“I’m going to stop looking at the pictures, the drawings, and burn that final figure into my brain so it reminds me why I’m going to stop looking at them.”

He heard the quiet chime ring, something else Micah had installed to let him know when the front door opened. “And I’m blanking it all out.” He clicked the file closed.

“I’ll give you two minutes to recover, then bring your next appointment back.”

She walked to the door, glanced back. “You have to admit, it would be something special.”

“I don’t need special. I like sanity.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Friday might have proven a stormy mess, but Saturday dawned beautiful. And Darby rose with it.

She downed coffee and a bowl of Cheerios with a handful of blueberries while she checked the short-and long-range weather forecasts.

She dressed in her spring uniform of cargo pants, T-shirt, and hoodie, pleased to top it off with the High Country Landscaping cap in dark blue, accented with a dogwood blossom. She figured using North Carolina’s state flower hit the right note.

As she walked to the truck, she glanced back at the ground excavated for her equipment and tool sheds. With luck she’d have the concrete poured and inspected by early the following week.

She heard morning birds singing, saw trillium popping color through the trees that edged her little world. The wind chime she’d gifted herself caught a breeze, adding more music, more color.

What could be better than that?

Optimistic, she drove down to the lake, misty with the sunrise currently painting the eastern sky. A heron, bridal white, slid through the mist like a dream.

An early riser all her life, through wiring and career choice, she found seeing a new day dawn a perk of her job.

Alone on the quiet lake road, she went over the day’s schedule in her head. It could all be done, with maybe some time in the evening to deal with her kitchen cabinets.

Doors off, she thought. Zane’s glass fronts had inspired her. She’d remove the sorrowfully ugly doors, paint the rest, and be done.

Easier to see what she wanted anyway.

She let herself wonder about Zane for just a minute. He hadn’t responded to her email, or the attachments. Unusual for him, she admitted. Normally he got back to her fairly quickly.

Probably still reeling some, and she couldn’t hold it against him. Plus, she didn’t expect he’d go for the whole shot. She just hoped he worked out his priorities carefully so she could give him what worked for him.

She pulled up at reception, pulled on her gloves, got her tools.

She had an hour in before Hallie pulled up, then Roy—a little hungover from a Friday night party. She’d given them the morning hour, as she intended to take an hour herself to watch a little baseball.

By the time Emily pulled up, they were down to mulching and pot planting. She walked over to where Darby gently wound tendrils of clematis around the hooks she’d screwed into the new lamppost.

“I’m getting used to it.” Emily let out a sigh. “Used to thinking, Sure, go ahead with that. Moving into the panicked ‘oh my God, what is she doing’ stage, and into this ‘it looks just perfect’ ending.”

“We aim to please.”

“Well, you really do, even if I’m still in stage two at the house.”

“We’re heading there when we’re done here. Final stage next week.”

Still, when Emily looked around, Darby saw the worry line dig between her eyebrows. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep it all alive.”

“Low-maintenance,” Darby reminded her. “And I’m going to teach you.”

“Uh-huh. What’s that tree again Roy’s mulching?”

“Crepe myrtle. Perfect late summer bloomer. I’m putting one at your house, too.”

“Okay, and good luck to it. I’ve got to get a couple hours in before Marcus takes over here so I can make it to Gabe’s game.”

Sitting back on her heels, Darby scanned the clematis, deemed it good. “I’m going to try to get there for an hour.”

“I’ll save you a seat. Darby, while I’m benefiting from your ad mirable work ethic, I also know the pressure of running your own business. Honey, you should take a day off.”

“I had most of yesterday off, and it’s going to rain next Wednesday, so that’s another.”

Emily crouched down. “And what do you do with your days off?”

“Plot and plan on how to make potential clients panic.”

With genuine affection, Emily patted her cheek. “I bet you do. See you at the game.”

She finished in time to take photos for her files, to get the crew started at Emily’s, and to wash up with the garden hose.

“Back around one. Or one-thirty if you want me to pick up lunch. My tab.”

“Hot and spicy sub!” Roy called out.

Hallie, her hair now in dozens of artful braids bunched at her neck with a band, leaned on her shovel. “I’ll take a half ham and pepper jack with tomatoes—mustard not mayo.”

“Got it.”

“And chips,” Roy added. “Jalape?o chips.”

Darby liked the spicy herself, but Roy went for the flames. “One-thirty. Text if you have a problem.”

She wound around the lake, admired all the bloomings, gave mental thumbs-ups to the home gardeners out at work in their yards, and continued through town already busy with Saturday shoppers.

And out the other side to the ball fields.

She had to hunt to park, considered that an excellent show of community support. As she walked the full block from her truck to the field, she listened to the crack of bats, the calls of fans, smelled the hot dogs and sloppy joes.

She paused to watch the little guys play, pint-size athletes learning the game and the value of teamwork. In the sunshine, she walked to where the older kids battled it out, spotted Zane, Emily, and Lee high in the long run of bleachers.

She’d only missed two innings, she noted by the scoreboard, and the home team had a run.

Top of the third, two outs, a man on first.

Gabe played the batter deep at third.

She waited to make the climb up until the batter—powerful swing—struck out.

As she threaded her way up, a number of people greeted her, and that was nice. Nice to live where people knew you, and took time to say hello.

Zane gave her a long glance from under his ball cap, behind his dark glasses, as she settled in beside him.

“How’s Gabe doing?”

“Got the RBI, solid double in the first. Fielded a hot line drive and beat the runner to second, snagged a pop-up.”

“Excellent. What do you want on your dog?”

“Mustard.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Got it. Hey.” She leaned in front of him to speak to Emily and Lee. “I’m buying dogs at the end of this inning. How do you like yours?”

“Thanks. Just mustard.”

Lee leaned past his wife. “Loaded.”

“Now, that’s a dog.”

She watched the first batter fly out on the second pitch.

“So where’s Brody?”

“Around here somewhere with his non-girlfriend girlfriend.”

“Jenny? She’s adorable. He’s probably working up to asking her to the end-of-school dance. He wanted to do it casual, so a ball game works.”

That pulled Zane’s attention away from the next batter. “How do you know that?”

“He mentioned it. He knows she’s waiting for him to ask, and probably knows he knows, but he doesn’t want to make it a big thing. Gabe’s on deck.”

“Yeah.”

They watched the first pitch to the batter, a called strike. Muttered together: “High and inside.”

In solidarity, Darby gave him a light elbow to the ribs. “So have you worked through your sticker shock, figured out any priorities?”

“Maybe.”

The second pitch brought the count to 1–1.

“You’ve got a chance for revenge Wednesday.”

“Why Wednesday?”

“Forecast for rain throughout the day, so I called your office late on Friday afternoon, made an appointment. All right.” She clapped as the batter took another outside pitch for ball two. “Good eye.”

“Emily said you’re nearly finished with reception.”

“Am finished, looks awesome. We’re back at the house the rest of the day. I’m going to hit Bungalow Six for a couple hours tomorrow between checkout and check-in.”

Late swing, fouled back.

She turned her head so their eyes met briefly, shielded by sunglasses, shadowed by the bills of ball caps.

“Is that how you spend your Sundays?”

“Gotta dig holes while the sun shines, Walker.”

Ball three. Full count.

People clapped, buzzed, stomped.

A kid of about three sat on his father’s shoulders on the grass beside the bleachers and waved a little plastic bat. A trio of girls with yards of hair and legs strolled by a group of boys who pretended not to notice.

A couple of levels below where Darby sat, a woman plied yarn with a crochet hook and shouted, “Knock it outta here, Willy!”

“It’s coming inside,” Zane mumbled.

“You think?”

“You watch. Gonna try to crowd him, make him swing.”

Darby watched. It came inside, missing the corner of the plate. Instead of knocking it outta there, Willy did the smart thing. He took the pitch, and his base on balls.

“Somebody else has a good eye,” Darby commented. “Willy’s got fast feet. He can stretch a solid single into a double.”