Key Of Knowledge (6 page)

She'd never owned a house, or any other property. She should concentrate on the very adult sensation of owning a third of an actual building, and the land it stood on. She wasn't afraid of the responsibility—it was good to know that. She wasn't afraid of work, mental or physical.

But she was, she realized, very afraid of failing.

She walked to the porch, sat on the step, and indulged in a good wallow.

She was too mired in it to do more than sit there when Malory pulled up with Zoe in the passenger seat. Malory angled her head as she climbed out.

“Crappy day, huh?”

“Don't come much crappier. Thanks for coming. Really.”

“We did better than that.” She gestured toward Zoe, and the white bakery box Zoe carried.

Overcome, Dana sniffed. “Is it chocolate?”

“We're girls, aren't we?” Sitting beside her, Zoe gave her a hard, one-armed hug, then opened the box. “Chocolate éclairs. A big fat one for each of us.”

This time, it was sentimental tears threatening to fall. “You guys are the best.”

“Take a few bites, wait for the kick, then tell us about it.” Malory sat on the other side, handed out napkins.

Dana soothed herself with chocolate, pastry, and cream, and the story tumbled out between bites.

“She wanted me to quit.” Scowling, she flicked her tongue at the corner of her mouth and licked off a bit of Bavarian cream. “It was some visceral animosity going on between us the minute we laid eyes on each other. Like, I dunno, maybe we were mortal enemies in a past life. Or, Jesus, married or something. It's not just that she ran the library like it was boot camp—that's bad enough—but she had it in for me, personally. And so did her little yappy dog, Sandi.”

“I know it's tough, Dana. Boy, do I.” Malory rubbed a sympathetic hand over Dana's shoulder. “But you were planning to resign in a few weeks anyway.”

“I know, I know. But I wanted to sort of ease out. Cop the little going-away party with the staff, so it all ended on a high note. And the fact is, even with the pay cut, the salary did come in handy. More than. I could've used the extra paychecks before I walked.”

“Telling her to cram it should be worth the paychecks. She's a bitch and we hate her,” Zoe said loyally. “And when Indulgence is up and running, and the bookstore's the talk of the Valley, she'll stew in her own envious juices.”

Considering, Dana pursed her lips. “That's a good one. I just panicked, I guess. I've always worked in a library. High school library, college library, then this one. And it suddenly hit me that that's done, and I'm going to be the owner of a retail business.”

She rubbed her damp hands on her knees. “I don't even know how to work a cash register.”

“I'll teach you,” Zoe promised. “We're in this together.”

“I don't want to mess it up. I don't want to mess up the key deal either. It's just that all this hit me at once.”

Malory offered Dana the last third of her éclair. “Have a little more sugar. Then we'll go in and start making some serious plans.”

“I've got two hours before I have to be home,” Zoe told her. “When we picked up the keys, I asked the real estate agent. She said we could start on some of the basic cosmetic work if we want to risk the time and money. We could paint the porch, say, unless we're worried the deal won't go through.”

Dana polished off the éclair. “Okay. Okay,” she said with more enthusiasm. “Let's go in and look at paint chips.”

AFTER some debate, they settled on a deep ocean blue. The color, they agreed, would make the house stand out among its neighbors and would add a touch of class.

Since they were in the mode, they headed back to the kitchen to talk about decor and space.

“Nothing too country,” Zoe decided as she tapped her fingers on her hips. “We want it comfortable and homey, but, well, indulgent, right? So it shouldn't be sleek or anything, but it shouldn't be homespun either.”

“Your upscale country kitchen.” Nodding, Malory turned in a circle, trying to envision it. “Maybe that minty green for the walls. Nice, friendly color. A creamy white for the cabinets. Dana, you'll be using this space the most.”

“That's okay, keep going.” She waved them on. “You guys are better at this than I am.”

“Well, what if we had the counters done in rose? Not pink, but stronger, then we punch things up with art. That would flow in from the gallery section. Then we'd set up some of the sidelines Zoe's talked about having up in the salon. The aromatherapy products, candles. And we do something like Dana's got in the kitchen in her apartment.”

“We fill it with junk food?”

Malory glanced at Dana and laughed. “No. Books. We do like a baker's rack or kitchen étagère over there, and we put out books and some of the craft pieces from my gallery, some of the products from the salon. Fancy hand creams and soaps. It unifies this communal space.”

“That's good.” Dana let out a breath. “It's starting to feel good again.”

“It's going to be great.” Zoe slid an arm around Dana's waist. “You could have those tins and stuff of fancy teas and coffees on the counter.”

“Maybe we could put in a table,” Dana considered. “One of those little round ones, with a couple of chairs. Okay. Let's write down the paints we've got so far, see if we can decide on any others. I'll head out to HomeMakers and pick it all up.”

“I think paint's going on sale next week,” Zoe put in.

“Oh, yeah?” Dana's dimples flashed. “Well, I happen to have an in at HomeMakers. I'll call Brad and get us a discount today.”

IT helped to have a focus, a goal. Even if it was only several gallons of paint.

If, Dana thought, the library and her life there were now her past, weren't Indulgence and the building of it her present? As far as the future went, how the hell was she
supposed to know? But she intended to think about it and try to find a connection to the location of the key.

It hadn't been difficult to wheedle a thirty percent discount out of Brad. As Dana wandered the wide aisles of the cavernous HomeMakers, she considered what else she might be able to pick up while she had her old friend's go-ahead.

Paintbrushes, of course, and rollers. Or maybe they should try out one of those paint sprayers. She studied one, crouching down to ponder the workings of it.

How hard could it be? And it would certainly be faster and less labor-intensive than slopping it on the old-fashioned way.

“Unless you're thinking about becoming a house painter, that one's a little much for you.”

Jordan Hawke, she thought as a muscle in her jaw twitched. And she'd thought the day couldn't get any crappier. “So, Brad took pity on you and gave you a job?” she said without looking up. “Are you going to get to wear one of the blue denim shirts with the little house on the breast pocket?”

“I was in his office when you called kissing up to him for a price break. He asked me to come down and give you a hand because he got caught by a phone call before he could come himself.”

Her hackles rose. “I don't need help to buy paint.”

“You do if you're seriously considering buying that sprayer.”

“I was just looking.” Her mouth moved into a pout as she poked a finger at the machine. “Besides, what do you know about it?”

“Enough to know if I say too much more about it, you'll buy it just to spite me.”

“That's tempting, but I'll resist,” she shot back.

He reached down, cupped a hand under her elbow to lift her to her feet. “Seems like you've had enough to deal with for one day. Heard you quit your job.”

There was sympathy in his eyes. Not the smug and sticky kind, but a quiet understanding that soothed. “What, does Sandi report to you too?”

“Sorry, that name's not on my list.” He gave her arm a careless little rub, an old gesture that both of them remembered as soon as he did it. And both of them took a half-step back. “Word travels, Stretch. You know how it is in the Valley.”

“Yeah, I know how it is. I'm surprised you remember.”

“I remember a lot of things. One of them is how much you loved working there.”

“I don't want you to be nice to me.” She turned away to stare hard at the paint sprayer. “It's screwing up my mood.”

Because he knew she would work through it better if she was angry or occupied, he nodded. “Okay. Why don't I help you take advantage of your friend-of-the-owner discount? It's always fun to scalp Brad. Then you can verbally abuse me. That always cheers you up.”

“Yeah, it does.” She frowned a little, bumped the sprayer with the toe of her shoe. “This thing doesn't look so tough.”

“Let me show you some of your other options.”

“Why aren't you back at Flynn's hacking out a stale plot with cardboard characters?”

“There, see, you're feeling better already.”

“Have to admit.”

“What we have here is an automatic paint roller system,” he began, steering her toward the machine Brad had recommended to him. “It's small, user-friendly, and efficient.”

“How do you know?”

“Because when Brad told me to show you this one he used those specific adjectives. Personally, I've only painted a room the old-fashioned way, and that's been . . .” He trailed off. “A long time ago.”

She remembered. He'd painted his mother's bedroom when she was in the hospital the first time. Dana had helped him, cutting around the trim, keeping his spirits up.
They'd painted the walls a soft, warm blue so that the room would be fresh and peaceful.

And less than three months later she was dead.

“She loved it,” Dana said gently. “She loved that you did that for her.”

“Yeah.” As the memory was painful on too many levels, he flipped the topic back. “Well, Brad's got a list here of handy products and tools to make your home improvement project more enjoyable.”

“Okay, let's clean him out.”

She had to admit that it added to the fun and interest of the expedition to have him along. And it was easy, a little too easy, to remember why they'd once been friends, once been lovers.

They had a way of slipping into a rhythm, of understanding short-speak and expressions that came from a lifetime of knowing each other every bit as much as from the two years of physical intimacy they'd shared.

“This is the color?” Jordan rubbed his chin as he studied her list. “Island? What kind of color is Island?”

“Greeny blue. Sort of.” She handed over the paint chip. “See? What's wrong with it?”

“I didn't say anything was wrong with it. It's just not something that makes me think bookstore.”

“It's not just a bookstore, it's . . . Damn it.” She held the sample up, she held it down. She crossed her eyes and still couldn't envision it on the walls of her space. “Malory picked it out. I was going to go with this off-white, and she and Zoe jumped all over me.”

“White always works.”

She hissed out a breath. “See, they said I was thinking like a man. Men won't pick color. They're scared of color.”

“We are not.”

“What color's your living room in New York?”

He shot her a bland look. “That's entirely beside the point.”

“I don't think so. I don't know why, but I don't think so. I'm going with this sort of greeny blue. It's just paint. It's not a lifetime commitment. And she said I should think Bryce Canyon and Spaghetti for accents.”

“Brown and yellow? Honey, that's got to be ugly.”

“No, the canyon deal's sort of deep rose. A kind of pinky, browny red—”

“Pinky, browny red,” he repeated, grinning. “Very descriptive.”

“Shut up. And the other's sort of cream.” She fanned out the samples Zoe and Malory had marked. “Hell, I don't know. I think I'm a little scared of color myself.”

“You're sure as hell not a man.”

“Thank God for that. Mal's going with this deal called Honeycomb. Zoe's is called Begonia, which I don't get because begonias are pink or white, and this is more like purple.”

She pressed her fingers just over her right eye. “I think all this color's making my head hurt. Anyway, Zoe's already figured the square footage and the gallons per. Where's my list?”

He handed it back to her. “Brad was wondering why Zoe didn't come with you.”

“Hmm? Oh, she had to get home to Simon.” She studied the list, began to calculate, then glanced up. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why was he wondering?”

“Why do you think?” He looked over her shoulder at the list, surprised when she turned it over and he saw that it continued on the back of the sheet.

“Jesus, you're going to need a flatbed. Then Brad took a trip back to high school and asked me to ask you if Zoe had said anything about him.”

“No, she didn't, but I'd be happy to pass her a note for him in study hall tomorrow.”

“I'll let him know.”

They loaded up the paint, the supplies, the equipment. Dana blessed Brad at checkout when even with the discount the total made her gulp. But it wasn't until she was outside that she realized the real dilemma.

“How the hell am I going to fit all this in my car?”

“You're not. We're going to fit it into your car and mine.”

“Why didn't you say something about me buying more than I could handle when I was loading up in there?”

“Because you were having fun. Where do you want to store all this stuff?”

“Jeez.” Baffled with herself, she scooped a hand through her hair. “I didn't think about it. I got caught up.”

And, he thought, it had been a pleasure to watch her get caught up—and forget she hated him.

“I can't store all this at my place, and I didn't think to see if we could keep the keys and store it at the building. What the hell am I going to do with it?”