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CHAPTER SIX

Seven o’clock on aThursday night and Lucy was sitting in her car. She studied the solar lights lining the path to Niall’s workshop, a silent guide to his man cave. This was a surprise visit. At least he’d be surprised, because when she’d left on Monday afternoon, she’d said she’d see him in a week.

She had her story prepared. A last-minute decision to attend another auction, and she needed his advice. Although her churning stomach told her a landlord should have made an appointment. The auction was only a partial truth. She wanted to sit at the table in Niall’s workshop and share a meal and listen to him talk. He had a beautiful mouth, from a simply objective viewpoint—generous, sensuous, with a hint of humour. But his lovely lilt soothed, even as his words raised hard truths.

Lucy had known her grandpa was lonely, that no one and nothing could replace the time shared with his wife. She and he had joked that because of Gran’s religion, he and Gran would be together again. She hadn’t known he’d shared so much of himself with Niall Quinn.

I’ve brought dinner, Lucy texted, then waited.

The door opened, fast enough for her nerves to settle, slowly enough for him to have time to hide what he was working on.And what business is it of yours! Inwardly, Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Hello, Lucy.” He stood in the doorway, a hand braced on the opposite jamb.

The emotional connection between Niall and her grandpa bound Lucy to Niall in a more personal way than the creation of the foundation or her plea for him to restore furniture. A friend? She had few enough of those—and none of them male—to be drawn to Niall’s workshop like birds drawn to nectar.

“I need some advice, and I thought you might not have eaten yet.” Lucy spilled her game plan on a single breath.

“A break works.” He gave a half bow to gesture her in.

The music was softer, soaring strings, and the contrast to the music he’d played on Monday revealed a complexity of character Lucy would have dismissed bare weeks ago. She strolled toward the kitchenette, aware of a largish object shrouded in drop cloths pushed to one side. Her fingers itched to flick back the coverings and see what he’d been working on.

“You were working?” Lucy glanced pointedly toward the covered item.

“Yeah,” he said. He leaned toward the carry bag she’d hoisted onto the bench. “Smells good.”

Lucy inhaled his blend of sandalwood, citrus, and man, and had to agree. “Tomato and caper pasta. Hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.” He set the plates in front of her. “I can offer you water, tea or a beer.”

“Maybe tea later.” She served the hot food, grabbed a bag full of sliced baguette rolls and headed for the table. “A cross between a picnic and fine dining.”

“Thanks. I was going to nuke a frozen meal later.” He followed with cutlery and some serviettes. “What’s the favour?”

“Let’s eat first.” About to sit, Lucy stopped at the table and reconsidered. “If you pull it out, I can sit with my back to the window.”

He hooked a foot around a sturdy leg, tugged it out, set down the cutlery he was carrying, and moved the chairs. All without a word. Regret for her impulsive suggestion followed when he sat with his back to the room, his broad shoulders blocking any view, and his focus entirely on Lucy.

“What did you do today, Lucy?”

“Stock-taking,” she admitted.

“What does that involve?” He spooned up another mouthful of pasta. “I can see why pasta’s your speciality.”

His casual compliment and his recollection of their earlier conversation were why she was here. He listened to her. “Hiding in a storeroom and checking items off a list. No brain power required at all.”

“How many times did you have to start over?”

Lucy choked, then laughed, then savoured the individuality of his welcome. “At least six.”

“Name three wooden pieces and describe them.” He asked questions, she answered and dinner disappeared. “I’ll make the tea.” He stood and carried the empty plates back to the bench.

“I brought tiramisu for dessert.”

“And you kept that a secret until now?” He made a smacking sound with his lips. “The tea can wait. Tell me the favour first. I’m open to bribes, but I have my principles.”

She collected her laptop and opened the screen. “There’s another auction coming up. I’ve got the catalogue and wanted to ask what you thought about a few pieces. This takes less of your time than attending the preview.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” he said. Did Niall think she was selfish? With his hips against the kitchen bench, his arms folded and his ankles crossed, he looked relaxed rather than wary. “Tiramisu is a big deal for a half-hour of my time.”