Page 17 of Loyally, Luke
Josephine
PS: Charlie is doing a great job in your stead with the business. You’d be proud. I’ve tried to see if she’s interested in dating rightnow, but she keeps avoiding me. Do you think those two things are connected?
Text from Penelope to Luke:You’re having supper with Izzy? I’m so jealous right now. I bet you’ll tell her your secret.
Luke:Well, since it’s a secret, you’ll never know.
Penelope:Izzy’s not nearly as good as you are at keeping secrets. I bet I can get it out of her. In the meantime, I’m going with Matt to Iris’s dance recital. She’s having her first jazz concert. I braided ribbons into her hair. She’s magnificent.
Luke:I should text Matt and tell him I’m sorry for him. Jazz recital AND braided hair talks? Poor man.
Penelope:You’re not going to scare me. Matt’s a dancer. He talks dance. As far as braided hair? He’s just glad he has such enthusiastic help with girlie stuff now. Here’s a pic. She says hi, BTW.
Luke:Now THIS is the definition of cute. Right here. Even the braids.
Penelope:The fact you even brought that up makes me wonder if you’re not a little preoccupied with Grace Kelly. Or is that a secret too (insert wiggly eyebrows).
Luke:I’m currently preoccupied with ending this text conversation.
Penelope:And... since Izzy and I have found our romances in Skymar, I have high hopes you’re next on the list.
Luke:I am not in one of your candy heart–flavored movies. Goodbye, Penelope.
Penelope:Denial is the first step to the Hallmark chime. Just so you know.
Pete dropped off Luke at Cambric Hall and left for the cabin, nearly giddy with the fact that the electrician had arrived. With a list of concerns and additions Luke made for him, Pete promised he’d ensure the electrician went through each one and text Luke should there be any questions. Already, Luke had created a blueprint for changes to enhance the place, as Lewis Gray had wanted, which was one of his favorite parts of the process. Visualizing. Seeing potential.
And then having the ability to make the potential a reality.
He spent the morning into early afternoon working on research and predictive costs, based on the manpower available. Mrs.Kershaw’s office door stood open, allowing him glimpses of children of all ages as they passed in the hallway outside. He even caught sight of his two new friends, Faye and Amara, and he was pretty sure they made it a point to pass by the door more than needed.
Mrs.Kershaw had been kind enough to bring him lunch, which gave him freedom to keep working. The sooner he had this finished, the sooner he could get back to the cabin and start making renovation plans with Pete.
He’d just printed off the estimate to leave for Ms.St.Clare and her team when the sudden feeling of being watched brought his attention up from his laptop.
Two familiar little faces peered through the door, and they’d brought a friend. A little black furry one.
“How can I help you ladies?”
They skirted around the doorframe into the room, hands behind their backs. The little dog waddled forward, nose sniffing the air, tiny tail wagging like an energized flag.
“We brought you a wee bit to eat,” Faye said, holding out her offering in a napkin. “Some of Mrs.Kershaw’s biscuits.”
“And a cup of coffee.” Amara revealed a paper cup complete with lid.
Luke tucked the papers beneath his arm and rounded the deskto approach the girls before lowering himself to a knee so that the dog could get better accustomed to him. “That was awfully nice of you.” He gave the dog a scratch behind the ear before taking the offerings from the girls. “And who is your friend?”
“That’s Clootie.” Amara dropped into a sitting position, and the dog waddled over to land in her lap. “He’s the house dog.”
“Mrs.Kershaw has been the headmistress here for a hundred years.” Faye nodded, her eyes wide. “And every time one dog dies, she gets another just like it, and they’re all named Clootie.”
“Well, that makes it easy to remember, I reckon.” He took a sip of the coffee, welcoming the taste and warmth. If a cozy room like this office kept a slight chill to it, he couldn’t imagine how the larger rooms felt. “Is there a special meaning to his name?”
“Aye,” Faye offered, lowering herself beside him.
“It’s a dumpling,” Amara rushed to answer.
“No.” Faye sent Amara a frown and then turned back to Luke. “Clootie is the cloth wrapped around the dumplin’ for cooking. My gran used to make apple clootie dumplings for me before she passed on.”
