“The right answer is to tell me what you need to make that happen.”
“Nothing really. Time. Space. Una’s recovery. The café’s success.”
“Nothing really,” I echo, shaking my head, and she smiles. I finish my share of the omelette and take a chance. “What about art school?”
She catches her breath, then continues as if it didn’t matter. “You know what happened to that plan.”
“But that was then. What about now?”
“I’m not going to ditch everything and go back to college.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too old.”
I snort. “If it’s what you want, you should make it happen. Whatdoyou want?”
Sylvia sits back then and I realize that I’m not the only one who has had their assumptions shaken up a bit tonight. “I like working in the café, though, and I like living here. I don’t think I’d want to go full-time and I don’t want to move, but I would appreciate some instruction.”
“Classes are usually in the fall and winter. Winter is when the café is likely to be quietest.”
Her eyes light as she watches me. “And you have a scheme.”
“A suggestion, no more and no less.”
“Go on.”
“An online course, that you can follow at your own pace.”
“Oh! That’s worth looking up,” she says with a smile. “What else?”
“One of the guys was talking about a weekly life drawing class in Havelock. The art teacher from the high school organizes it once a week, partly to keep her own skills up. Participants chip in to cover the model’s fee.”
“Mike!” Her eyes are alight. “Can you find out more for me?”
“I’d be glad to. Carson probably knows more.”
“And now your scheme for Rafe, because I know you have one.”
“It’s just an idea. Cole is holed up in that hotel all on his own. I expect he has a pension, but he still might need some extra funds. What if he rented a room out to Rafe?”
“The place must need work, but maybe having a tenant would encourage Cole to get around to it.”
“Cole might welcome some company, too.” I shrug, recalling my few interactions with a very prickly veteran. “Or not.”
“I barely remember him from high school. I don’t think I’ve even seen him since I got back to town.”
“He’s pretty reclusive.” I think about it for a moment. “Didn’t Willow know him a bit better than most?”
“I’ll ask her.” Sylvia props her chin on her hand to study me, her eyes gleaming. “Enough of a restorative break?”
I lean on the table so we’re nose to nose. “Depends what you have in mind.”
I watch her smile. First, her lips curve, then her eyes light. “I want to be wicked,” she whispers and one more time, she sends a jolt right to my toes.
“I think you need to elaborate on that,” I murmur, and she laughs before she comes around the table. She’s in my lap, straddling me in the chair, her lips against my ear, and herdefinition of wickedness gives me some excellent ideas. It’s easy to stand up and carry her off to the bedroom, not to care about the dishes or the time.
There’s nothing in my world but Sylvia.
