Page 10 of Fire Harbor

“This is crazy,” Lake blurted out, not wanting the conversation between them to end. “Why don’t you and Farley stay for dinner? Why wait until the weekend? You’re here now. And I have leftover spaghetti that I can heat up. You can pick up the books while you’re here.”

Linus didn’t wait for her to change her mind. “We’d love to stay for supper, but what about my groceries?”

“I do have a refrigerator,” Lake pointed out with a laugh. “There’s room for anything you bought.”

Linus chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “All right then. I’ve never been inside this place before, but I’ve always wondered what it was like.”

“It’s old,” Lake cautioned. “But to me, it’s always been home. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He turned off the ignition and stepped out of the pickup, hurrying to the back to assist Lake with her bike.

“You get Farley and your groceries,” she suggested. “We’ll go in through the garage and into the back of the house.”

After wheeling the bicycle up to the corner of the house, she punched in a few numbers on a keypad that opened the garage door. “Dad installed a security system back when we had a rash of bike thefts. That’s before Brent Cody became police chief.”

“Are you saying he’s cleaned up the town since he took on the job?”

“I’m saying that Chief Cody takes petty crime seriously. In fact, maybe you should mention those bones you found this afternoon to him. Who knows? It could solve a missing person’s case or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Linus said as they walked past a VW beetle parked on one side of the garage.

“This area wasn’t part of the original floor plan,” Lake said. “It was added on in 1946 by my grandfather when he came back from the war. Prior to the war breaking out, he worked in a lumber mill as a kid, then afterward became a carpenter. Granddad knew all about the various kinds of wood available to the area. According to my grandmother, one day he got tired of his tools getting rained on out in his pickup and decided to do something about it. He wanted more space for a workshop, so he sort of combined the two ideas. An artistic, soft-spoken woodworker, that was my grandfather. He did a lot of the carved wood inside on the fireplaces, the railings, and all the doors.”

“You’re saying he put up his own garage? Did he also do the spoon-carving on the front doors?”

She raised a brow. “Not many people know about spoon-carving. But yes, he carved that for my grandmother.”

She opened the door to a large mudroom, walking past a front-loading washer and dryer set up on pedestals, a counter with cabinets, shelving, and a sink. After hanging up her keys on the peg, she bobbed her head for Linus and Farley to follow.

Linus couldn’t help but feel a wave of excitement in his chest as he stepped into the house for the first time. He had spent countless nights imagining what it would be like to have dinner with Lake, to share a meal and talk about anything and everything. And now, it seemed like his fantasy was coming true. The prospect of spending an evening with her was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. This moment had been a long time coming.

When Lake opened the door to the sunroom, a small brown and white terrier leaped off his bed with his tail wagging. In a race for attention, Jack’s speed beat the larger dog as both barreled their way in a contest to see who could say hello first.

She tittered with laughter as Scout—the apricot-colored labradoodle—skidded on the scarred maple floor past the terrier. But when both dogs spotted another buddy, they had to sniff each other until Scout yapped at her brother Farley.

“Look at that, Farley,” Linus noted. “Scout recognizes her sibling.”

Farley woofed and nuzzled the other dogs as they wrestled on the floor of the sunroom in a playful tussle.

The solarium itself offered a place to bask in the sunshine. It had floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides and not one but two stain-resistant, sink-in outdoor couches. A pair of Shaker-style bookshelves, packed with old magazines, was used as a sofa table, creating a perfect cozy spot for reading. Two huge lemon trees—grown from seeds—flanked the couch next to the window, creating shade for the dogs. Scattered throughout the room, various plants were lined up on the side tables.

At the end of the sunroom, Lake threw open a pair of French doors and led the way into a spacious kitchen that had been renovated maybe fifteen years earlier. A bank of windows on the back side of the house guaranteed plenty of morning light would reach every nook and cranny.

What had once been vintage and outdated now gleamed with stainless steel appliances. The white cabinets offered a charming focal point, but the wooden countertops, the large farmhouse sink, and a long narrow island stationed in the middle of the room promised functionality. Near the windows was the eating area. Six mismatched chairs were tucked under an old, scarred farmhouse table made from pine.

“Wow. This is larger than I thought,” Linus said, looking around.

“When I was in my teens, Dad remodeled. He drew up the plans himself inspired by an architect he bumped into at Ferguson’s Hardware. Those two put their heads together and decided to get rid of the maid’s quarters and install more floor-to-ceiling windows to get some light in here. It looked like a dungeon before the redo. He added a pantry using the combined space from the old scullery and a utility closet. The renovation turned the outdated, dreary kitchen into a place where you actually wanted to cook and then hang around to eat a meal.”

“Sounds like a big improvement,” Linus muttered as his eyes landed on the back staircase located to the right of the stove. “Didn’t those kinds of stairs used to have doors that hid the entrance?”

“Absolutely. I’m told for the first fifty years, that door always stuck, especially after an earthquake. Eventually, when my dad was a child, his dad got rid of it entirely. That’s about the time my grandfather built that railing out of wood he got for free. Notice how the oak doesn’t quite match in places.”

“You hardly notice the difference.”

“I guess it’s noticeable to me because I’m familiar with it. Anyway, when I was a kid, that staircase became the best way to secretly raid the cookie jar after midnight. I used to sneak down here and get snacks from the kitchen or scuttle around the study hunting for books to take back to bed.”

“I’m sure your dad used it for his own reconnaissance missions.”

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