Forget Me Not. Marion Ekholm
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unimpressed, but at least he didn’t offer more criticism. She warmed only slightly to another of his embraces. “What?” he asked. “I’m in the doghouse now for not jumping on your bandwagon?”
Trish sighed. How could she expect him to love this Victorian house when he had none of her memories? She cuddled against him and smiled when he pulled her back into his arms.
“You’re planning to spend a month here? I don’t see how it’s possible to fix all that needs to be done in that time.”
“I’ve hired a handyman. He’ll do most of the work.”
“How do you know he’s any good?” Harrison nuzzled her cheek. “I don’t want you to end up with more of a mess and possibly get cheated.”
Trish appreciated his concern. “It’s okay. I grew up with him, and he’s the best.”
“Good,” Harrison said, moving slightly away and brushing his hand through her hair. “Then you won’t have to stay here. My main concern has been you being so far away from—”
“Anyone hungry?”
Harrison and Trish jumped apart. Harrison was the first to recover. He strode toward the intruder, his fist clenched as though he planned to strike. “Who are you?”
“Right now I’m the cook. Lunch is served in the kitchen.” Craig made a quick pivot and disappeared into the hallway.
Trish grasped Harrison’s arm and felt the tension there. “That’s my handyman, Craig Cadman.”
“And he cooks?”
Trish patted his arm, hoping to relieve the unexpected hostility. “Not usually. Let’s go eat.”
* * *
SO THIS IS the fiancé, Craig thought as he returned to the kitchen.
Dave looked up from stirring the soup on the stove. “What was that? Is she okay?”
“Yeah.” He stopped speaking when Harrison and Trish walked in.
“I’d like you both to meet my fiancé, Harrison Morris.”
Craig offered his hand. “I’m Craig, the handyman.”
Dave came around, also extending his hand. “And I’m Dave, the antiques man.” He gave Craig a wink and went back to stirring the soup. “Do we have bowls for this?”
Trish picked up four of the china bowls she’d washed. “Do we have to use those?” Dave asked. “I thought I was buying them.”
Trish laughed and brought the bowls to the table. “They’ve gone through hundreds of meals over the past seventy-five years. I’ll wash them when we’re through, and as long as no one starts to juggle them, they should make it without any problem.” After opening several drawers, she placed napkins and spoons by the bowls.
Dave sighed, then went back for the pot of soup.
“What’s this?” Harrison thrust his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I planned on taking you out for lunch. And instead we’re settling for soup in a freezing kitchen.” He managed a convincing shiver and paused before adding, “With the help.” A moment later Harrison started laughing. “Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I’m sorry, guys. I just never expected...” He offered Trish a chair before taking one himself. “Let’s just do it. I took an extended lunch hour, and I need to get back to the city.”
Craig brought the grilled sandwiches to the table while Dave dished out the soup. At any moment Craig expected his crew to return. And he didn’t want an interruption, not when he had an opportunity to observe Harrison. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Craig, Harrison had trimmed dark hair that hadn’t started to thin, even though he was older than everyone else at the table. He looked as though he worked out, probably in some office gym.
What did Trish see in him? Was he the right one for her?
Craig reached for his sandwich and let old memories wash over him. “Remember when we sat in this kitchen, eating our favorite meal with your grandmother’s cookies baking in the oven?”
Trish grinned and pointed to her mouthful. She swallowed before adding, “Yes. Dozens of times.” She glanced at Harrison before concentrating on her sandwich again. He looked miffed.
Craig decided continuing down memory lane might not be the best idea. But Trish did remember. Was she experiencing the same nostalgia? Was the same knot tying up her insides?
He put down the sandwich, not able to deal with what was lost and could never be.
* * *
“SO, WHAT DO you think this secretary is worth?” Trish asked Dave.
He started to reply, but Harrison came over and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from Dave. “When I come here in the future, I’ll expect one of your home-cooked specialties.” He gave Craig a look that could only mean the meal he’d just consumed wasn’t up to par. “Really sorry I’ll be missing out on Thanksgiving.”
Did Trish know how to cook? She used to help her grandmother, but back then they were always happy with nothing fancier than a plate of cookies. Craig turned his attention back to the secretary. What would he do if Dave discovered the note? What would Harrison do? Laugh himself inside out?
“I’m sorry you’ll miss it, too.” She and Harrison embraced only a few feet away from him. Did Harrison really have to act so touchy-feely in front of everyone? And did Trish have to enjoy it so much?
“You’ll only have one day to help me paint?” Trish looked away, and Craig saw the hurt in her eyes. The rat.
“Right. I’m taking all of that Sunday off. We can get most of it done then.”
Sure. One day of painting and they’d be lucky to complete one room out of the half dozen that needed work. Didn’t the guy know anything about how long it took to mix the paint, put up tape, cover the walls, trim the woodwork and clean up afterward?
Harrison kissed her again on the cheek, and Craig considered bashing him in the head with one of the antique ornate brass lamps. As much as he wanted to know more about the secretary, Craig felt like leaving.
“Don’t your parents live in Chicago?” Trish asked. “Will you be joining them for Thanksgiving?”
“I may stop by, but it wouldn’t have much meaning if I can’t bring my fiancée.” Another embrace. At least her response was less than enthusiastic this time around. Was it the subject matter? Why wasn’t he taking her there to meet his family?
Trish managed to slip from under Harrison’s possessive arm and walked closer to Dave to re-ask her question. “So, what do you think, Dave? What kind of price can I get for the secretary?”
“Could one of you help me move it away from the wall? I’d like to see if there’s any signature or an indication of who might have made this. Do you have the history on this, Trish? Where it came from?” Craig moved over to the opposite side and helped swivel the large piece around to expose the back. Trish joined him.
“It’s always been here. I think Gram mentioned once her grandfather bought it for his wife as an anniversary gift. In fact, most of the items in the house were purchased by her father’s parents or grandparents. Gram didn’t see the point in replacing anything with a newer model unless the old one no longer served the purpose.” Trish chuckled. “She did upgrade to a flat-screen TV, though.”
“Oh, my!” Dave traced his finger on a faded mark while everyone else came over to see what had intrigued him. “This WW is from Willard Williams, a cabinetmaker back in the early eighteenth century. What a find! I’ll have to do a little more research, but we’re talking thousands. Especially since it’s in pristine condition.”
Thousands! Craig caught his breath and wondered how he’d ever come up with that much money for something that served no practical purpose.
Harrison