Of course he wasn’t a constitutional lawyer. And the idea of suing the county was totally crazy. He’d been grasping at straws when he’d suggested it. Why did Dad always go out of his way to make Matt look like an idiot? He was tired of it, so he looked Dad right in the eye and said, “I was just looking at every option. The people living at Dogwood Estates are going to lose their homes. They are our clients, and I wanted to find a way to stop that from happening. But clearly suing the county would be stupid.”
Mr. Kopp chuckled. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not that stupid.”
Everyone turned in the managing partner’s direction.
Red crept up Dad’s cheeks. “Explain.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to argue the case, but if the county was using punitive fines to force landowners off their land in order to upgrade the buildings and the tax rolls, it might violate the Constitution. It would depend on the facts in the case, I think.”
Matt met August Kopp’s gaze. The senior partner had been a Supreme Court clerk and had gone on to argue dozens of cases before the highest court. He was a noted constitutional scholar. Matt was blown away to see a twinkle in August’s eye.
“Well,” Dad said before Matt could figure out his next move, “I don’t care whether it’s constitutional or not. The truth is that we’re all better off without Dogwood Estates. It’s an eyesore. Getting rid of it is a win in my book.”
Matt was about to challenge his father by asking him whether he cared about the people who lived at Dogwood Estates, but he was saved from that mistake by Aunt Pam, who came up behind his chair and rested her hand on his shoulder.
“Matt, honey, your mother just told me that you’ve rented a new apartment and need an interior decorator.”
It was like being tossed from the frying pan right into the fire. “Um, no, really, Aunt Pam, I don’t need a decorator. I was just going to buy some furniture, you know, nothing fancy, and—”
“Oh, no, you can’t do that. You need a decorator.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw his father’s face go a deeper shade of red. Great, just great. He could not win. Dad would think he was blowing through his trust fund the way Danny had.
Well, at least he could take a stand on this issue. He stood up and faced his aunt. “No, Aunt Pam, I don’t need a decorator. Thanks. I don’t believe in wasting my money on stuff like that.”
“But—”
“You heard the boy,” Dad said from behind him. Matt could hardly contain himself. For once in his life, Dad actually had his back.
“Really, Charles, do you think Matt has any sense when it comes to buying furniture and putting up curtains?” Pam asked, giving Dad one of her determined-at-all-costs looks.
The silence behind Matt was ominous. Then Dad cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ve got a point there.”
Arwen always did her chores on Sundays.
It was a habit, formed in her childhood. In the Jacobs household, Friday and Saturday had always been devoted to the Sabbath. Mom had cleaned house like a fiend on Fridays before sunset. And then she’d always gone to the grocery store on Sunday.
Arwen no longer kept the Sabbath as her parents did, but she still shopped for groceries every Sunday. This Sunday she also planned to do her laundry and visit The Home Depot for a few pieces of hardware she needed to finish a DIY project she’d started last week—a front-hall storage unit built out of reclaimed barn wood.
But before she got busy, she needed her weekly fix of waffles from Gracie’s Diner.
Gracie’s place had been a fixture on Liberty Avenue for at least two generations of Shenandoah Falls residents. Its mid-century ambience had become fashionable once again, but Gracie’s main claim to fame was the inexpensive, down-to-earth food, always served with a smile.
Arwen strolled into the diner with a copy of the Sunday Washington Post tucked under her arm and took a deep breath filled with the scent of bacon, waffles, and maple syrup. There wasn’t anything that smelled better than Gracie’s place on a Sunday morning.
She waved at Gracie, found a spot at one of the two-person tables in the back corner, and settled in to read the newspaper. Gracie appeared a moment later with coffee. “Your waffles will be out in a minute,” she said as she filled Arwen’s cup.
“Thanks, Gracie.” One of the best things about Gracie’s Diner was that Arwen never had to order. Gracie just knew, or remembered, or had some unexplained gift for determining what people wanted. Of course, Courtney had been having waffles at Gracie’s every Sunday for at least five years, so maybe Gracie wasn’t a mind reader.
Maybe Arwen had become completely predictable.
“I don’t know why you read the news anymore,” Gracie said with a shake of her head. “It’s all bad all the time.”
This was true, but Arwen had always read the paper on Sunday. She’d been doing it since she was a kid in middle school. “I guess I’m a creature of habit,” she said.
“Aren’t we all? Gotta run.” Gracie turned and made a quick circuit of the dining room, topping off coffee cups as she went.
Arwen pulled out the sports section and started to read Tom Boswell’s Sunday column about the Washington Nationals. She loved baseball, and she loved Tom Boswell, so she didn’t see trouble coming.
But it arrived at her table, sat down, leaned forward, and said, “I haven’t seen you at the Jaybird these last few days. You wouldn’t be after avoiding me, would you?”
Rory’s lilting accent was like an instant aphrodisiac. It rubbed up against her erogenous zones, making her feel crazy and trapped at the same time.
“I’ve never seen you in here before,” she said, looking up into the endless blue of his eyes.
“I like to cook my own breakfast.”
Wow. Rory didn’t look like
