a stump?”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s something I want to see. Matt! Haul some of this dog playground business into Simon’s truck.”
He ended up calling James anyway, for the third pair of hands and the second truck. And with James came Lori, and with James and Lori came Koby.
Simon’s initial annoyance with having so many people and animals swarming around gave way to the realization that sometimes people didn’t get in the way, but helped make a necessary and tedious job go smoother.
It wasn’t a matter of a couple of suitcases’ worth of clothes, not when it was Fiona. It was suitcases, dog beds, dog food, toys, leashes, meds, dishes, grooming equipment—and that didn’t begin to factor in platforms, the seesaw, the slide, the tunnel. Or her files—and Jesus the woman had files—her laptop, her packs, her maps, the perishables in her refrigerator.
“The flower beds and vegetable garden are on a soaker hose,” she said when he objected to hauling over her flowerpots, “so they’ll be fine. But these need regular watering. Besides, we’ll enjoy them. And besides besides, Simon, you asked for it.”
And that he couldn’t argue with.
“Fine, fine. Just... go start putting some of this crap away, will you?”
“Any preference to where?”
He stared at the last load and wondered how the hell she’d fit all of that into her Seven Dwarfs-sized house. How had it all tucked in so tidily—and that didn’t count what she’d left behind.
“Wherever, I guess. Dump the office stuff in one of the spare bedrooms, and don’t mess with my stuff more than you have to.”
He walked back to help James put the training equipment back together.
Beside Fiona, Lori rolled her eyes and grabbed a box of files. “Lead the way.”
“I’m not entirely sure of it, but I guess we’ll take this first load upstairs, find the best spot.”
As they started in, Lori glanced around. “Nice. Really nice—a lot of space and light and interesting furniture. What there is of it. Messy,” she added as she started up the steps, “but really nice.”
“Probably three or four times as much space as I have.” Fiona glanced inside a room, frowned at the weight machine, gym equipment, tangle of clothes, unpacked boxes.
She tried another. A stack of paint cans, some brushes, rollers, pans, tools, sawhorses. “Okay, I guess this’ll work. I’m going to need my desk and chair. I didn’t think of that.”
She winced a little at the dust on the floor, the film on the window. “It is messy,” she murmured, “and I know what you’re thinking. Messy makes me twitchy.”
She set down her box of office supplies, turned a circle. “I’ll live with it.”
And him, she thought. For now.
Twenty-Three
She opted to set up her office space first. Which, in this case, meant cleaning the space first. She’d live with messy. It wasn’t her house. But temporary live-in lover or not, she wouldn’t work in dust and disorder.
While Lori and James set out to get her desk and chair—and lamp, and desk clock—she hunted down cleaning supplies. And, as Simon apparently believed in only the barest of basics, called Lori to add a list from her own supplies.
How, she wondered, did anyone—especially anyone with a dog—live without a Swiffer?
Working with what she had, she cleaned several months of dust from the windows, the floor, the woodwork, and discovered what she’d assumed was a second closet but was actually a bathroom.
One, she thought with a long huff of breath, that surely hadn’t been cleaned since he’d moved in. Fortunately, its primary purpose seemed to be gathering more dust.
She was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor when he came in.
“What are you doing?”
“Planning my next trip to Rome. What does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning this bathroom.”
“Why?”
“That you would have to ask explains so much.” She sat back on her heels. “I may, at some point, have to pee. I find this occurs with some regularity on any given day. I prefer—call me fussy—to engage in this activity in sanitary surroundings.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets, leaned on the jamb. “I haven’t been using this room or this john. Yet.”
“Really? I’d never have guessed.”
He glanced around the now dust-free bedroom where paint cans stood in stacks tidily beside sawhorses, rollers, pans and brushes on neatly folded tarps.
“You’re setting up in here?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not for me. Did you wash the floor out here?”
“Damp-mopped. Let me point out, as someone who works with wood, you should take better care of your floors. You need some Murphy’s at least.”
“I’ve got some. Somewhere. Maybe.” She was making him twitchy. “I’ve been busy.”
“Understood.”
“You’re not going to go around cleaning everything, are you?”
She swiped a hand over her forehead. “Let me give you my solemn oath on that. But I’m going to work in here. I need a clean, ordered space to work. I’ll keep the door closed so it doesn’t shock your sensibilities.”
“Now you’re being bitchy.”
Because she heard the amusement in his tone, she smiled back. “Yes, I am. Move back so I can finish this. I appreciate what you’re doing, Simon.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do, and I know it disrupts your space, your routine, your privacy.”
“Shut up.”
“I just want to thank—”
“Shut up,” he repeated. “You matter. That’s it. I’ve got something to do.”
She sat back on her heels when he strode out.
By the time she’d arranged her office, with her desk tidy under the window facing the back and the woods, she’d have killed for a glass of wine and a comfortable chair. But her sense of order wouldn’t allow her to leave her clothes in suitcases.
She’d scope out Simon’s bedroom, then find him and ask how he wanted her to deal with her clothes.
It surprised her to find the bed made—sort of made, she thought. The dog beds had been tossed in a corner, and the doors to the deck stood open to let in the air.
She poked in the closet, saw he’d shoved his clothes over to make room for hers. She’d need a drawer, she thought. Two would be better. She moved to the dresser, opened one gingerly. He’d emptied it out for her. He was one step ahead of her, she thought, then cocked her head, sniffed.
Lemon?
Curious, she crossed to the bathroom, then just leaned on the door frame. She recognized a freshly cleaned bathroom—the scent of citrus, the gleam of porcelain, the rich sheen of brushed nickel. The towels hung in an orderly fashion on rods melted her heart.
He’d probably cursed with every swipe, she mused, but, well, she mattered. And that was it.
She put away her clothes, stowed her toiletries, then went down to find him.
He stood in the kitchen, looking out the back door at the training equipment.
