Because her mother’s voice nagged in her head, she went in to make the bed. And found it already made, pillows fluffed.
Dazed, she told herself. She must have made it on autopilot.
Since she’d spend the morning setting up her work area, she decided sweats equaled the uniform of the day.
She walked to the dresser, started to open a drawer.
This time a chill sprinted up her spine.
Her three pretty bottles lined up in front of the mirror; the silver-backed brush and mirror lay together on the left with the vase of flowers dead center.
She’d arranged the bottles near the corner, in a kind of triangle, to balance the flowers on the other side, with the brush and mirror off-center between them.
She was sure of it.
Too much champagne? she wondered.
But she hadn’t had any before she’d unpacked. Obviously, she’d moved them after that, probably when she’d gotten ready for bed.
She moved everything around the way she wanted them. Gave the display a determined nod before taking out sweatpants and her beloved Boston College sweatshirt.
After pulling her wet hair back in a tail, she put on sneakers and considered herself ready for the day.
She switched off the fire before she left the room, then went straight to the library. After plugging in her tablet, she programmed music. Quiet was nice, but quiet could be a little much.
Next order of business: light a fire.
The Doyles made it easy, she noted. Wood right there in the rack—she’d bring in more—a starter log, the long matches.
Pleased when it crackled to life, she stood and admired it.
Now, she thought, decisions.
She could set up down here, then if and when she needed or wanted her work on the big screen, take her laptop up. Or she could just set everything up there.
“Easy choice, because this room really is everything.”
She opened the boxes she and Trey had carted up the day before, and got to work.
It took time, but she had plenty of it.
With her computer set up and—yay!—running, her sketch pad within easy reach, she made use of the desk drawers for supplies. Pencils, markers, rulers, extra sketch pads, client files.
Since she had the space, she thought she’d use the computer in the office on the main level, do her personal business in there. A nice way, she decided, to separate her business.
She put Xena in a south-facing window.
“We’re going to bloom here.”
When she opened a freestanding cabinet, she found decanters inside—whiskey in one, brandy in the other, according to her sniff test. Lowball, highball glasses and snifters stood on a pair of shelves.
She could clean it out, use it for more supplies, but she could so easily see the man with her father’s face sitting by the fire with a book and a glass of whiskey.
She didn’t have the heart.
Neither did she have the heart to set her printer next to that gorgeous desk. No question she’d find a sturdy table or stand somewhere, but it would just ruin the look of the room.
She could network with the printer in the office, but … inconvenient.
Wandering the room, she looked for options. Set another log on the fire, then went up the curving stairs.
More books, another killer view, a smaller, more feminine desk, a big wine-colored leather sofa. The big flat-screen, and a cabinet under it.
She opened one of the doors and found a DVD player, along with an impressive collection of DVDs. Add these to the ones she’d seen in the media room, and yes, Collin had loved movies.
All sorts of movies, she mused as she browsed through them.
Books, movies, art, antiques. Children? He’d put in a gaming system for his friend’s kids, so yes, children.
“So much like Dad. Really, I think you were a lot alike. And I think … I think you’d have enjoyed each other. You should’ve had the chance to find out.”
On her tablet below, the music stopped, then started again with what she recognized as The Byrds’ “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season)” because her father had often played it and, to her, other ancient records on his old turntable in his studio.
“I guess that suits the moment,” she muttered.
But more to the point, she could make room in the cabinet, set up her printer, her letterhead, a ream of paper.
Of course, that meant hauling the printer—and its considerable weight—up those curving steps. So that could wait, as much as it pained her to admit, until she had someone with more muscle and a strong back to carry it up.
By early afternoon, she’d done all she could do both personal and professional office–wise.
Time for a break, she thought, and debated grabbing something to eat or cleaning up a bit more and venturing down to the village.
Before she could decide, a trio of bongs all but boomed up the stairs. By the time her heart stopped jumping and she realized it had to be the doorbell, they sounded again.
“Okay, Jesus!” Hoping it was Trey or John Dee—muscles, strong backs—she jogged downstairs to answer.
A woman with a varicolored knit cap over short black hair stood on gorgeous knee-high boots in the portico. She held a cake carrier.
“Hi! I’m Anna. Anna Doyle. Welcome to Poole’s Bay.”
“Oh, thanks.” She should’ve noted the resemblance, but the eyes were more blue-gray, the face more heart shaped. “Come in.”
“I hope you’re not working. Trey said you’d probably be working or setting up your work area.”
“I just finished setting up. Or enough.”
“This is for you. Coffee cake. I bake when I’m thinking.”
“I eat when I’m thinking. Can I take your coat?” The fabulous red suede coat.
“If you don’t mind me pushing in for a few minutes.”
“I don’t. At all.”
Anna handed over the coat, the hat, and the amazing scarf of butter-soft wool.
Beneath she wore a winter-white tunic and chocolate leggings that set off the boots Sonya wanted for her own.
Tall and leanly built like her brother, with a short, sleek cap of black hair and flawless skin, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
“Are you settling in?” Anna asked as Sonya took the coat to the closet to hang. “It’s such a spectacular house.”
“I’m making headway.”
And needed to make friends and contacts, she thought.
“Why don’t we take this cake back to the kitchen and try it out? I’ll make coffee.”
“I’d love to—if you could make that tea for me. I’ve had my one miserly cup of coffee today.” She laid a hand on her belly as they walked. “That’s all we’re allowed.”
“Oh. Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks. We’re thrilled. I’ve hit my second trimester, and got the all clear. So other than my family, my husband Seth’s family, and a few select friends, you’re the first to know.”
She paused outside the office. “Trey said the painting’s your father’s work.”
“It is.”
“I’ve always loved it. I’m so sorry Collin and your father never had a chance to be brothers.”
“So am I. I was just thinking they’d have liked each other. They had a lot in common, I’m finding out. My friend calls it twin synergy. I think I saw tea in here.”