Page 18 of The Party Line

“That would be great.” He picked up his hat and took a step toward the gate. “Front door or back?”

“Back is quicker,” I said and waited for him. “Have you been in Aunt Gracie’s house?”

“Not since I was a little boy. She invited me and Jasper inside one day during the Christmas holiday to have a cup of hot chocolate and some cookies. Jasper had helped me build a snowman that day out there in the space between your house and his. We didn’t get snow down in these parts very often, so Mr. Frosty wasn’t very big,” he explained.

This time I didn’t hold back the giggle. “Mr. Frostysounds like something you get at the Dairy Queen.”

“Those are Blizzards, and I love them! Frosties come from Wendy’s,” he said. “But you are right. We’ll have to try them both and see which one is better.”

We walked up onto the porch together, and he opened the door for me. His mama had raised him right, or maybe it was the military that had trained him to be a gentleman. Since I’d been working from home for so long, I had forgotten that men could be so mannerly.

I stopped in the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Beer or tea?”

“Beer, please,” he said. “I have to quit caffeine early in the day, or I can’t sleep.”

I twisted the tops off two bottles and handed one to him. He took a long drink and sat down at the kitchen table.

He seemed to take in the whole room with one glance. “This kitchen looks the same as it did when I was a kid. Same wallpaper and table and chairs.”

“Yep,” I agreed as I looked at the tiny daisies on the yellow-striped wallpaper. “How does it make you feel?”

He raised one shoulder in half a shrug. “Hard to explain. Kind of cozy, and like I stepped back into time where things were simpler and more peaceful.”

Mama thought there were spirits in the house, and Connor called itcozy. What a contrast in opinions—but then, maybe he didn’t know anything about the secret that haunted some folks.

“How does it makeyoufeel?” he asked.

“The same as you do.” I took a long drink of beer. “But folks talk about this house having some big secret. Do you know anything about that?”

“Sure. Grandpa says that this area is known for three things: Mr. George’s birthplace, strawberries, and some big secret concerning this house. ‘The three S’s,’ is what he calls them. I’ve listened to Strait’s songs my whole life, and I sure know a lot about strawberries, and I’m learning even more. But that lastS...” He paused and took a sip of beer. “Grandpa says that Gracie took it to her grave. No one knows if it was something to do with her folks or with her. Do you know what it is?”

“Nope, and probably never will.” I didn’t even speculate on whatever might have happened in the house. He thought it felt cozy, so maybe things couldn’t be that bad. “You’ve been here a few months, and you said there was some culture shock at first. What do you miss the most?”

“My friends,” he replied without hesitation. “How about you?”

“Most of my friends had already moved on with their lives. When we started working from home, we kind of lost track of each other. I’ve gotten over that issue. What I miss most is the little coffee shop across the street from my apartment building. They had the best orange-cranberry muffins, and I treated myself to one every Saturday morning.”

His green eyes locked with mine. “If I brought you a muffin on Saturday morning, would you be my friend?”

I blinked first and then noticed he was smiling. “Is that your best pickup line?”

“It’s not a line. I want a friend closer to my own age, and you want a muffin on Saturday. We can help each other out.” He turned up his beer and finished it. “You don’t have to decide tonight. Think about it until Friday—and then, if you agree, I will bring you a muffin bright and early on Saturday.”

“Orange-cranberry?” I asked.

He nodded and grinned like a little boy bringing a bouquet of wildflowers to a girl. “Yes, ma’am, fresh from the kitchen at Grandpa’s place.”

“Well, then,” I said, smiling. “Hello, my friend. I’ll have the coffee made and ready to wash down some muffins with you on Saturday morning. Between now and then, I will bring you lunch each day at noon.”

“I’ll be lookin’ forward to it,” he said.

He’s probably just wanting to be your friend so he can sweet-talk you into selling him this property,the pesky voice in my head said.

Maybe, but I’m sweet-talking him into bringing me a muffin. Or three,I countered.

Chapter Six

Surprises come in all shapes and forms. Like the day the lawyer told me I had inherited the bulk of Aunt Gracie’s estate. But when I called my supervisor, Nadine, the next morning to tell her that I would be submitting my resignation and giving a two-week notice, her response was even bigger than the news the lawyer gave me.

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