She could see it. “I like that. Countertops?”
“You could go with one of the stones—granite, quartz, marble. There are other materials for the counters, though, besides stone. In the house we did last month out on the point, we did concrete. Looked great. It can be stained any color if you like a different look.”
“I’ve seen that done on some of the reno shows on HGTV.” She recalled having liked the clean look.
“Ahhh, HGTV.” He smiled.
“What? It’s one of my favorite places.”
“I thought it was a TV channel.”
“Well, yes, but it’s where you go to get new ideas, see new products, and learn new lingo. I mean, how many people do you suppose used the word shiplap before HGTV?” Grace leaned back against the doorway. “It’s also a good place to get tips on how to set up furniture in odd-shaped rooms and how to reuse things you find in thrift or antique shops.” She grinned. “Or in my mother’s attic, which is my personal favorite place to shop.”
She thought of the antique dresser she’d mentally placed on the short wall under the window in the front room, and the farm table her dad had made for their Bryn Mawr house. It didn’t fit in Maggie’s kitchen but would be perfect here in the little house, where it could serve for dining and for a home workstation.
“Did you give any more thought to a screened porch out back?” Linc asked.
“I’m still thinking about it. I really pictured a patio out there.”
“You have room to do both, but it’s your house. I was just thinking you’d be able to spend more time out back in the summer if you had a place to sit where the greenhead flies couldn’t get to you.”
“Oh my God, I hate those things. When we were kids, we’d be out on the beach, enjoying ourselves—then the wind would turn suddenly and unleash those vicious flying monkeys on us, and we’d be bitten everywhere. We’d run home all bitten up and itchy, and my gramma would put ice packs on the bites, then some kind of cream to take the itching away.” She paused. “Do you have those flies out on your island?”
“Oh, sure. They can fly for miles. There’s a section on one side of the island that’s marsh, and if you know your greenhead flies, you know they breed in marshes. I’ve even been bitten on the boat in the middle of Buzzards Bay. There’s no safe place outdoors from July to September. Thankfully, it’s already September. I haven’t had a bite in at least a week.”
The sudden sound of rain beating on the roof startled them both.
Linc looked out the window. “Damn. I was hoping to beat the storm home. I should get going. I have a few miles to go by boat.”
“I’ll close up. Go on.” She turned off the lights and stepped outside in time to see Linc dash to his truck and hop inside. He had started the engine and begun to move forward when he looked back at the house.
He pulled directly in front of where she stood and rolled down the passenger-side window. “Where’s your car?” he shouted over the rumble of thunder.
“I walked.” She’d underestimated the rainfall and how quickly the temperature had dropped. Cats and dogs wasn’t even close.
“Get in. I’ll drop you off.”
“No, it’s okay.” She declined the offer, knowing what she must look like, soaking wet with her clothes stuck to her and her hair plastered to her head.
“You’ll get soaked. Come on.”
The rain fell in an angry torrent. Linc was right. She’d be cold and waterlogged before she got to the driveway. She locked the door and ran to the truck. “Thanks,” she said as she climbed in. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Don’t you pay attention to the forecasts on the weather channel?”
“I never watch the news, it’s always depressing, and I’m usually doing something else in the evening.” Why oh why hadn’t she been born one of those women who looked really good soaking wet?
“Enjoying Wyndham Beach’s happening nightlife?”
“I had a beer at Dusty’s one night with Chris Dean and Ted Affonseca. Does that count as nightlife? It was only once, and it was a few months ago, but still. The local tavern. Beer. A couple of guy friends. It should count as something.”
He laughed. “How do you know Chris Dean?”
“I’ve always known him. Our moms have been best friends forever.” And he’s sleeping with my sister, but that’s probably neither relevant to this conversation nor appropriate. “You must know him, too, if you grew up here.”
“Yeah, we were in the same class all through school.”
“He’s a great guy. He sent Natalie and me tickets for his concert in Philly last year. Even sent a limo to pick us up.”
“Natalie is . . . ?”
“My sister. Are you still friends with Chris?”
“I haven’t seen him in years.”
“He’s still the same guy he was when we were kids.”
“Good to know,” he said.
There was a touch of something she couldn’t define in the tone of his voice. It wasn’t envy, the way some guys might feel toward an old friend who’d hit it out of the park the way Chris had. Nostalgia? Regret? She just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Were you friends with him?”
“Oh, sure. This is a small town, so all the kids got to know each other pretty well. The high school is regional, but each little town has its own K-through-eight school.”
Before she could ask anything else, they were approaching the corner of Front and Cottage.
“Turn right onto Cottage?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s the house with the cedar-shake siding about halfway up.” She watched out the window until they neared the house. “This next one . . . yes, here.”
He pulled into the driveway, close to the path.
“Hey, thanks for the ride.” She reached for the door handle, dreading having to go out into the rain again.
“My pleasure. Grace—”
She turned to him, wishing she knew if her mascara had run, and if so, did she have raccoon eyes?
“I just want to say thanks for being so nice to JoJo. She’s really having a hard time right now. She misses her mother a lot.”
Grace nodded. “I know she does. I’m sorry she’s hurting, and I wish I could do something to make it better for her. She’s such a sweet little girl.”
“She’s very fond of you. All week she talks about going to the bookshop on Saturday to see her friend Grace and sit with you while you read. That little bit of special attention means a lot to her, you know? I try to give her as much attention as I can, but there are two other kids who need attention.” His frustration came through in every word.
“And on top of that you have a day job and a company to run.”
“My dad does as much as he can, but damn, it’s tough for him sometimes, too. He’s trying to retire, but he keeps getting sucked back into working. I can’t devote as much time as I used to.”
“You sound like several women I knew back in Philly. Women who worked outside their homes and were trying to do a good job raising their kids. Even those who had partners had a tough time of it, but the single moms had it the worst. It has to be really hard when your personal and professional lives are so demanding.”