AllFreeNovel
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This had sent Evie into raptures of joy, so I’d given Bill my warmest smile and sincere thanks. It’s a huge sign of his trust that he would pass this to me, and I get why he’s doing it; after my work on the store windows over the last three years, he thinks I’m the woman for the big Christmas house job too. I don’t want to disappoint him, so I guess I’ll just have to make him proud.
Evie, content that we’ll tackle Christmas soon enough, has started in on her soup. Our table is one the sellers left behind, small and round with sides that fold down to make a smaller square. It’s not antique but it’s made of good oak, and it’s a prime candidate for refinishing, maybe something in soft green with an antiqued look.
I’ll have to think about how to do that. There will be many, many YouTube tutorials in my future. This makes me happy. Breathing life into things is my jam.
“Done. Let’s go apologize to the man, Mama.” Evie tips her bowl my way to prove she’s eaten everything, even the veggies. We’ve never been great at eating them, but Lisa always serves them, and we’re slowly coming around. Or trying to.
“All right,” I say. “But my mom always taught me that you never visit a neighbor empty-handed, and I’m sure that’s double-true for apologies. How about we share our stew?” Teaching Evie about the grandparents she’ll never meet is always bittersweet. I never know what’s sticking and what isn’t, but I hope she tucks some of these stories away so they’ll become a part of her too.
I reseal the plastic soup container and scoop it up. “Let’s go, kiddo.”
We take the short walk next door. There are a few lights on, so Mr. Brown must be home. We climb the stairs, and I knock. Several seconds pass without a response, and this time I try the actual door knocker, a cast iron bird that I feel sort of bad about lifting and dropping. It’s too charming to have been installed by Mr. Brown, so it must be left from his grandparents. I really do need to get his story from Lily Greene.
We hear distant footsteps descend, then cross the floor. I’ve rehearsed this apology a few times to make sure I can do it without laughing, although that shouldn’t be a problem as long as he’s changed out of the paint-damaged sweater.
When the door opens, I smile and say, “Hi, Mr. Brow—” Oh. No. He hasn’t been polite enough to give me his name. Didn’t Lisa call it the Ellis house once? I pivot quickly. “Um, Mr. Ellis. I’m sorry again about ruining your sweater. I hope you’ll accept some beef and barley soup as an apology. I’ll be sure to replace your sweater too.” I should be able to find about five billion of them next time we go thrifting.
Then I stare. Is he wearing thesamegray sweater? “Wait, were you able to get the paint out? You’ll have to tell me your trick.”
He stares down at his sweater and shifts from one foot to the other. “It’s not the same sweater.”
I don’t know which one of us should be embarrassed by this.Him, I decide.
“Right. Well, I’ll replace the other one if you’ll give me your size.” Probably a large. He’s about six feet tall and thin but with broad-ish shoulders.
“It’s okay.” He looks uncomfortable. “I have more.”
I wonder how many. Three? Five? A dozen? “That’s nice of you to let me off the hook.” Literally the only nice thing he’s done, but okay, credit where credit is due. “Anyway, here’s the soup, Mr. El—”
“Henry.”
“Mr. Henry. I hope you enjoy it.”
“No, I mean my first name is Henry. Not Mr. Henry.”
“Oh, sorry. Enjoy your soup, Henry.” I hand it to him, and he takes it, but then looks confused as to why he’s holding a container of stew.
I turn to leave but he stops us with a question. “May I ask what the project on your lawn is about?”
“Christmas!” Evie whirls and announces. “Isn’t it so awesome? The Dubs gave it to us, and we’re going to have the best Christmas house in the whole town!”
His eyebrows draw together, and he looks from her to me. “You might want to wait until you see some of the other displays go up so you can calibrate yours to match. Orchard has a refined sensibility.”
Hold up. This dude is calling me tacky.
I do not say the following words, but I think them very loudly: Son, I’m talented enough to do the Manhattan Bloomingdale’s windows and they’d be lucky to have me.
I give him a noncommittal “Mmm, good thoughts.” I take Evie’s hand and skim down the stairs, stopping at the bottom like it’s an afterthought. “I was going to wait until December, but given how crazy the actual holidays are for me at work, I think we’ll start our decorating tomorrow. Have a good night.”
He opens and closes his mouth soundlessly—Henry the Trout making a flustered reappearance.
We walk home with Evie oblivious to the fact that we have the most stuck-up neighbor in Creekville, and me satisfied that I shut him up.
Chapter Nine
Henry
Igetuparoundeight—a decent sleep-in for a weekend—and treat myself to an omelet with cremini mushrooms and caramelized onions. The time I allow for caramelizing is probably the most decadent part of the breakfast. I absent-mindedly push them around the skillet as I contemplate the problem of the new neighbor. What atrocity can I expect as they set about their decorating?
