“Terms?” Sonya shut down. “You’re not paying rent, Cleo. I don’t pay rent so you don’t.”
“I get that. I do, and it’s appreciated. But I will contribute. I’ll do the grocery shopping—we’ll make weekly lists—and buy the food. I’m a better cook than you, which isn’t saying much about either of us, so I’ll handle dinner—let’s say five nights a week. Roughly.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“Yeah, we will.” Cleo grinned as they started downstairs. “It’s what we do.”
Chapter Thirteen
At Cleo’s insistence, Sonya “duded up” after brunch. It seemed wasteful, since she’d probably help move furniture, but at that point in time, if Cleo had asked her to do handsprings in the foyer, she’d have tried it.
So in rust-colored suede pants and a stone-gray turtleneck she guided Cleo through storage areas again.
“This desk.” Sonya had to maneuver her way back to it while Cleo cooed over a floor lamp shaped like a mermaid holding a crystal ball.
“I want this lamp in the studio.”
Sonya swiped at her hair, nodded. “I should’ve known that.”
“She’s perfect. I’m doing a book on mermaids.”
“Did I know that?”
“I haven’t started yet. It’s the Monday meeting. An adult book.” She circled the lamp. “Coffee-table, illustrations depicting various lores, various cultures.”
“That’s your wheelhouse.”
“It is. The desk. Oh, oh, oh!” She danced to it.
“It’s going to weigh a ton,” Sonya predicted. “And it’ll take some work to get it down there, considering the L-shape extension.”
“Where there’s a will. It’s gorgeous.” Reverently, Cleo ran a hand over the surface and its leather insert. “I wonder what kind of wood it is.”
“No clue. But drawers for supplies, room for your monitor, and you could use the extension for hand sketching.”
“Well, I want it, and the mermaid. I can bring my own desk chair, it works for me. Same with my desk lamp. I could probably use a small couch, settee, divan. Something curved would be nice, considering the shape of the studio. At least one chair for when my best friend hangs out up there.”
Laughing, she looked around. “God, Sonya, it’s like shopping for free in a fabulous antiques shop.”
A board creaked overhead.
“Attic space,” Sonya murmured.
“I remember—the trunks of clothes and more. Let’s go see.”
Hedging, Sonya slid her hands into her pockets. “It’s pretty chilly up there.”
“I remember from yesterday. I didn’t really get a good look.”
They went up now, and Cleo pointed.
“I wanted a small, curved sofa, and there it is.”
“You know that was covered with a sheet yesterday—and when I went through before that.”
“Well, it’s not covered now, and it’s just right.” Beyond delighted, Cleo circled it. “I love this deep royal blue color. It’s velvet, and look at the hearts carved in the frame. So sweet! It’ll really work in there. A chair, a couple tables, and kaboom, a sitting area, a work area, that view, and room to paint when that mood strikes.”
“Use Collin’s supplies. They’ll go to waste if you don’t. Later on—when it’s not as cold up here—we should go through everything. Take the sheets and tarps off, and go through it all.”
“Then we will.” After one more circle, Cleo nodded. “You know, I think we could get that little sofa down there.”
Sonya studied it. “Won’t know unless we try.”
It proved heavier than it looked, but small enough to maneuver down steps and hallways.
When, a little out of breath, they set it in the curve of windows in the studio, they fist-bumped.
The doorbell bonged.
“Now I know why it’s so freaking loud. Well, let’s go let the manly men in, and hope they’re up for it.”
They went down, opened the door to the two men. And two dogs.
“It’s Mookie!” Since the big blond swished his feathery tail, Sonya crouched down. And was rewarded with more wags and a nuzzle. “And who’s this?”
“That’s Jones,” Owen told her.
Sonya cooed over the scrappy-looking black dog with an eye patch over his left eye.
“What happened to his eye?”
“He lost it in a bar fight with a Doberman.”
Hands busy petting two at once, Sonya looked up. Owen shrugged.
“That’s the story I got.”
“I bet the Doberman got the worst of it.” Cleo stepped back, gestured. “Bring them on in out of the cold.”
“Yes, sorry. Cleo Fabares, Trey Doyle, Owen Poole.”
“Nice to—” Trey broke off. “Mook!”
The dog, already heading into the front parlor, glanced back.
“He tends to make himself at home.”
“Fine with me. Let me get your coats. First, we really appreciate the help, and second, full disclosure. We’ve found more stuff to move.”
Owen handed Sonya his coat. “Got beer?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good.”
“You’re a tough little guy, aren’t you?” Cleo bent to scratch Jones between the ears, along his square jaw. He huffed.
“He doesn’t think of himself as little.”
Giving her hair a toss, Cleo shot Owen a quick, side-eyed smile. “Well, it’s the size of the fight in the dog, isn’t it?”
“Jones has plenty of it. Where’s the accent from?”
“Louisiana. Lafayette.” She gave them both the regional pronunciation.
Sonya glanced in the parlor as Mookie sniffed his way around.
“Hunting for treasure,” Trey explained. “Collin used to hide a dog biscuit or rawhide bone, so Mookie could … I guess we missed that one,” he said as Mookie nosed under a chair cushion and came out with a dog treat.
“Well, hell.” Owen dug into a pocket of the coat Sonya still held. He took out a small biscuit, tossed it to Jones, who fielded it with a quick snap. “Fair’s fair.”
“That’s it. I’m getting one.”
“We’re getting a dog?” The idea had Cleo slapping her hands together. “We need a cat, too, Son. This place is made for a faithful hound and a good, slinky cat.”
“More disclosure.” Sonya carried the coats into the closet. “Cleo’s going to move in. That’s okay, isn’t it, Trey? I mean, it doesn’t break any terms, does it?”
“Yeah, it’s okay, and no, it doesn’t. It’s good. Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.” Cleo spread her arms. “I don’t know who could resist a place like this, but I’m not one of them.”
From the library, Cyndi Lauper rang out with “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”
“And that,” she said with a laugh, “is only one more reason why. Did everybody but Sonya know the place is haunted?”
“She had full disclosure there.” Trey hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets. “She wasn’t buying it.”
“So that’s not unusual?” Sonya asked. “Cuing up songs on my tablet?”
“They like music,” Trey said simply.
“And you.” She pointed at Owen. “No reaction?”
“I’m more into rock than pop, but Lauper’s always cool.”
“My friend’s a realist.” Cleo gave Sonya a one-armed hug. “So this is a little tough for her. I’ll balance that out.”
“Let’s not keep these men and their dogs standing in the foyer. We’ve got things moving from there to here, and here to there. If any of it’s too much, that’s fine. But I have beer.”