelet, necklace, or watch—all inappropriate.

But it was none of that. It was a silver dessert fork, Francis I by Reed and Barton. The handle of that fork had a whole jungle of fruit and flowers on it—more than enough to decorate a parade float.

“That wasn’t what he really wanted,” Mr. Reed said.

“No?” Maybe he favored his forks decorated with corn on the cob and link sausages.

Mr. Reed laughed a big booming laugh. “I tried to put him onto a nice bracelet or maybe some pearls, but he said he had to have a fork.”

I just need one fork. One. Little. Fork. One. Oh, he was hilarious.

“But you said it wasn’t what he wanted.”

“Well, not exactly what he wanted. He was sure enough he wanted to get you a silver fork like the special set at the club. I had to tell him it was Tiffany and that he couldn’t get it here. I told him he could order it online, but he wouldn’t have that, said to give him something close. That family has always been good about buying local. I return the favor by carrying all my insurance, business and personal, with Kincaid Agency. We all take care of each other. It’s what makes this town special, don’t you think?”

“I do.” Lucy picked up the fork and held it like a weapon. Perhaps she would stab Brantley with it when he got back in about a week. She wondered if there was flatware decorated with poisonous plants straight out of the Duchess of Northumberland’s garden.

“I told him if you have your heart set on Chrysanthemum by Tiffany, this really is not the same.”

“Excuse me? My heart set on Chrysanthemum? I don’t understand.”

He beamed at her. “We’ll take good care of you, Lucy. We take good care of all our brides, but I will see to you personally,” he leaned in and said companionably.

“Bride?” she said with some alarm. “Mr. Reed, I am not a bride. Not even close.”

“Oh, sure, Lucy.” Mr. Reed winked at her. “I get it. Can’t let things like this get out until the right time. I understand. I admit that I thought a fork was a peculiar gift for a man to send his sweetheart, but then I thought, of course, he wouldn’t be needing a ring. They have so many family pieces, some quite old.” He glanced at her hand to make sure that hadn’t already happened. “Alden brought in all of Caroline’s jewelry to be cleaned and reappraised not long before he died. She has some lovely things. You will be very happy. And if it needs sizing, you come see me.”

Hell and double hell! Triple hell!

“Mr. Reed, I will not be getting a ring of Miss Caroline’s or otherwise. Brantley and I are not—”

“Of course! Of course!” He gestured to the fork. “Now when—and if—the time comes, if you don’t like Francis I, you can trade this little fork right in. But here’s the thing with Francis I. You can get everything. Ice cream forks, strawberry forks, butter picks, jelly servers, petit four servers—you name it. There’s even a corn on the cob butterer. You don’t find that with all your patterns. I’d like to see somebody come up with a cheese grater in Chrysanthemum, but I can get you one in Francis I.”

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, though she had no idea what she would say. At her elbow, her cell phone rang.

Mr. Reed patted her arm. “I’ll just go and let you get that but I hope to see you soon!”

She gave Mr. Reed a little finger wave and glanced at the caller ID. Oh, yes. This was a call she would take.

Chapter Nine