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Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “What do you think?”

Eryn looked at him as she touched a plastic souvenir horse probably made overseas somewhere. “It… could use help.”

Maxwell belted out a laugh. “You think?”

Eryn smiled. “Yes?”

“What would you do with this space if I handed it to you and asked you to create a gift shop for Sweet River?”

She pursed her lips.

He tried not to notice.

Eryn picked up the horse. “Do you really want to know?”

Maxwell leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Definitely. Hit me with it.”

“Well, I’d start with getting rid of all this… junk. It’s vaguely cowboyish, but it doesn’t say anything about this place. Or about the United States, let alone Montana.”

“Everything in that section is gone now. What else?”

She looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He swept his hand. “Imagine it gone. If you’re taking this space on, and if you want it to disappear, assume it has happened. Anything else being kicked to the curb?”

“Nearly everything?”

Her voice was so soft he barely heard her words, but his heart leaped. “Perfect. What do you envision in its place?”

“What local artisans are there who might be interested in placing consignment pieces?”

“We tend to purchase outright unless artisans prefer consignment. Most don’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“We carry pottery from Bayside Kiln in Jewel Lake. The potter, Trinity, goes to our church, actually. She bought back what didn’t sell because she had a major order to fill for a gallery in Sunday Harbor.” He pointed at one of the empty tables. “That’s where we display her stuff. It sells pretty well.”

“Good. Is there someone in the area who does stained glass? Any candle crafters? Candy makers?”

“I… I don’t know.” Maxwell pointed at the wide windows. “Stained glass would look nice with sunlight shining through, wouldn’t it?”

Eryn nodded. “I was thinking a sweetgrass section with baskets and sachets and maybe candles. I’m sure there are other things that could be made from it and sold.”

He narrowed his eyes and tried to think. “We can brainstorm that further. Anything else?”

She crossed to the books. “Montana history is great, but what about fiction? Coloring books? Books about gems — aren’t they what Jewel Lake is named for?”

“Right. There have been all kinds mined in this area. Sapphires, rubies, agates, garnets — we’re not far from the Garnet ghost town.”

“Do you offer tours there?”

He blinked. “Um, no. Should we?” Offsite excursions would require a second activities director, as Paisley’s docket was full enough.

“Why not? So, there should be a section for stuff to do with gemstones. I’m not sure what would go in it because I don’t know how they’re discovered or mined or whatever.”

“Fair enough.” Maxwell nodded. “A sweetgrass section. A beefed-up book section. A gem section. More artisans. Anything else?”

She glanced his way, appearing hesitant.