Page 24 of The Aura Answer
Guilt crept over Gracie. The house had internet but no TV and no desktop computers. Dante was sacrificing his expensive device and business hours to entertain the children—while she worked on a fantasy.
“Why don’t you use my laptop and let Cousin Dante work on his own? You know how to find Disney on it, don’t you?”
Dante struggled not to look grateful. “Are you sure you don’t need it? I can do my meeting by phone.”
“You have kept my kid entertained all morning! We probably ought to sell that old secretaire and see what we can buy with the proceeds.” She helped herself to the salad. “Where’s Evie?”
“Ghost hunting,” Pris said dismissively, stirring some concoction on the stove. “Nick is already fixing up the desk, but I can’t imagine it selling for thousands to buy a PC.”
“Not to the Antique Barn anyway. Bertie’s brother doesn’t know squat about antiques. Did Nick have lunch?” She didn’t know why she asked. He was a grown man. He could get his own.
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since breakfast. Have him test the pasta salad. I’m debating whether it’s worth adding to my menu.”
“I vote for inclusion.” Grace finished her portion, washed her dish, and dug out the bowl again.
She carried a plastic plate of salad and a bottle of water out to the garage while she debated whether she could write by hand or type on Evie’s tiny notepad computer.
Nick had left the carriage doors open to the sun. He’d apparently found a light to hang from the loft and created a workbench of sorts with boxes and boards. He had the desk drawers on old newspapers while he worked.
Therewas a man who worked with his hands! Who knew? She watched as he industriously sanded a door, whistling. Instead of his usual designer duds, he was wearing crisp blue jeans and a navy sweatshirt that revealed the extent of shoulders previously concealed in tweed.
“Lunch,” she told him, sitting the plate and bottle on his workbench.
She really ought to return to the house, but she couldn’t help studying what he’d done. The raw wood under the pitted, dull finish looked new.
“Bless you, my child, I am fair starved.” He glanced up to flash her one of his hormone-inducing grins.
Damn, that grin caused her to flush. Dante and Pris’s rampaging lust must be catching.
“The refrigerator is fair game for all. If we don’t eat the contents, Pris will have to buy another one. Or return to catering.” She started back for the house.
“Wait,” he cried through a mouthful of pasta. He signaled to let him finish chewing before he continued. “Shouldn’t someone go into Charleston to see if that poor man’s sketches might be there? I checked and the gallery is open Sunday afternoons.”
She hesitated. “What is the point?”
“If only to chat up the gallery owner. Perhaps they’re holding the surprise intended for his family? It’s Christmas! It’s the least we can do.” He shoveled in more pasta, making appreciative noises.
She narrowed her eyes. “And the real reason?”
He shrugged, swigged the water, then gestured at the desk. “In the few spare hours I had to roam the city these past months, I noticed a number of most excellent antique stores. It would be good to find comparable pieces and learn current values. And I have no car.”
He’d been borrowing Jax’s motorcycle or Evie’s Subaru when he had to go in to testify. She winced. The poor Brit really was trapped here.
“Fair enough. I’ll admit I’m curious about this gallery that suddenly started taking Bertie’s sketches. And if we can make some money off that desk...” She eyed the old piece that had sat neglected in a corner for as long as she could remember. “Evie will never allow a TV in the main house, but computers are just as good these days.”
“Well, no, the monitors reek, but that’s irrelevant to children. I’ll clean up. Maybe I can slip in a little Christmas shopping while we’re there.” He wiped his hands on a rag.
Now she really felt like a selfish rat. The poor man was stuck here in a foreign country with no car, no family, and living in a madhouse of weird people. And he meant to shop for them.
She’d bought boxes of socks for all the men expected for Christmas, not anticipating anything in return. “You’d be better off shopping at Wal-Mart than downtown Charleston, but we’ll see what’s down by the gallery.”
“Antiques,” he said unrepentantly. “I Googled.”
A few months ago,Nick had been cruising around in a big Mercedes with tinted windows and all the extras.
These days, he was grateful for Gracie’s little Kia. Jax’s motorbike was bloody cold, and he looked foolish wearing his court suit while buzzing down the highway. He should be more ambitious about applying for another marketing position, but his last experience had burned him badly. He needed time to reevaluate. His goal was still clear—enough money in his bank account for the good things in life. Wine, women, and song were never to be underestimated.
Perhaps he was developing a mature patina. Once upon a time he would have rebelled at the idea of a woman driving him anywhere. At the moment, he didn’t mind Gracie driving since she was more familiar with Charleston streets and staying on the right. She was careful, remaining beautifully calm even when more aggressive drivers grabbed the parking spot she’d been positioned to take.
