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‘You’ll be wanting to capture a little of that charm, I expect. What are your other decoration plans?’

She felt a little rush of affection for this stranger who had, within the space of a few minutes, grasped the importance of getting The Billy Button Café right. This wasn’t some hole-in-the-wall takeaway joint she was trying to create. She took a breath. ‘I’d love to talk over my plans if you have time. I had a graphic designer help me with the sign, but everything else’—she gestured to the clutter of stuff she’d dragged in or had delivered—‘is a collation of ideas I’ve been gathering in a scrapbook for years.’

‘Scrapbooking? Oh, goody.’ Graeme said it like he was a kid at a party who’d just spied the pile of party bags to be given out. ‘Can I see? Is it here?’

‘Er … sure. It’s in that box over there along with the paint rollers and drop cloths.’

She waited until he’d pulled it out and spread it open on one of the round, iron-footed tables she’d set up.

‘Oh my,’ he said. ‘Stylish but warm, I love it.’

She shrugged. ‘Look at this place. Those huge sash windows, the fireplace, the decorative swirls in the ceiling. Anything else would seem, I don’t know—’

‘Sacrilege?’

She grinned. ‘I was going to say a wasted opportunity, but sure, let’s scale it up to sacrilege.’

Graeme gave a chuckle as he turned the page. ‘Girlfriend, scaling things up is my special skill. Oh … these deep green velvet banquettes, I love them. You could pop a corner banquette there, near the inner room.’ He spun on his heel. ‘Perhaps another by that window.’

‘Way ahead of you. A carpenter down at Cooma is whipping them up as we speak. Should be here in a day or two.’

‘Lighting? Please tell me these abominations are going.’

Vera looked up to the strips of fluorescent tubing lining the stained ceiling. ‘I’ve found some simple fixtures at a disposal store. Copper rods that bring the lights down low, a simple glass fitting that has an amber glow to it. If I had an endless budget I would have tried for some vintage fittings but …’

‘In time, Vera. Lightbulbs are an easy change. Who do you have in mind to do the painting? What is this current wall colour, anyway, apricot jam?’

She laughed. ‘I know, right? Hideous. You should see the kitchen, it’s like a tree frog exploded in there. I’m doing the painting. That’s today and tomorrow’s job, along with retiling the fireplace surrounds and waxing the floorboards. Once that’s done, I can start placing the furniture and have the counter delivered.’

Graeme walked over to the stack of tiles leaning against the decorative skirting board lining the room. ‘These are gorgeous.’

Yeah. They ought to be for the work she’d put into them. She’d found them advertised as a giveaway from a house renovation in Queanbeyan. Glossy, deep-green handmade tiles a century old that had enough of a ripple in the surface shine to give them whimsy. She’d spent an afternoon chipping them off an unwanted kitchen backsplash, breaking as many as she’d managed to save. They were magnificent—and so too would the fireplace be, if she could somehow get it to look like the pictures she’d gathered in her scrapbook, with her vintage tiles set subway style about the cast-iron firebox. The timber mantel was already perfect. Made from a blackened hardwood, she liked to imagine it had been polished by the people of Hanrahan for over a hundred years.

‘I should have enough for the fire surround,’ she said.

‘Does the chimney work?’

Hell, she hadn’t thought to ask the landlord. She’d been daydreaming about serving mulled wine in front of a snug fire once autumn arrived in the mountains, and hadn’t given a thought to the state of the chimney. ‘I have no idea. I’ll add it to my list.’

Graeme made ahmmsound and continued inspecting the bits and pieces she’d assembled.

‘Maybe you could help me find a local florist, Graeme. I’m hoping to use local wildflowers as centrepieces on the tables. Fresh or preserved, I don’t mind.’

He grinned at her, a smile that was as wide as it was wicked. ‘Oh, have I got a florist for you, Vera.’

‘Um … thank you, I think.’

‘About these tiles. I can do the fireplace for you, if you’re willing to trust me with it.’

She’d disappeared into a daydream imagining The Billy Button Café beautifully dressed and ready to party, plump yellow wildflowers adding a little sunshine to every table, but Graeme’s words pulled her back to the dusty drop-cloth reality.

‘Excuse me? Did you just offer to do a DIY project for my fit-out?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Um … because people aren’t usually that nice. Not where I moved from, anyway.’

Graeme gave her the full benefit of his megawatt smile. ‘You’re in Hanrahan now, Vera. Besides, I am one fussy renovator. If I’m going to be looking at that fireplace all day, I’m going to be needing some precision grout lines.’