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She considers for a second, then shakes her head. “It’s kind of cute, and my feet are finally warm. Does she always do this?”
I raise one shoulder, like I’m not fully aware that Rosie sleeps under my covers every night. “Dogs are den animals.”
Maybe there’s a worse explanation I could have given her, but I doubt it. I take a walk of shame to the fireplace, cursing Rosie under my breath. Evie might have thought cuddling with me under the covers was kind of cute too if Rosie hadn’t beaten me to it.
There’s a pile of wood next to the fireplace and one Duraflame log. I could try to impress Evie with my fire-starting skills, but since there’s no kindling, I go with the easy light, easy burn, log. In seconds I’ve got a nice fire burning which creates a soft, ambient glow. Some people might even call it romantic, especially with the way the fire reflects in Evie’s eyes.
But I’ll let her decide whether a fire and a couple of drinks make for a romantic atmosphere. Idomake it easier for her to decide by sitting close enough that the tips of her toes touch my thighs. Under the blanket, of course. And I pat Rosie. That’s why I sat here. It’s all about being closer to Rosie.
Unless Evie wants me to be closer to her.
I think she might when a few minutes later she curls her toes and stretches her feet the few centimeters needed for us to really touch.
“I really like...” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “The color scheme you’ve created. It’s not too bright and feels very authentic to the original vision of the Little Copenhagen Resort.” I let my hand fall from Rosie’s back to Evie’s ankle.
She inches down the couch to rest her foot on my thigh. “You think so? That’s what I’m hoping for—a more modern version of what the Grandma Rose’s cottage was. I’d like to keep it really authentic by finding local materials to use.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Before she can answer, Rosie pokes her head out of the bottom of the blanket, exposing Evie’s feet. She glares at me as she walks across my legs and jumps to the floor. Then she huffs her way to the hearth, where she curls in front of the fire.
Evie’s toenails are painted the same color blue that her fingernails were when she first got here. The big toe has a chip out of it. This is what I notice before I cover her feet. I keep my hand under the blanket and massage the ball of her foot with my thumb.
She drops her head to the arm of the sofa and closes her eyes. “I’m not sure yet,” she says, and I remember I asked her a question. “But I’ll know it when I see it. One person’s junk is another person’s treasure. That kind of thing.”
I nod, and she stretches her other leg to rest on my lap, too.
“Have you tried the Paradise Valley Free Stuff Page?” I rub her other foot, working my way to her ankle.
“What’s that?”
“It’s where everyone in the valley posts stuff they want to get rid of. Sometimes you can find good stuff.”
“What? That sounds amazing.” Suddenly my lap is empty and Evie’s reaching for her laptop. She fires it up then sets it on my legs, where her feet were seconds before. “Show me.”
The only consolation to holding a cold laptop instead of her is that she sits right next to me. Our shoulders touch, and the smell of her shampoo tickles my nose. Yep, being this close to her is definitely okay.
I navigate to the free stuff webpage, then turn the screen to Evie.
“What. Is. This?” Evie leans closer because I’ve strategically kept hold of the laptop. Or maybe Evie has strategically not taken it from me.
“Free bras. No, thank you.” She scrolls down the page.
“You sure? If they’re big enough, you might do something with the underwire.” I’m only half teasing. Wire is useful for a lot of things.
“Listen to this. ‘Piano. Free, not haunted. Tuned less than twenty-four months ago, played by human hands less than six minutes since.’ A not haunted piano might look amazing in Grandma Rose’s.” She saves the post, then scrolls again. “I wonder if Georgia plays piano.”
“Nope. Her mom tried to get her to, but Georgia only wanted to play stand-up bass.”
“Georgia plays stand-up bass?”
I shake my head. “No bass teachers in Paradise. That’s why she said she’d play it. She knew her mom wouldn’t be able to find a teacher.”
“So she’s been stubborn her whole life?”
“Yep.”
“What about Grandma Rose’s house? Is it haunted? Might be nice for any ghosts to have something to do. Or can they only play haunted pianos?” Her eyes are on the screen, but she leans against me, inviting me closer.
