The Home Improvement Job

(Author’s Note: If you are even an average consumer of the news, you need to know that I put the phrase “wedding-industrial complex” in this story in about 2020. I am at least an average consumer of news and therefore refuse to give anyone the satisfaction of changing my story. I stole the concept from Christopher Buckley when he used the phrase “Military-Industrial Duplex”.)

It was a rainy Sunday morning, which was Eliot’s favorite kind lately. His very favorite part of the morning had occurred much earlier, but this was a close contender. He read the paper on his tablet while she napped. Sooner or later, she’d wake up and he’d make pancakes or French toast or omelets or something, then they’d start their day. But not yet.

He could always tell when she was awake. Not just because her breathing changed, but because she generally moved closer to him. Just now she had one hand on his chest. He rested his over it.

“What do you think about a wedding?” he asked. “You haven’t said what you want to do.”

“Isn’t it early in the day to have this discussion?” she evaded, yawning into her arm.

“If you’re worried about money,” he said, “you don’t need to be. Anything you want to do, I can find a way to do.” Even if she wanted a very large wedding, it wouldn’t strain his finances. If she wanted a fairy tale wedding with a castle, he was ready. He would even enjoy it.

“Can we just elope?”

Eliot couldn’t figure it out, but this wasn’t the first conversation of this kind they’d had. She seemed oddly reluctant to discuss wedding plans. Like, any plans. He had asked Sophie if she would tag in. She had promised she would if he would try once more. Sophie could talk people into doing things that were completely contrary to their own interests. Eliot tried hard not to think of it that way, and to think more that Ophelia trusted Sophie and might rather talk about this with a girlfriend. Who had hypnotic superpowers.

He put the tablet out of reach on the nightstand, then put one hand on her back, stroking his fingers softly along her spine.

“The fact that you won’t talk about this is making me worry,” he said confidentially. “You can tell me if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I’m wildly pro-marriage,” she assured him. “And passionately anti-wedding.”

He worked his way through that for a while.

“Is that even possible?” he finally asked.

“I believe any two consenting adults should be able to get married. I think if they’re serious about it, they should do it without an audience.”

“Princess—”

“You have clearly not been targeted your entire life by the Wedding-Industrial complex,” she continued. “I mean, do you have any idea what goes into wedding planning?” She moved to sit up, which made him regret embarking on this conversation more than anything she’d actually said. “Pinterest boards. Magazines. Napkins. Venues. Destinations. Friends never speaking to you again because someone else got their invitation first. Friends who won’t leave you alone because they hope they’ll get to be in it.” She paused to contemplate. “And I don’t know what kind of ghoul actually enjoys being in a wedding, but it’s a special sort of sadist.”

“I’m not sure—”

“And picking a dress that costs more than a car that you’ll never wear again, unless you happen to live in Charleston and you happen to get married at the right time of year, and good luck with that! Because now everyone schedules their wedding around the ball, so you have to plan like five years out, and I’m not talking about relationships that were 5 years’ worth of stable anyway, so sometimes I’m pretty sure what you see in a lot of cases is not even the original couple.”

At this point she got up and pulled on Eliot’s shirt from the day before along with a pair of boxers that were, at best, disputed property. This conversation, he decided, would go just as poorly in the kitchen as it was going here. On the way down the stairs, a thought occurred to him.

“Were you engaged to that guy?” he asked. She had never really said. He had never really asked.

“Yes. Yes I was.”

He was not a jealous man. Well, he wasn’t a jealous man about relationships that were over. Since she was with him and not someone else, Eliot could afford to be charitable. But it was still difficult for him to ask his next question.

“Did you plan a wedding with him?”

She rubbed Devil’s ears then filled his bowl with kibble. Crossing the kitchen to the sink, she refilled the dog’s water bowl and took it back to him, then came back to wash her hands.

“You can tell me,” Eliot offered. He tried to sound open-minded and not at all like he was burning up from the inside.

“My parents were not what you might call Savannah society,” she said pensively. “But they were well-known in the art scene and they kind of skirted around the edges of high society. His parents were definitely part of Charleston society. What I wanted to do or not do at our wedding was almost not a factor.”

“Meaning?” he prompted, his question coming from the inside of the refrigerator. He didn’t mind that she had been engaged to and planned a wedding with someone else. Didn’t mind it at all. Not even a little.

“My job was to smile and get out of the way while my mother and future mother-in-law fought it out over an endless stream of details nobody could possibly care about. Except wedding planners. They spent most of their time openly undermining each other with everyone in town who had any sort of connection to weddings. I know, for certain fact, that there are two florists in town that will no longer sell to anyone named Mason, but really especially not my family. One of the women in my dad’s costume department got so mad that she left and Moved. To. Charleston. because she wasn’t consulted on my dress.” One of her favorite books was Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil; he was well aware that moving to Charleston from Savannah was an act of war. “The only reason the deposit on the venue got refunded was because my mother was on the board for the house and they’d already had one giant committee-shifting rift in the recent past. Otherwise, they’d burn the place down before they’d give the money back. And my god, the people who are still angry about their invitation nobody ever sent to a wedding that never happened. I think his mom invited half the city of Charleston, who wouldn’t have stepped foot in Savannah even if money was involved, then the set of people in Savannah who liked to complain about things found out because a copy of the draft guest list got leaked…People are still mad, is what I’m saying.”

“Did you actually buy a dress?” He thought she might have at least enjoyed that part.

“No,” she said, squashing that idea like a bug on a windshield. “The whole thing fell apart way before I actually got fitted for anything. They were planning for an event 18 months in advance without actually having asked either of us if we might be thinking about that as a time frame for getting married. But I know what you’re thinking, and it wasn’t something I enjoyed either.”

“You didn’t enjoy dress shopping?”

“There’s dress shopping, and then there’s wedding dress shopping,” she replied. “Dress shopping is fun. Wedding dress shopping is an exercise in frustration, because all the wedding dress manufacturers decided some time in the ‘80s that flammable dance recital costume material that doesn’t have a millimeter of stretch to it was an acceptable material for a dress they planned to charge $10,000 for, and with all the vanity sizing, you end up asking some poor wedding boutique attendant if they have this dress you only sort of hate in a size 24, because the actual size you wear won’t fit one of your thighs.”

She wasn’t a size 24, and he doubted she was joking.

He closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it.

“It wasn’t fun for you, then?”

“I would rather have performed my own appendectomy,” she answered lightly. “And that remains true.”

“But—”

“Because there’s a difference,” she went on, perching on the counter next to the griddle, “between wanting to have a wedding and wanting to get married. I want to do one. I will pay not to have to do the other. Like, actually pay actual money.”

He stirred pancake batter while he thought over what she’d said. On the one hand, she said she wanted to be married. He wasn’t sure how to get there without going through a wedding, even if it was just a small one.

“It’s not the money?” he asked.

“It’s that too,” she assured him. “Do you want me to get some bacon?”

“I’ve got the bacon handled,” he said. “Don’t touch anything.” This was now a standard part of their Sunday morning conversations. She always offered. He always declined. Devil stayed close in case something fell on the floor. “And don’t change the subject. I get that you didn’t want to be in a wedding you were only sort of involved in. What I’m offering is the wedding you’ve always wanted.”

She stroked Devil’s back with her bare toes for a while before she responded.

“That was the thing,” she said. “I didn’t want a wedding then. I don’t want one now. We can go to the courthouse and be done in, like, 25 minutes and there are four people involved. And 50% of those people are the two of us! In, out, done!”

He flipped the pancakes with one hand and cupped her chin in the other.

“I know for a fact,” he murmured against her lips, “that ‘in, out, done’ is not your style. And I’m pretty sure you don’t think it’s mine.”

“I retract the insinuation,” she answered. She sort of answered. Lips were involved, anyway.

“All that aside,” she said as he returned his attention to the pancakes and she fanned herself with a potholder, “if you want to plan something, I’ll show up for it. But I’m not actively participating in something whose only purpose is to stress the alleged primary person involved to the edge of madness. For all the talk about how it’s your special day that you’ve dreamed about since you were five and thought Queen Ballerina was an actual occupation, the seven hundred days leading up to it are designed to push women over the edge. Or whoever plans the wedding,” she amended. “Doesn’t have to be a woman.”

“You don’t believe Bridezillas exist?” he asked. He was attempting nonchalance. He did not achieve it.

“They absolutely do, but they always did. Weddings just expose who they are. If you want to talk about planning a honeymoon, you have my willing participation and undivided attention.”

“I thought grooms planned the honeymoon,” he mused.

“What do you read when I’m not around?”

“All right,” he conceded. “We’ll do it your way.”

Somehow, she left the conversation with the impression that they’d get married at the courthouse one afternoon. He had no idea why she thought that.

“How did it go this time?” Sophie asked. She had agreed to meet him for coffee outside the Leverage offices Monday morning. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that if he started discussing a wedding while in the office, Parker would want to be in it. This alone was not quite enough to sway him to Ophelia’s way of thinking, but he did decide that a little discretion was in order.

“She hates weddings,” he said. “Straight said she wouldn’t plan one.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Sophie answered.

“It’s a technicality,” he smiled. “She said if I planned it she would show up for it.”

“This is a terrible idea,” she counselled. “I mean, really terrible. I know you think it’s clever, but I just—”

“Calm down,” he said. “I don’t have a plan for some big monster thing with a thousand people and twenty attendants and dresses and a castle and releasing swans–”

“I hope you mean doves,” Sophie murmured as she dropped her head into her hands.

“It doesn’t matter because it’s not gonna happen, Soph,” he snapped. “I’ll keep it small.”

“Are you going to find her parents and tell them?” Sophie asked. “Are you going to tell your dad and your sister? And her husband and their son?”

“Is this how guest lists get out of hand?” he asked. “She mentioned it, but I didn’t know what she was talking about, really.”

“It starts with parents,” Sophie nodded. “Then someone says you can’t have a wedding unless you invite Aunt Hortense and Uncle Lithwick. Then someone else says if you invite them, you have to invite their three children, two of whom are married and have their own families, and you can’t expect them to travel somewhere and not bring their families. How many people are we up to now?”

“It depends on how many kids their kids have,” he said. “I didn’t realize there was this much math involved.”

“This is just one side, Eliot. Then you call your dad, and he wants to invite both of his brothers, and you went to that engagement party for your cousin and his wife, so now you have to invite them too, and then one of your uncles wants to bring his ex-wife and another wants to bring a date, or maybe he’ll just find one when he gets here, and who are you going to have for bridesmaids and are any of them single? And then it really gets complicated.”

“I get it,” he said. “I surrender.”

“This is just the guest list, Eliot,” she warned him. “That’s just one tiny star in the galaxy that is wedding planning. That’s why so many women turn into Bridezilla.”

“You think? Because Ophelia thinks Bridezillas are always like that, it just comes out more in weddings.”

“She’s probably not wrong,” Sophie answered. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Take her dress shopping,” he requested. “But not wedding dress shopping. I want her to have a dress she can get married in but not a wedding dress. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” she nodded.

“Good, and I don’t want you to let her buy it. Just take her out shopping, let her try on a bunch. See what she likes best. Get pictures, if you can, but definitely keep track of the store names.”

Sophie was intrigued.

“Then what?” she asked.

“I’m going to buy it for her, but you’re going to pick it up. Okay?”

“Am I going to be invited?” she asked, suddenly interested in this little project.

“Not to the wedding, but don’t get offended because neither is anyone else.”

“Fine,” she smiled. “I would have been busy that day anyway.”

“I thought you might.”

“Do I have a deadline?”

“The end of September,” he said. “She likes fall colors.”

“One last thing,” she asked. “Does it need to be a white dress?”

“Nope. Whatever she likes,” he answered.

Since she had mostly forgotten the latest wedding conversation, Ophelia didn’t think it was suspicious when Sophie called.

“I’m having a fund-raising gala for the theater,” Sophie lied. Easily. Actually, she might throw a gala anyway. “And I want you to come. But I also wanted to see if you want to go dress shopping together. It’ll be so fun! I have some designer friends I think you’ll just adore.” She didn’t really need to lay it on this thick; Ophelia had been captured from the beginning. She wouldn’t willingly turn down a day of dress shopping with Sophie.

“I would love to! That does sound like fun!” Ophelia answered. “Name the day, name the time.”

“I’ll hire a car,” Sophie offered. “We’ll make a day of it. How about a week from Friday?”

“That sounds perfect,” Ophelia said. “I’m even putting it in my calendar so I won’t forget.”

“Perfect! See you then!”

<Sophie>: Done. Shopping next Friday. Plan accordingly.

<Eliot>: Did she believe you?

<Sophie>: Of course she did, silly boy. What a question.

Even though she knew now that Sophie was more than just a good deal more than a local actress but slightly less than Eliot’s boss, it never occurred to Ophelia that Sophie would tell her something other than the truth. Eliot knew she could sell a story like that in her sleep; Ophelia would never have any idea.

His next call was to Parker and Hardison, who agreed to meet him at the bar.

“Don’t get really excited, because you’re not going to be invited,” Eliot started. “But I’m going to marry Ophelia in October, and I need help.”

“I can be a bridesmaid,” Parker volunteered. “I’m really good at it.”

“You made one of the bridesmaids quit and another one cry,” Eliot reminded her. “But we’re not doing that.”

“And Hardison can be the DJ,” she went on. “He can play some of his mixes. She’ll love them.”

“We’re not doing that, Parker,” he repeated. “And I’m not here for a wedding planner. That’s not the kind of help I need.”

“Can I pick the bridesmaid dresses this time? That pink thing was pretty terrible. But I bet—”

“Parker!” Eliot barked. “Hush! I need help picking out a wedding gift. That’s why you’re here.”

“Didn’t get her to give up the wolf ring, huh?” Hardison grinned. “Maybe you should count yourself lucky, dude. What did that cost? Like, $50? Do you even know what engagement rings cost now?”

Not that Hardison did.

“It was $25,” Eliot admitted. “Which is why I need something better for a wedding gift.”

“Oh! Oh! I know!” Parker exclaimed.

“And I need for it to not be stolen,” he stipulated.

“You are taking all the fun out of this.”

“Any idea what she’s getting you?” Hardison asked.

“None. But it she calls, help her out and don’t tell me, okay?”

“Done.” Hardison thought a man who was about to surprise his fiancée with a house was missing the point, but it wouldn’t be any trouble to help Ophelia either.

“Okay, so she’s really into books,” Eliot started. “What kind of book could I get her?”

“You’re going to get her a book,” Parker repeated. “As a present.”

That sounded like the least fun thing in the world to Parker.

“I’ll explain later,” Hardison said. “Meantime, I’ll start looking at some auctions for you. Do you want something signed?”

“Yeah,” Eliot said. “I think she’d like that a lot. I’m also going to need a second one, but a hollow book.”

“For jewelry?” Parker asked hopefully.

“For jewelry,” Eliot nodded. “Which is why you’re here. You know what she likes, so I need you to come with me and look at some things.”

“I could bring you some things,” she offered.

“That aren’t stolen?”

“And we’re back to fun sucking.”

“Find me a place that offers estate jewelry,” he said, with as much patience as he could muster. “And we’ll start there.”

A week from Friday found Sophie and Ophelia in a hired car on the way to an exclusive atelier owned by a friend of Sophie’s. Ophelia was dazzled already. Sophie thought there was no need to go halfway, even though Ophelia didn’t have the faintest idea about the real objective of this trip. Still, having a car and driver would allow them to imbibe more freely and Sophie to use the opportunity, if needed, to gain more information. Or plant a suggestion, whichever. She was flexible.

“What is your theme?” Ophelia asked. A curator brought them out glasses of champagne and a tray of fruit after they were shown to their seats.

“Fall Fantasy,” Sophie replied. “I’m seeing leaves, pumpkins, scarecrows, and a rainbow of fall colors. Hay bales! Jack o’lanterns! Corn! It will be simply gorgeous.”

“It absolutely will,” Ophelia agreed. “Do you have a budget?”

“It’s still in the planning stages. What did you have in mind?”

They were deep in a discussion of whether it was feasible to recreate the corn columns from the US Capitol building when the first set of models appeared. Sophie hid her smile; Eliot’s little history nerd certainly had an eye for the unusual. The fact that the columns had survived being burned by the British wasn’t lost on her either.

“Now remember,” Sophie cautioned, “this is just our first stop. We’re looking first, then deciding. And we have two more places to go.”

“Right,” Ophelia breathed, her attention already caught by a dress in russet taffeta. Honestly, that had been Sophie’s choice for her as well. But she noted it anyway.

They broke for a late lunch after two galleries. Not that they needed a lot of lunch; at Sophie’s request, they’d been served a steady diet of fruit, cheese, and champagne all morning. But Sophie felt like some chicken salad and chocolate mousse were mandatory on a girls’ day out, so they stopped at a chic little bistro.

“Found anything you love?” Sophie asked. “Champagne cocktails?”

“Yes, and absolutely,” Ophelia replied. Sophie nodded at a waiter, who rushed forward to take their order. “Although I might have to take out a loan to buy any of them.”

“Price is always negotiable,” Sophie said airily. “Plus, all of these places will offer a discount if you use my name.” Plus, Eliot would be paying for it, so the price really was irrelevant.

The waiter left after getting their orders with an assurance he would be back immediately with their drinks, plus Ophelia’s sweet tea. Sophie had arranged it with the restaurant ahead of time.

“Have you given any thought to your wedding?” Sophie asked with the appearance of abject casualness. “Eliot hasn’t mentioned anything.” She watched for the subtle but definite change in Ophelia’s face; she wasn’t disappointed.

“We’re still in the planning stages,” Ophelia evaded. “You know, still looking at different things. Places. Ideas.”

“You don’t sound very excited. Don’t you like weddings?”

“Not even a little,” Ophelia confided. “I actively hate them. If I live to be 1000, I will never understand why they’re so popular.”

This was slightly worse than Eliot’s report had led her to believe.

“But you love to dress up?”

“Dressing up doesn’t involve a million decisions and family you haven’t talked to in 20 years,” Ophelia said. “Or an event that lasts three hours but costs the same as the GDP of a small country. Even dressing up for a gala isn’t stressful. I mean, it might be for you, because the gala requires a ton of planning and coordinating and logistics. But it probably won’t result in long-lasting, seething yet irrational hatreds.”

She sat back and sipped her drink for a moment.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” she admitted. “Eliot’s asked a few times, but I’m not sure he gets it. I told him I just wanted to elope. I think he thinks I’m joking.”

<Sophie>: You weren’t kidding. She hates weddings.

<Eliot>: Did you get her drunk?

<Sophie>: Just a little, but you didn’t say I couldn’t.

“Well, whatever you decide to do, I’m on your side,” Sophie assured her. “There’s no need for a huge to-do if you don’t want to have one.”

“I told him we could just go to the courthouse, but he doesn’t seem very excited about that.”

“I’m sure you can find a compromise between everlasting hatred and a clerk in a courthouse,” Sophie answered. “But if you can’t, let me know. I have a ton of ideas.”

“Do you think Eliot really wants to have something big? I don’t him to be disappointed, and if he wants to have a giant wedding, I’ll do it.” Sophie was touched at Ophelia’s worries while also being concerned that she might be a little drunker than Sophie had anticipated.

“Darling, he would walk through fire for you. He just wants to be sure you’re not just saying what you think he wants to hear. If you really want to go out to an iceberg and get married with an audience of polar bears, then that’s what you’ll do.”

<Sophie>: You better not be planning a huge surprise wedding. I will never forgive you.

<Eliot>: YOU?!

That made Ophelia smile, finally, and relax a little. The mood at the table lightened considerably, and Sophie felt better about her role in all of this.

<Sophie>: She’s not an actress. She really, truly does not want a huge wedding. I trust you will remember that.

She met Eliot the next day. His mood was not markedly improved from yesterday, but his hands were tied, too. He needed Sophie’s information. This was not an uncommon dynamic in their relationship, which didn’t make him like it one bit more.

“Did she find something?”

“I cannot stress this enough, Eliot: she hates weddings. Hates them. Definitely doesn’t want to participate in one. So whatever you’re planning better be small.”

“I’ve heard her every time, Soph. I get it, okay? Did you find a dress or not?”

“Of course we did. Convincing her to go dress shopping was easier than falling off a log. Getting her to narrow down her favorites took forever, though. I thought for a while she was going to have to have three changes in whatever you’ve planned.”

“Sophie, I spent all day yesterday looking at estate jewelry with Parker. I need a name and a place.”

“Did you find anything? That sounds exciting!”

“Sophie!”

“All right! My goodness, you’re impatient. Here’s the store and the item number, and also the measurements you’ll need.”

“Measurements?”

“They’re made to order, Eliot. This is not off-the-rack clothing.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “That’s fine. Here’s my credit card. Can you order it and have it delivered here?”

“Always a pleasure,” she murmured, her fingers closing around a card on which she had long ago memorized the number. “Consider it done.”

He had suspected from the beginning that he would not be able to keep building a house a secret; there were too many other people involved. Still, he had made it nearly two months before she realized he had something on his mind and reluctantly asked about it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. The game he had been watching had ended 20 minutes ago. He was still staring at the television. “Because you’re not usually this invested in the post-game interviews.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to talk about it.” She braced herself for another wedding conversation. “Do you want to go for a ride? Because I need to show you something too.”

“Okay?”

He turned off the tv and glanced at her.

“You’ll like it, I promise,” he said. “Grab a jacket.”

He did not necessarily mean that she should grab his, but decided that of all the things his jacket could smell like, her perfume was the best option. And if his jacket smelled like her, he could put the scarf that had “accidentally” found its way into his possession back in her coat closet. Maybe.

She had a vague idea of what part of town they were in when he finally stopped on what appeared to be a deserted residential street in front of a construction site. There wasn’t much to see beyond a cleared and bulldozed area and some foundation.

“What is this?” she asked.

“I’m kinda building us a house,” he answered sheepishly. “Here.”

“In this neighborhood?” For a guy who had no neighbors and who was Eliot Spencer, she thought maybe he hadn’t considered all the possibilities having living in a development entailed. And that was to say nothing of how poorly he’d react to the concept of an HOA.

“It’s not a neighborhood. All of this is mine. From the entrance to here, and then for about another thirty acres behind this.”

She looked around, but the streetlights and the fog combined to make it difficult to see anything very far away from them.

“Um…”

“Anyway, they’re starting to ask questions about stuff like cabinets and paint colors and floors. I could guess, but I would rather see what you like. I mean, if you like it. If you don’t, I can stop all this, and we can do something else.”

“Well…”

Finally, he glanced at her to try to read her expression. She looked more bewildered than horrified, which was good. He guessed.

“Phee?” he prompted. “I checked before I closed the deal on it, and it’s about 12 minutes closer to work for you. And it’s all right turns for you coming home, and there’s a traffic light so you can get out. Plus I’ve already talked to a fence contractor about an electric fence for Devil, so he’ll think he can run forever but he’ll still be safe. And even if he manages to get out, he’s a long way from the main road. So you don’t have to worry about him.”

She tucked her hand into his elbow.

“Jones, let’s go get a drink.”

He drove them to a bar that was not Hardison’s, because if Parker saw them she would join them, which would not help the situation at all.

He ordered a beer. She ordered a margarita and chicken nachos, which made him feel slightly better.

“May we have some extra napkins?” she asked. “And maybe a kids pack? I like to doodle.”

The waitress nodded without offering an opinion, fishing some crayons and several napkins out of her apron.

“Anything else?”

“We’re good,” he answered, not adding that she could go and let them do whatever they were going to do here, because she was just a kid with a lousy job who didn’t need the hassle.

When she was gone, Ophelia pushed the crayons and the napkins across the table to him.

“Show me what you had in mind,” she instructed. It was her Lecture Voice at about half-power: compelling, but not demanding.

“You don’t hate it?”

“I don’t know, but probably not. But I can’t tell you about colors or anything else until I know what kind of space I’m dealing with. I mean, are you thinking more log cabin? Or ultra modern? McMansion?”

“Would you like one of those?”

“Absolutely not,” she smiled. “But you wouldn’t either, so I’m not really worried about that.”

“I’m not an architect,” he warned her.

“I’m not an interior decorator. We’ll be fine.”

His finished drawing showed three circular buildings connected by hallways and took up three napkins. He turned them so they were right side up to her, then began to explain.

“This center one is the main part,” he said. “The kitchen and living room and a powder room are on this level where you walk in. The level below that is storage and a four-car garage. The upper level is the master bedroom and master bathroom, and it’s got a balcony that goes all the way around.”

She nodded her understanding.

“This part on the left is yours,” he said. “The upper level is an office—it faces south, so you have good light to write in. That’s important, right?”

“It is,” she agreed, snapping her attention from his face back to the napkins.

“Great. And then there’s a bathroom here, and this wall is all shelves, for all your books. The downstairs level is all closet, with mirrors and hang-up bars and shoe storage, plus a separate space for your costume stuff, since you mentioned you like to keep your work clothes and your play clothes apart.”

The waitress returned with their drinks. Ophelia sipped her margarita through a straw.

“I’m starting to think you really like me,” she murmured. He didn’t quite manage to hide his smile.

“Then this over here is mine. The downstairs here is a gym– you can use it any time you want to–and the upstairs part is my office, a guest bedroom, and another bathroom.”

He waited as patiently as he could while she studied everything. He drank all of his beer being patient.

“Did you design this yourself?” she asked.

“Yeah. I…I’ve lived alone for a long time and so have you. So I thought it would be a good idea to have our own spaces too.”

“I completely love it,” she declared. “Like, all of it. And I’m sure Devil will too. What do you need from me?”

His relief was palpable. He reached across the table for her hand a pressed a kiss into her wrist.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Chicken nachos?” a new server asked.

“Just put them anywhere,” Ophelia answered. “We’ll work our way towards the middle.”

“I’m guessing you don’t need help with the kitchen?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Unless you have strong opinions.”

“It’s all you, Jones.” Which was exactly the response he’d hoped for, although he’d consider her input on it. But they both recognized that this was his dream space. “I can’t wait to see what you do with it.”

“I need colors from you,” he said. “Paint colors for the walls, and what kind of floors you want upstairs and downstairs. And if you have an opinion about the shelving,” she absolutely would, “then we can ask the builder for some samples.” He moved the napkin with her space on it to one side.

“And I hope we can work on this together,” he said, tapping the center portion. “Since it’s our space. There’s gonna be windows here and here,” he gestured to the northeast and southwest, “so you don’t have to worry about direct morning light. They’ll be on the opposite sides on the lower level, so there’s not, like, direct sunset light. And then a deck that goes around the back with a grill and an outdoor kitchen.”

“So it’ll be like living in a tree house?” she offered.

“Yeah, Princess. Can you deal with that?”

“It’s perfect. But do I need to worry that you’re building us a fort?”

“It’s not a fort,” he answered. “A fort would have a moat and slits for windows and cannons. You don’t know where we can get a cannon, do you?”

“Legally?”

“Never mind,” he chuckled. With Hardison’s security system, it might as well be a fort, but she didn’t need to know about that until there was a house to explore.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he continued. “But I didn’t want to make a bunch of decisions you’d have to live with. You can still be surprised when it’s finished, right?”

“I can, Jones. And I’m glad you told me. It’ll be fun to plan this.”

“How are the nachos?”

“I’ve had better.”

“You will.”

“Get the check. I’ll start the car.”

The next Thursday, she texted Hardison.

<Tinkerbell>: Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow?

<JOSHUA>: Sure. Nothing’s wrong, is it? Should I bring Parker?

<Tinkerbell>: Nothing’s wrong, and it’s fine if you bring Parker.

<JOSHUA>: Meet me at the bar at 1? I’ll have them make your own pitcher of tea.

<Tinkerbell>: You’re the best!

He’d probably have to double his sugar order if she made a habit of this. On the other hand, most of her students had become frequent patrons. Not only did that make finding news of her easier, but his profits were up. A couple of extra bags of sugar here and there were a small investment. He decided that if she had wanted Parker, all the resources were there to ask Parker on her own, so he didn’t mention their lunch meeting.

<REAL FAIRY>: Want to go to the zoo tomorrow afternoon? They have a late-afternoon behind the scenes tour. I thought it would be fun.

<Sticky Fingers>: YES!

<REAL FAIRY>: Great! I can pick you up around 4? I think they have a dessert package too.

<Sticky Fingers>: YES!

Ophelia pondered for a moment on whether or not to call before deciding that Parker had all the information, and Ophelia had all the required answers. But she wanted to make sure the thief didn’t get her feelings hurt, as she hadn’t been invited out for dress shopping or to lunch. Whatever the consequences of Parker’s hurt feelings might be, they couldn’t be good.

“Ophelia asked me to go with the zoo with her tomorrow!”

“Great!” Hardison answered while he didn’t think of all the ways taking an expert lock-picker to the zoo could go wrong.

<Nerd>: Ophelia’s taking Parker to the zoo tomorrow.

<One Hit Wonder>: So?

<Nerd>: THE ZOO.

<One Hit Wonder>: Dammit Hardison, you’re just letting her go?

<Nerd>: It was your girlfriend’s idea. I’m just letting you know in case there’s an incident with the lions.

<One Hit Wonder>: Fair.

Ophelia got to the booth before Hardison came downstairs, so he had a moment to observe while the waitress brought her a glass of iced tea. She fidgeted with things, clearly nervous. Outwardly, she was wearing a vaguely safari-like outfit for her trip to the zoo later. Inwardly, she wondered if this was the right course of action at all.

“Hey Professor!” he greeted her cheerfully. “What are you working on today?”

“I’m sure Eliot’s told you we’re getting married,” she began.

“Yeah, he didn’t say when it was, though.”

“We…haven’t set a date yet,” she answered truthfully. Hardison hadn’t spent all that time around Sophie for nothing. She was telling a version of the truth, but not all of it.

“Let us know when you do,” he said. She nodded without providing any other information.

“So what I’m looking for is advice on a wedding gift,” she said hurriedly. “I’m not at all sure what to get for him. I mean, he doesn’t seem like a guy who needs or wants a lot of stuff.”

True that, Hardison thought. And if he really wanted anything, he could buy it. Although Hardison doubted Ophelia had a price tag, if it came right down to that.

“Do you have any suggestions?” she went on. “Artwork? Books? A trip somewhere?”

“What about kitchen knives,” he suggested. “I mean, I know it sounds like a weapon, but there’s a set he’d love. I can find them for you. And as for art, I think you have an artist he would really like.” He pulled up a shot on his phone to show her a picture from an artist with whom she was familiar. “You know how he is about wolves,” he reminded her. “So this would be great.”

“Are the kitchen knives a brand I’ve ever heard of?”

“Well, they’re commercially available,” he answered. Taking in the look on her face, he revised his statement. “No, you’ve never heard of them.”

“But you’re positive you can get a set?”

“I absolutely am,” he said. “You can trust me if you want me to get them.”

“Order them?”

“Sure!”

It wasn’t that she wasn’t sold on the idea; she just wasn’t sure she believed that ‘order’ was the right term. ‘Procure’ might be closer.

“Legally?”

“I resent the implication,” he said, with a look of mock wounded pride. She smiled.

“Fair,” she said. “Do you need a credit card number?”

From her? Nah. He had them already.

“I’ll find out what they cost and let you know before I order them, okay? That way you can decide whether you want to pay for them or not.”

“In that case, can I buy you lunch?” she offered. “As a way to say thank you.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Parker says you’re going to the zoo this afternoon. Going to look at anything in particular?”

This might be an excellent time to tell her she could leave the binoculars at home. If she wanted an up-close look at something, Parker could get her all the access she needed. On the other hand, her clothes didn’t look very tiger-proof.

Parker was wildly excited when Ophelia picked her up that afternoon. Ophelia might not have put that many different animal prints together to make an outfit, but she appreciated the enthusiasm.

“This is going to be So! Fun!” Parker exclaimed, pulling her seatbelt across her. “Are you looking for a pet for Eliot?”

Ophelia was so surprised her foot slipped off the brake and she was forced to slam down the accelerator to just barely miss the car she’d been watching in her rearview mirror. The driver shouted something out the window; Parker didn’t seem to hear it.

“Uh, no,” Ophelia replied slowly. “There really is a backstage tour where you get to watch them feed the animals, and maybe pet some. Then there’s a dessert package when you’re done with all that near where the elephants live. So you can eat dessert and watch elephants and just…hang out.”

“Do you think we get to meet the foxes or something?” Parker liked foxes.

“I think we can ask, if that’s what you’d like to meet,” Ophelia assured her. “Or maybe some otters? I like the otters a lot too.”

“Are you going to have your wedding here?” Parker asked. Eliot had warned Ophelia that she might be biting off more than she could chew taking Parker on an outing like this. She was starting to think he was right, and they hadn’t reached the zoo parking lot yet.

“I think we’re just going to the courthouse,” Ophelia said as she tried to hide her sigh. “I really don’t like weddings all that much.”

“Really? Because Sophie’s like a princess or something, and she could get you a castle if you wanted to have a wedding in a castle. Wouldn’t that be great?!”

Just barely, Ophelia resisted suggesting that Parker have her own wedding in a castle. The thief meant well, she assumed. Some other time, she’d ask about the whole princess thing, because that couldn’t possibly be true and yet it kept coming up.

“It seems like that would be really complicated,” she answered. “And a lot of work for something that doesn’t need to be either of those things. I just think weddings are an enormous waste of time and money, and I’ve seen up close the kind of long-term damage they can do. It’s just…it’s not something I’ve been waiting my whole life to do, you know?” She pulled into a parking space near the front gate.

Ophelia presented their tickets to an attendant, who pointed them to a building near the giraffe enclave.

“But if you don’t have a wedding,” Parker persisted, “how can you have a reception? You know, with dancing and presents and all your friends?”

Ophelia reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

“We can do that anyway,” she said. “It’s not a law that you have to have a wedding to have a party. We’ll probably have one after the house is done, and Eliot can cook for everyone.”

“And there will be presents and dancing?”

“Dancing for sure,” she promised. “Nobody needs to bring presents. We have everything we need.”

“Because you’re in love?”

“Because we’re both over 40 and have our own places. Probably everyone is going to have to take something home with them from the reception.”

“Eliot’s told you about the house, right? So you can be excited about that?” Parker had seen the plans Eliot and Hardison had devised for the new place; she was excited about it despite their having rejected her suggestion of more ductwork. Eliot doubted Ophelia would want to crawl around in them, and he definitely didn’t want Parker to have the ability to pop out of a ceiling and surprise them.

“He has,” Ophelia reassured her. “We’re talking about colors and floors and fixtures and all kinds of stuff you have to decide on when you build a house. It’s a lot of stuff.”

“More or less stuff than a wedding?” Parker asked suspiciously.

“About the same, but the house lasts longer,” Ophelia answered, having correctly deduced the avenue Parker was headed down. “You can live in a house. You can’t live in a wedding, no matter how much it costs.”

Parker, who thought Ophelia might actually be some sort of tall fairy anyway, nearly turned inside out with excitement when she found out this was a private tour. She had no such idea such a thing existed outside of breaking into the zoo at night. Hardison had told her that was a big no, but she still kinda wanted to do it. Having a real live zoo person guide them around and personally introduce them to the animals was one of the most glorious things Parker had ever experienced that didn’t involve a tall building.

“Can we meet the foxes?” Ophelia asked. “Parker wanted to meet them especially.”

“Fennec? Or red?” their guide asked.

“Yes!” Parker responded. “Can we pet them?”

“We might have a red fox getting examined by the vet,” the guide answered with a very nervous glance at Ophelia. “I’ll ask?”

“Yes!”

Ophelia just nodded, glad someone else was getting to experience Parker in Field Trip mode.

Twenty minutes later found them gently petting a sleepy fox who had just received a dental exam.

“He’s so fluffy! Can I buy him?” Parker asked.

The vet and the tour guide exchanged glances before looking to Ophelia, who belatedly realized she needed to translate.

“Can a person have a pet fox in Oregon?” she interpreted.

“Unfortunately not,” the guide said. “Unless you own a fur farm, and then you have to own 10 or more.”

“My god,” Ophelia murmured.

“Can’t you call someone and ask?” Parker begged. “I really want one.”

“The state law says no,” the vet offered regretfully. “You’ll just have to come see ours.”

Go ahead, Ophelia thought. Invite that vampire into your house. She liked Parker a lot, but could see the flaws inherent in that suggestion without even having to ask anyone else.

<Tinkerbell>: Can you watch Parker for the next few days and make sure she doesn’t break into the zoo to steal a fox?

“Smile,” she requested, holding up her camera phone. Parker smiled and waved one of the fox’s paws.

<JOSHUA>: Steal a fox.

<Tinkerbell>: Do you think that’s unlikely?

<JOSHUA>: no.

<Tinkerbell> Photo attached

<Nerd>: Wanna help out with Parker-sitting duty?

<One Hit Wonder>: Why? You afraid she’ll steal something from the zoo?

<Nerd>: Photo attached

<One Hit Wonder> Dammit Hardison!

<Jones>: Let me know if you need help getting out of the zoo. Like if Parker tries to hide an animal in her bag.

<Peaches>: We’re having dessert by the elephants first. Hopefully anything she puts in there gets a chance to escape before we get to the car.

<Jones>: The elephants are making dessert?

<Peaches>: Dessert is in proximity to elephants.

<Jones>: You could at least suggest they try my way.

The sun was setting as they worked their way through a humongous dessert platter while watching the elephants. Parker drank champagne, Ophelia drank water. She didn’t know the trick about calling ahead for tea, not that it would work for many people besides Sophie Devereaux.

“Ooh!” Parker exclaimed suddenly. “What about this?”

She shoved a brochure at Ophelia, who flipped through it with no small amount of trepidation. Her smile grew as she realized what they were selling.

“For Eliot,” Parker clarified. “Hardison said you talked to him about wedding gifts today and that you didn’t know what to get. I hope you don’t mind?”

“I’m open to suggestion,” Ophelia murmured. “I think a wolf would be just about perfect for him.”

“Will he get to keep it?”

“Not usually,” Ophelia answered. “But I’ll ask.” She definitely would not ask.

After that, it was easy for her to get a plan together.

It was less easy for Eliot, who had discovered the hard way that she would love anything he gave her. The snow globes should have been his first indication, but he thought she was just being nice. Still, to this day, he thought her enthusiasm was mostly her well-bred manners. The ring had been a real eye-opener for him, though. Now he had what he wanted (a girlfriend running around with his ring on her finger), he had discovered why fairy tales got a bad rap, because he hadn’t been nearly specific enough about what he wanted.

Sophie sighed from deep within her soul as she looked at the pictures Eliot had taken at various estate sales.

“This is something you want her to wear every day?” she repeated. “Because, Eliot, a tiara is not everyday wear. Not anywhere in the world.”

“But look at it, Soph! Don’t you think she’d love it?”

“I do, but you’re way overthinking this. She’s not going to be able to wear this to a university to teach history, no matter how proud you are that you found it. Same with that necklace: it’s lovely, but it’s too much.”

“I can afford it!” Eliot defended himself. It was true: money wasn’t an issue.

“I’m sure you can, but this is another case of overkill. This is a necklace for a royal wedding or the Met gala. You know, the sort of event you hate.”

“Well what do you suggest?” he asked, closer to angry than he’d been in weeks.

“For goodness’ sake, Eliot, what was the one thing she wanted to do more than anything in the world?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she reminded him. “It wasn’t Paris in the rain, remember?”

He studied her face for a moment.

“Oh,” he finally said. “Right.”

“I happen to have a friend in the antique trade,” she said.

“Of course you do.”

“I’ll have him contact you with some ideas.”

Since it was Sophie’s friend, he contacted Eliot at the least convenient time possible: while he was in an antique store with Ophelia. Far from insisting he come along, she had suggested bringing Parker on this outing, but Eliot was reluctant to give up the day with her. After extracting a promise that she would watch tonight’s Oklahoma State game and actually watch it without doing research or a lesson plan, he agreed to go shopping. She even pointed out that watching a college football game was no punishment for her and she would not only do it but make snacks for it; he stood firm.

“I am from Georgia,” she pointed out for the ninth time that day. “Watching football is how we spend Saturday.”

“Then this shouldn’t bother you,” he answered.

“It doesn’t! That’s my point! You hate shopping, and I am going to go out on a limb and say you hate antique shopping even more. Making me watch tomorrow night’s game would have been a much bigger win for you.”

They were at the end of an aisle with nobody around. He pulled her in close to whisper in her ear anyway.

“It’s not winning or losing,” he said. “It’s hanging out together. Right? Couple stuff?”

She took the opportunity to lick his upper lip since he was that close anyway. He growled in response.

“We’re having nachos during the game, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it,” she warned him before turning to flounce away, leaving him with a number of nacho-related questions. Then his phone dinged with a message from Sophie’s friend.

With an exasperated sigh, he looked at what the man had sent. There were half a dozen pictures in all, plus a photograph of a hand-written paragraph detailing its origin and likely maker, and of course the price. He’d been watching her look at antique jewelry all day; she’d find this price staggering.

They had been browsing for a while when she finally saw something she thought he would like. She was a sucker for little things in locked cabinets (another reason he hadn’t wanted her to bring Parker: the thief would have no trouble unlocking the cabinets but a big problem understanding why they were locked at all.) and of course antique jewelry. But this time she had stopped in front of a display of furniture.

“What do you think?” she asked excitedly.

He didn’t see what she meant.

“I don’t get it, Princess,” he admitted. “Explain.”

“It’s a sword holder,” she squeaked, attempting to keep her voice down as if there were dozens of sword collectors surrounding them who might swoop in and lay claim to it. “Someone’s put shelves on it to make it more useful for them, but…,” she stepped into the display to move some trinkets off a lightly loaded shelf, then bent to look under it while very gently rocking the shelf with one hand. “But they used some really puny nails to hold them on, so these could be removed with no problem.” She flashed a triumphant smile at him. “What do you think?”

He continued to be baffled, but this time at the idea she knew anything about antique furniture. Which, now that he thought about it, was crazy. Why wouldn’t she be somewhat knowledgeable about antiques? She had said herself that her family lived in London for two years; it would have been weirder for her to know nothing.

“And I think it’s Japanese,” she finished. “But I’m not positive. I’d have to push it out to see, but there isn’t room here. What do you think? For your gym?” She held out her hand so he could assist her back over the jumble of furniture at her feet, which put her in an excellent position to be kissed when she was clear of it.

“Is that why we’re here?” he asked, his arms around her waist. “You were looking for something for me?”

She twined her arms around his neck.

“This is a super happy coincidence,” she admitted. “But I’ll take it. Do you like it? Can you use it?” She tried to read his expression. “Do you want it?”

“I didn’t realize you were planning ahead for the house being ready,” he said. “How long have you been doing that?”

“Since we left the bar,” she chuckled. “I’m not sure why you thought you could ask my opinion on decorating something then expect I wouldn’t, you know, start planning to decorate it. I spend, like, half my time working on this project. I’ve got three of my grad students working on an extra credit project about decorating a lady’s space over the past few centuries.”

The day was only partly in Eliot’s favor; a shop worker appeared out of nowhere to ask if they needed help.

“Yes,” she answered, not bothering to step away from Eliot. “We would like to buy that shelving unit. Do you have any provenance on it?”

“I’ll look,” the shopkeeper replied, “but we usually don’t. Does that make a difference?”

“It doesn’t,” she said. “If you’ll give me the tag, we’ll go pay for it. Do we need to take it today?” They were in Eliot’s car, where it definitely wasn’t going to fit, so he hoped they had a couple of days.

“We can hold it for 30 days, ma’am,” the shopkeeper replied. “We’ll mark it as sold, then you can bring your receipt when you’re ready.”

“Perfect!” she exclaimed, gripping Eliot’s arm. “Thank you!”

She snapped some pictures before they left, then they had the mandatory argument at the counter about who got to pay for it. Eliot thought he should pay for it because he had not planned for her to buy gym equipment. She thought she should pay for it because it was her find. The shop lady rested her arms on the counter, watching the argument like a tennis match.

“If you pay for it,” he warned, “I’m going to make dinner.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “Like you weren’t going to do that anyway.”

“You don’t even have any swords,” he protested.

“I don’t right now,” she shot back. “I might later.”

She used the moment he took to boggle at that idea to slam her card down on the counter.

“That’s not fair,” he accused. “You made me picture you with a weapon.”

“All’s fair Jones,” she reminded him as the cashier snatched up the card before minds changed. “All’s fair. I win.”

“I suppose it is, Princess. I’ll be in the car.”

He called the dealer in Santa Fe.

“How would you like to be paid?”

“This met your expectations, sir?”

“It’s perfect.”

He had just hung up the phone when she got in the car with the rest of her purchases. Mostly they were items for a vanity, including a fancy brush and a mirror, but also a little figure of a fox she found for Parker, plus a little bowl that had just struck her as pretty.

“Did you get the pictures so they can’t try to give you something else when you go back?” he asked. They were driving home; he’d had all the antique shopping he could take, plus they would have to stop if she wanted nachos for dinner.

“No,” she answered absently. “I wanted to try to look it up. The people who put the shelves on it either didn’t know or didn’t care what they had, so I wanted to check it against other koshirae…is that the right word?”

“Yes, but how do you even know that, Princess?”

“I looked it up because it’s a thing that interests you, Jones.” She sounded like that should have been obvious. Maybe, he thought, it should have been. Because now that he thought about it, that didn’t seem like an out-of-character thing for her to do.

“Do you do that a lot?”

“All the time.”

“How about we order pizza instead?”

“Sure,” she answered. He could hear the smirk in her voice.

She and Devil stood at the microwave reheating the pizza during the halftime report. Devil hoped she would give him a piece; Ophelia hoped he wouldn’t trip her up to get some, not that he would ever do something like that, or at least wait until she was on the carpet to do so.

“Hey Fuzzy,” Eliot said as he came into the kitchen to check on them. “I put some of the leftover ravioli in your bowl. If you let Ophelia deal with the pizza, I’ll give you the rest. Deal?”

Devil barely waited for the handshake before bolting for his food bowl. While he was occupied, Eliot pulled her ponytail to one side to kiss her neck.

“You didn’t have to,” he said.

She leaned back against him.

“But you liked it, right? And you can use it? It seems like something you would have.”

“Phee,” he said softly, still pressing kisses into her neck, “I already want to marry you. You don’t have to convince me it’s a good idea. This is what we call selling past the close.”

She did little things for him all the time; she was sort of like a crow, presenting him with shiny objects she thought he would like. He knew she did that for Parker and Sophie and a number of her coworkers as well, so he wasn’t sure why he felt awkward when she did the exact same thing for him. When he had mentioned it to Sophie, Sophie had explained that, much like Eliot cooked for people, Ophelia bought or found things she thought they would like. The fact that she was seldom wrong just showed, Sophie continued, how much she enjoyed it.

“Why does it feel so much like she’s trying to buy me?” he asked.

“Maybe because you think you don’t do the same for her,” Sophie suggested. “But you shouldn’t. You cook for her, which I’m sure she recognizes as your way of showing affection. And she doesn’t think you’re trying to lure her into a gingerbread house.”

“Is there any way to get her to stop? Without hurting her feelings, I mean.”

“Are you willing to give up cooking for her? And before you answer that, you need to understand I know how much trouble you took to learn to make her favorite soup.”

“I guess not,” he said.

“She does not view these things as transactional,” Sophie told him. “She doesn’t do this because someone did something nice for her. And I’m certain she doesn’t expect any sort of repayment, although Parker has tried a few times.”

“You had to make her quit?”

“Ophelia has definite opinions over stolen items,” Sophie commented. “They do not align with Parker’s.”

“Reminding you why it’s such a good idea,” Ophelia said, “is not a bad use of my time.”

“I could name about six other things that are a better use of your time,” he offered.

“We’re going to end up reheating this pizza again, aren’t we?” she giggled.

The other thing he loved about rainy Sundays was that she tended to wake up super early. Sometimes it was just her response to the end of a dream; sometimes she was thirsty. But with a surprising frequency, she turned to him instead of going back to sleep. The first time, he’d been mostly asleep and afraid he had assaulted his girlfriend, except when he tried to pull away, she had pulled him back with an unambiguous request. After that, slow, sleepy early morning sex became something he relished. They always had fun together, sometimes rowdy, sometimes rough, always satisfying. But those particular nights were for long kisses, soft caresses, and slow movements that drove him incrementally crazy. Without fail, she would go back to sleep until the sun came up. He rarely slept much, but lately he had started dozing off with her, lulled back into sleep by her quiet presence. Tonight, he stayed awake to do a little research of his own, starting with how a lady would have decorated her boudoir. A few interesting ideas later, he moved on to searching for a king-sized bed for their room. He wasn’t sure how much of her own furniture she’d want to keep, but almost none of his was worth moving. He felt like a new bed was something they needed. He would always want the best for Ophelia. After her small but generous act today, he would find the best no matter what.

A few weeks later, Sophie called her with an idea. Ophelia listened to her uncritically and without interruption until she finished talking.

“No.”

Sophie pulled the phone away from her ear to look at it in disbelief.

“Just no? No counteroffer? Nothing?”

“I understand what you’re thinking, but no. Not a chance. No way.”

Sophie blew out a breath that ruffled her fringe.

“I’m going to let you think about this through your next class,” she warned. “Be prepared to meet me for coffee this afternoon. I’ll meet you at that place by your campus.”

“Okay, but the answer will still be no,” Ophelia promised.

She went to Parker’s office to recruit some help.

“I have an idea that Ophelia will eventually agree to, but I need your help to get her there,” Sophie announced. Hardison stood up from his chair.

“I feel like I need to leave before I get sucked into this,” he said. “Because I want to be able to say I had nothing to do with this later.”

“Shoo,” Sophie ordered. “Get out. Close the door.”

Ophelia arrived at the coffee shop to find both Sophie and Parker. Realizing there was little she could do to avoid this, and nothing Eliot could do to help without explaining a lot more than she wanted to, she took her seat with all the grace she could manage. A cup of hot chocolate was already at her place.

“Still no,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

“He would love them,” Sophie insisted.

“He might love them of you!” she answered. “You look like a model! I…don’t. I photograph like a potato, even when I’m wearing clothes.”

“Oh, you do not,” Sophie chided. “Don’t even think that. Besides, part of the package for boudoir photos is editing them so you don’t look like a potato. Which you don’t.”

“I don’t even want to think about where you think they’d go,” Ophelia continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I mean, definitely not in any of the common areas. I can’t imagine he’d want them in his part either.” She assumed they had some idea about the house currently under construction. When neither of them asked the obvious follow-up questions, she knew they had some idea. Whether or not they had discovered it on their own or Eliot had told them was a mystery that didn’t need solving.

“In his study, of course! What sort of gentleman’s study doesn’t have racy photos in it?” Sophie asked, as if that were a completely normal question.

“Not of their own wives!” Ophelia countered. Sophie had to admit she wasn’t wrong. “Besides, I don’t know why you think I’d parade around like that in front of a stranger!”

“Didn’t I mention?” Sophie asked coyly. “Parker is an excellent photographer, and I think you’ll agree she’s not a stranger.”

Ophelia looked at Parker and blinked in surprise. Parker slid her phone across the table.

“I took all of these,” she boasted. She did have quite an eye for light and shadow and angles. The last dozen were surveillance photographs of Ophelia and Eliot.

“Besides,” Sophie went on, “we’ve seen the pictures of your grandmother. It would be easy to replicate those and you wouldn’t even need to take your clothes off. Agreed?”

Ophelia knew she had to choose her response very carefully, because anything she said that sounded remotely like agreement would be taken as an iron-clad contract. She could already tell.

“My grandmother’s pictures were plenty scandalous for their time, and it was an entirely different generation.”

Sophie looked across the table and saw a clever player. Not clever enough to win, but still a worthy opponent.

“You agree, then, that it would be easy to copy those?” Sophie pressed.

“Sophie…”

“I can paint one if you’d like that better,” Parker offered. Sophie looked at her in surprise. The thief did, in fact, excel at sketches, but she rarely offered to do it. She had said before she thought everyone possessed that ability.

“You paint?”

“It’s not hard. You can use brushes.”

“That’s a yes?” Sophie asked. “We can do whichever you like.”

“What happens to the pictures we don’t use?”

Ophelia was so cagey about this, Sophie wondered if it had been an issue before, and whether she could find out. She would have been flattered to know that Ophelia was doing all this thinking on her feet, as it were, because Eliot had told her about Sophie’s function on the team. Ophelia wasn’t so hopelessly naïve as to just agree to things without getting details and asking questions on a normal day with a regular person; dealing with Sophie was leagues beyond that.

“We’ll decide when we have them,” Sophie announced, tacitly declaring herself the victor. “I’ll come over in a few days and we can pick some things out, then we have a studio at the office we can use.”

“I haven’t agreed to this yet,” Ophelia said. “What do you plan to do with Hardison and Eliot that day? It will hardly be a surprise if they’re both around.”

Parker opened her mouth to ask a question, but was immediately cut off by Sophie, who knew what she was going to say and would rather not have it asked aloud in this café. She felt that Ophelia would rather not answer questions about their private life either.

“I will find them somewhere out of town to go,” Sophie promised. “Surely we have something coming up they need to investigate. They can go investigate it. But they won’t be in the building while you’re there, I promise. You have my word.”

“I still think this is a really terrible idea and we’re going to waste everyone’s time,” Ophelia stipulated. Sophie took a small victory sip.

“My darling, I’ve never had a bad idea.”

True to her word, Sophie arrived one evening bearing Chinese food. Eliot was surprised to see her. So was Ophelia. Devil was thrilled to see her, but just because she was holding a giant bag of food.

“What are you doing here?” Eliot asked. She handed him a bag of food like that should explain it.

“Ophelia and I are looking at some clothes for an event I have coming up,” she said. “I thought I’d bring dinner then we could look at outfits.”

He looked to Ophelia, who was halfway out of her chair, for confirmation.

“Yes,” she said, with a total lack of confidence. “We are doing that.”

“What event?” Eliot asked. He was still blocking the door.

“You wouldn’t be interested plus you’re not invited,” Sophie said breezily. “It’s an all-girl event. Move.”

“Is Parker going too?” he asked. The thief would tell him.

“She is,” Sophie said. “You can even call and ask her about it.”

He felt like Ophelia was startled at that revelation, but not so much that she was compelled to speak up. He sighed and moved out of the door to let his coworker in, knowing that whatever answer Parker gave him would be rehearsed and also untrue. He shot another look at Ophelia, who had in no way gathered her wits in the intervening moments. She nodded uncertainly.

A few weeks later, when Parker excited unveiled a stunning shot of Ophelia in a pin-up pose, Sophie drank a toast to herself. She’d still never had a bad idea.

Sophie put the finishing touches on Ophelia’s lipstick, then made a show of dropping the tube into the other girl’s bag.

“For touch-ups,” she explained. “Now that you’re ready, you can go on ahead and we’ll meet you there. The car is waiting downstairs. Chop chop.”

It was true: Ophelia was fully dressed while Sophie and Parker were still in fluffy spa robes.

“They don’t already have people who do this?” Ophelia asked. This was not the first time this had come up, and she doubted Sophie’s story was going to change this time. She just hated to feel like she was being managed into something. And this entire day, starting with the spa and ending with being fitted into a dress she adored but definitely hadn’t purchased, reeked of management.

“A dress looks very different on a model than it does on a customer,” Sophie said again. “If you want to sell a dress to a customer, the customer needs to see what it looks like on a real person. And before you ask if runway models are real people, I want you to tell me exactly how many runway models you know.”

Ophelia looked to Parker for help, knowing deep in her heart that Parker would be no help.

“You look great!” Parker offered. “Go out there and model!”

No help at all.

“You’ll both be there?”

“Right behind you,” Sophie promised. “Now go. We don’t want to keep the photographer waiting!”

The hired car pulled around to the same entrance at the Japanese park Eliot frequently broke into for them, which did nothing to dispel the idea that she was being managed. But the man waiting to meet her wasn’t anyone she’d seen before, and he was wearing all black like she expected a man associated with modeling might. He opened the door and held out his hand to help her out.

“Nate Ford,” he said. “I believe we were expecting you…?”

“Ophelia Mason,” she answered. “I can’t believe you were.”

He closed the door and guided her to the gate.

“But you’re here, and this is clearly part of the fall line. We must be expecting you,” he said cheerfully. “Are you nervous?” She was; she had a grip on his hand that would be difficult to break without ether.

“I am, actually,” she confessed. “I’m not convinced I’m the right person for this job. I’m not a model.”

“What are you instead of a model?”

“I teach history,” she said. “And my side hobby is being a writer.”

He led her to a bench, urging her to sit down. She was no good to anyone in this condition, something his team should have realized. Fine, he’d deal with it himself.

“Tell me about your books,” he said.

“Isn’t there a crowd of people waiting for us?”

“They can wait,” he said amiably. “The light will be better in a few minutes anyway. And they can’t get started without you. So, what do you write? Have I read it?” He had, in fact, read them all. They weren’t literature for the ages, but their intended audience enjoyed them plus the exercise gave her the creative outlet she needed.

Out of sight over the hill, Eliot paced while Devil watched. He could hear everything, an observation he passed along at increasingly frequent intervals while Nate talked to Ophelia like they had the entire damn night and he wasn’t waiting right here and–

“NATE!” he barked. Devil was at his feet, just in case he needed help; Devil excelled at barking at things. “Get on with it, man!”

She was less of a stress ball and more of a pretty girl by the time he finished their conversation. Obviously checking his watch, he looked back up the hill.

“I better run check on everyone,” he said. “Wait here, someone will be back for you in a minute.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Ford.”

She waited until he walked away to open her purse, which contained a lipstick, her wallet, and…nothing. No phone. On the verge of panic, she took a deep breath and tried to remember when she had last used it. She hadn’t needed it in the car, because she hadn’t driven so she hadn’t needed directions.

“For touch-ups,” Sophie had said. Sophie, who definitely knew more than Ophelia did about what was even happening right now, must have pulled out her phone when she put the lipstick in. Ophelia hadn’t even thought about checking for it before she left. And now she had no way to contact anyone, and no real confidence either Sophie or Parker were actually on their way here. She sighed and fastened her bag; she would deal with it later, unless this was some sort of weird abduction plot, then Sophie could explain it to Eliot and Eliot could deal with it later.

Nate met Eliot and Devil at the top of the hill.

“What do you think?” Eliot asked nervously.

“I like her,” Nate shrugged before gripping Eliot on the shoulder. “But my son, you are standing at the top of a mountain and she has the only helicopter that will reach you. I suggest you don’t let her get away.”

“I know I’m not her type—”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Nate interrupted, gesturing they should sit for a minute. “You think you’re not her type, but you didn’t really pay attention to Hardison’s write-up, did you?”

“I mean—”

“You need to understand this about her, because I think you don’t yet: Her society raised her to marry a very particular kind of man. He had to have the right looks, the right family, the right school, and the right job. Now, you don’t know, because you never asked, but that guy she didn’t marry? She was in her 20s. He was exactly what her people brought her up to find. I don’t think she loved him, and I’m not sure she even liked him, and he was never, even for one minute, faithful to her.”

Eliot glared at his shoes; abandoning him to another country was much too good for him.

Nate continued, because that had been his job: “Your type has always been a pair of tits and a nice ass.”

Devil growled at this. Nate reached down to pet the dog. “Calm down. She has that, but she has a Ferrari of a brain on top of all that too. She bided her time, knowing that sooner or later he would do something unforgivable by Savannah standards. Eventually he propositioned a minor who was one of his interns. She presented him with the evidence and gave him two options: take his ring quietly and go back home, and her grandmother the gossip columnist would find an acceptable story, or try to fight and she would go public with what she had. He couldn’t risk that without risking his family name and his position, so he left.”

Eliot sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Her grandmother was the one who talked her into leaving. She needed to get out before Savannah sucked her back into the same mess with a different set of names. Then her grandparents died, within months of each other. But they had rewritten their wills to leave everything to Ophelia instead of her mother, their daughter. She put out the word among her colleagues that she wanted to move west and would consider any offers. She liquidated most of her grandparents’ assets, including a nice house on a desirable square in Savannah where she could have lived out the rest of her life. But Portland State heard she was looking and made an offer; they never could have hoped to get her under normal circumstances. University of Oregon would have been lucky to get her, but she came here to try to get herself back together.”

“It took her twenty years to get it back together?” She took things hard, he knew, but to take that long to shake off one unsuccessful relationship didn’t sound anything like the woman he knew.

“He didn’t go as quietly as she hoped he would,” Nate explained. “Every time she tried to move on, he showed up again. She got back on the horse and tried dating again, too, but they were all just variations on the same theme. They were all essentially the same unsuitable guy as the first one; it’s a hard cycle to break.”

Devil settled in to hear the rest of the story too, but licked Eliot on the hand first, just to let him know it would be okay.

“I’m pretty sure she sized you up in under a minute, but instead of deciding you weren’t her type, she decided to see what you had to offer. After all, Eliot, you are literally none of the things she was taught to look for in a husband, and that was before she found out what you do.”

“You mean I’m her experiment?”

“You’re the person who proved everyone else in her life wasn’t so much interested in her. She could never be happy with the life any of them had planned for her. She knew that, so when an avenue out of that life opened, she ran for it. She came here to make her own way, and she found you. Do you understand?”

Eliot nodded.

“And then you almost blew it all with that Berednikov business,” Nate said casually. “Which was so dumb I can’t believe it was really you.”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t know about that?”

“Not many people, kid. That was a disaster from start to finish. I taught you better than that.”

“Will she be happy?”

“A lot of that depends on you, but I think she will. Love changes, Eliot. You have to do the work to change with it. But you’ve never been afraid to get your hands dirty.”

He nodded his understanding again.

“Nate,” he said, hesitating. “I haven’t lied to her, but I haven’t told about…all…”

“The tits and ass? I suspect she’s figured it out on her own by now, don’t you? But what would that do besides ease your conscience?”

“I mean…”

“Say 10 hail marys and stop being Eliot Spencer, the guy who likes too many women. Be Eliot Spencer, the guy who loves his wife. Trust me.”

“Come on, Devil. Let’s go get her.”

Devil ran over the hill without waiting to be told again, skidding to a halt in front of a very surprised Ophelia. He crouched down and laid his ears back, staring at her adoringly while his tail whipped back and forth in doggy ecstasy. She wasn’t fooled; he gave her this same look whenever she got near the refrigerator. Still, it was nice to be appreciated.

“Hey baby,” she cooed, bending forward to stroke his ears. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be spending the day with Eliot herding cows!”

Eliot watched, certain she wouldn’t see him when she looked this way. He would never really believe she wanted to marry him, even after hearing Nate say she chose him over any other life available to her. But he wasn’t fool enough to try to talk her out of it either. For a brief moment, he wished she had wanted a huge wedding with a thousand guests in a castle somewhere; she deserved for everyone to see her just like this. Then he realized what she had been saying all along. It wasn’t that he didn’t listen, it was that he hadn’t heard: she thought weddings were for other people. Not the bride, not the groom. But for their friends, their parents, the gossips, the people who disapproved. Nothing about them, in her opinion, was about the only two people required to be involved. That’s why she had insisted she didn’t want a spectacle, he realized. She wanted a life, not an event. Even 30 years later, the thought would bring tears to his eyes.

He stepped out from where he’d been watching.

“We talked about it,” he said, “and we decided that since he’s the other important man in your life, he should get to be at your wedding too.”

She rose slowly, taking him in with a long appreciative look. He crossed the path to put his arms around her. Carefully, because she looked so much more delicate than she did most of the time. She looked fragile and pale and more beautiful than he ever could have imagined.

“You look amazing,” she breathed. She put her hands on his chest and rested her forehead against his.

“I look like a guy in a suit,” he grinned. “You…I don’t even know what to say, except this: marry me today. Right now. We don’t have to wait.” He glanced over at Devil. “Can we have a minute? Go wait for us where I showed you, okay?”

Devil grinned and gave a happy bark before taking off up the hill.

“Does he know where he’s going?” she watched him bound away.

“Yeah, we talked about it.” He drew her gaze back to him with one finger under her chin. “Be mad about this later, but listen to me right now, okay? I told you a lot of not true things to get you here today. I got a guy waiting. We can get married right now, no crowd, no swans, no nothing. Just you and me, exactly like you wanted. Marry me today, Ophelia.”

“Yes!” she gasped, throwing herself against him. “Right now, Eliot.”

“Let’s go,” he laughed. “Before you change your mind.” They walked over the hill to a little bridge, where Devil waited with Nate Ford, who was now wearing a priest’s collar.

“You’re Catholic?” she asked, surprised to be finding this out now.

“No,” he said. “But neither are you.”

“I can do non-denominational,” Nate offered. “If you’re both ready?”

Ophelia faltered when they got to rings.

“I…I didn’t know,” she stammered.

“I believe your dog has your back,” Nate offered as he reached for a box affixed to the dog’s collar. Devil smiled at them, super happy to help on this very important occasion.

As she might have guessed, Eliot had chosen a flat, non-flashy ring, except for the small green stone at the top. Hers was exactly what she would have picked, given the choice and had she known such a ring existed. It was an emerald cut forest green stone, flanked by two yellow ones. He pulled off her wolf ring and dropped it in his pocket before sliding the new one on her finger.

“We’ll negotiate for it later,” he murmured.

His duties performed, Nate excused himself.

“Congratulations to you both, go with God,” he said. “I have to see to my flock.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said. Eliot nodded in acknowledgement; Sophie was waiting.

They stayed on the bridge a while longer, in each other’s arms, not speaking often.

When the sun started to set, he took her hands in his.

“Ready to go?”

“Where?” she asked.

“Home. The center part is done and furnished and waiting for you. That’s all it needs.”

“Really?” Excitement shone out of her eyes; she was all but bouncing in anticipation.

“Really,” he said.

“Are there like a hundred people there?” she asked with no small amount of trepidation.

“Nope, I swear. I thought I’d take you home, cook you dinner, then teach you how to say “I love you too” in seven languages.”

“Seven?” she giggled.

“That’s how many I know,” he shrugged. “But we can learn some more together if that’s not enough. Do you want to do that?”

“I do,” she answered, then laughed and leaned against him.

“Then let’s go do that. You ready, boy?” Devil barked in agreement then ran for the fence.

After a long kiss, Eliot opened her door and flipped the seat forward. Devil sat down and gave him a disappointed look.

“My dude, that’s her seat. You have to sit in the back, but you can put your face right there on the console and not miss anything, okay?”

Ophelia laughed, then bent down to rub her dog’s ears and press a kiss into the top of his head.

“Go on,” she coaxed. “There’s treats at the house, but we can’t have them until we get there, right?” He turned a doubtful look on her, but she nodded again. With one more look for Eliot, he jumped in and situated himself immediately behind the console. This way he could bark to let them know if anything was wrong, he decided. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but Eliot’s tone had brooked no argument and for once he couldn’t get around Ophelia.

The dog beat them to the front door by a good bit, hopping up and down and woofing in excitement to show Ophelia his new trick.

“Go ahead,” Eliot said. “You can show her.”

Devil leaped onto the pad, which caused the lock to click. Eliot gave her a wink as he turned the knob, a thing the dog had not yet mastered.

“We’re home,” he said, gathering her up.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said even while she put her arms around his neck.

“But I’m gonna,” he insisted. “I checked. I get to. It’s a law or something.”

She had not seen the house in a while; he had found excuses a number of times to keep her out. Finally she had asked if he would rather she not see it until it was finished.

“Yeah,” he said. “I want you to be surprised.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Let me know if you need anything. And don’t say later that I didn’t try to help.”

“I would never.”

Since it was the part where he had expended the most effort (and an insane amount of money), he wanted to show off his kitchen first. She was as enthusiastic as he could have hoped, noticing features and exclaiming over details he had hoped she would see. The tile was Italian, the countertop was imported granite, the stainless steel appliances were pristine. And now that she was in it, Eliot had everything he had ever even thought about wanting in a kitchen. He took off his tie and jacket and hung both on the nearest chair, rolling up his sleeves while she poked into drawers and cabinets. He was reasonably certain she was leaving little fairy-dust fingerprints everywhere, but that was okay. That would make it hers too.

She took in the hanging pots, the glass-front cabinets with her grandmother’s china in them…everything.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” she said. “Do you have everything you wanted?”

“I do,” he grinned. “Come on, let’s see the rest.”

The living room was carpeted in a neutral (but not gray, because she had expressed a preference) and completely dog-proof Berber, with a TV over the fireplace and a long sectional couch which was wired for power and had outlets and ports at regular intervals so they could work if work was necessary. Ophelia had, with great care and a mountain of tact, convinced Eliot that a new chair would not only look better, but wouldn’t cause cancer. He was free, she went on, to keep his chair in his study, which would presumably not be among the public rooms. In aid of this discussion, she found a number of luxurious but less overall beaten replacements for his consideration. He had reluctantly agreed, then realized she had once again been right when he saw the entire arrangement in the living room. Although he considered making her sign a statement saying he could keep his old chair. She had found the coffee table while out exploring with Parker one afternoon; it fit too. There was a large side table by Eliot’s chair that was not only a flat surface suitable for resting books or mugs or anything else he could name, but also a very fancy crate for Devil. It was fitted with a plush dog bed, his favorite toys, and sported a view out every side. Devil already loved it.

The downstairs held a four-car garage on one side and storage on the other. It also held a panic room in case of intruders or really bad weather, but she was so happy and sparkly today that Eliot didn’t mention it right now. Even if it was necessary and a good idea, it would just bring down the mood, which he wouldn’t have done for anything anyone could offer.

The best part was the one he saved for last: their space upstairs. They had their own sitting room (he’d had to look up the name. ‘Extra living room’ didn’t seem right. One of her books had provided the answer) with a loveseat, some comfortable chairs, and an additional fireplace. There were shelves under the windows that already held some of her books and all of his; he knew she would rearrange them later in an order that made more sense to her, but he had picked the ones she reached for most frequently. There was no art yet, because he didn’t want her place to feel empty before she actually moved out of it. But there would be; it was just a question of what she wanted to put here.

Their bathroom was a study in opulence, and her squeak of delight assured Eliot they had done well. She had picked the wall and floor tile and the fixtures. He had picked the copper bathtub that would accommodate up to four people (not that he was into that, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t, but in any case it would comfortably hold the two of them) and the shower large enough for a game of rugby (same), all of which she was seeing for the first time. Every surface with color was the faintest shade of green, which when combined with the scenery through the windows made the whole room look like an outdoor retreat but without the possibility of a raccoon ending up in the tub.

“Close your eyes,” he requested. She hadn’t seen the bedroom in weeks; it had been one of the first places he revoked her access. “Don’t peek,” he warned.

He led her to the middle of the room, then squeezed her hands. “Now you can look.”

“Oh, Eliot, it’s beautiful!”

Their room was a darker shade of green, but with accents of every fall color visible through the window. The bedspread duvet on the dark mahogany king-sized bed was mossy green with highlights of red and yellow. The fluffy rug over the dark hardwood floors was brown, but at Eliot’s request to Sophie it was a fancy brown (his words), with red and copper highlights.

“You really like it?”

“I really love it,” she said. “Everything is perfect.”

“The windows have shades that open and close themselves,” he explained. “It’s some kind of efficiency thing Hardison recommended. But if you want them to do something they’re not doing, there’s a panel by the bed so you can open or close them yourself. And it’ll go black-out dark in here if you want.”

“Did you find this yourself?” she asked, one hand on the end of the bed. Not only was it an antique, it was a high quality one carved a long time ago by someone who was a master. The theme was forest creatures, with incredibly detailed little animals carved everywhere. She could only guess at the cost or the weight. It was, in a word, ornate. She adored it.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But we can get something else if you’d—”

Since there was nothing she’d rather have, she decided finishing that sentence wasn’t in his best interest, so she kissed him instead. He got the idea. He lost track of the time. Eventually, reluctantly, he pulled away, still holding her, but just far enough away that he wouldn’t forget himself.

“I thought of something else you could teach me,” she murmured. It wasn’t that she was trying to break his resolve; she just didn’t know what his resolve was right then, or how precarious it was.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me like that again.”

“Like this?” he asked. For science. And he would swear on that.

“That’s English,” she eventually pointed out. He grinned and kissed her on the cheek.

“I should start dinner,” he said. “It would be bad if you starved to death our first night.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “Can you help me out of this?”

While definitely a direction he wanted to go, he really wanted to make dinner for her first, plus let the dog run around outside for a while so he (the dog) would be tired later.

“Princess,” he started.

“It’s just, I don’t want to spill anything on it,” she clarified. “I’ll put on something else.”

“Not a lot of something else, right?”

“Promise,” she smiled.

He unzipped her carefully, then kissed her bare shoulder and disappeared downstairs to start dinner. If he didn’t leave, he wouldn’t leave. Halfway down the stairs, he wondered whether he had lost his mind, but then Devil barked and looked longingly at the kitchen.

“Right,” he muttered. “Everyone’s hungry.”

She pulled a set of silky shorty pajamas out of a drawer, then found a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. There were two; she took the one she assumed was his then made her way downstairs.

“I forgot to tell you—” she broke off when she saw the wrapped boxes around the table. “All that wasn’t here earlier?”

“It wasn’t,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t think about it a lot. What did you forget to tell me?”

“I don’t have my phone,” she said, just as the text message notification sounded from the table. “Except apparently I do.”

“I asked Sophie to take it,” he said. “I only know what’s in about half of those boxes, so I hope you know what’s in the other half.”

“I suspect I do,” she murmured, glancing at the pile again. “What are you making?”

“Seafood pasta,” he answered. “You want to come taste how it’s going?”

He had put a bar at the end of the island complete with barstools, mostly to keep her from perching on the counter. It didn’t work. He didn’t even feel like complaining; having her watch over his shoulder while he was working was something he’d come to enjoy, even when she was on the counter.

“That’s my robe,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I suspected it might be.” He held out a forkful of salad with his homemade dressing, watching as her eyes closed in pleasure at the taste. “Perfect,” she pronounced.

“I mean,” he continued as he seared some lobster in a pan, “I would be completely within my rights to take it off you. Since it’s mine and all.”

“But to do that, you’d have to abandon your meal right in the middle, and I’m not sure that’s something you can do in good conscience.”

He grabbed the robe in question at the collar, gently pulling her towards him, but not before grabbing the top of a pan to shield her from any spatter.

“Then I reserve the right to do it later,” he answered. She licked him on the lip.

“Noted.”

She fed Devil and washed her hands while he was still dicing vegetables, then let him out.

“Don’t go far,” she warned. “I don’t know what’s out there.”

Devil barked his understanding and raced down the stairs for the yard, which after half an acre gave way to trees and forest again.

“He’ll be okay, right?” she asked, her concern obvious.

“Yeah, the fence is in, and we went down a few days ago to look it over and see how far it goes. He won’t go far, though. Not with you here. He’ll probably be back on the deck before we’re done with dinner.”

“Does he have a dog door anywhere?”

“There’s one downstairs, where he can get in through the garage. That way if he’s out and it starts to rain, he can get in without immediately getting on the carpet. I’d rather he shook off all over my car than all over the living room.” She was still looking out the back door. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Hmmmm? Oh, yeah. I would.”

“That door unlocks the same way: with his pawprints. So something can’t just get in the dog door either.” He had been thinking of a person with ill intent, although he could see she was thinking more along the line of a possum. Or a Parker.

She came back to lean against the counter next to where he was working.

“Is there anything you didn’t think of?”

“Not a thing, Princess. I put every single thing I could think of in here for you.”

He handed her two plates of pasta, which she took to the table. She had also found the table and the chairs; Eliot had pointed out that the chairs did match the table or each other. She had assured him it would still work, and this way they could add chairs as needed without hoping someone continued to manufacture them. Once everything was in place and he saw the design the way she intended, he admitted she was right. He followed her with drinks as she went to get the silverware, before realizing she didn’t know where it was.

“Here,” he said, pulling open a drawer near the dishwasher. “But we can move them if that doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m sure it does,” she said. “What’s in that?”

“Cake,” Eliot answered, tracking her gaze to a round object on the table. “Sophie thought we needed cake too.”

She picked up the lid: a tiny chocolate cake.

“Aren’t you supposed to freeze the top of it or something?” he asked.

“Only if you like year-old frozen cake,” she answered. “Which I have to think most people don’t. But it won’t be a problem, since it’s a tiny cake.”

They thoroughly enjoyed their first meal in their new home, relishing their time alone. Devil, as predicted, let himself in through the garage and came upstairs to settle in the living room while they ate. Eliot had made him promise not to beg in the new house. At least for a while. She cut them both a small slice of cake while Eliot put the seafood he had set aside expressly for Devil in his bowl, which was also new and fancy and up on a stand.

“You definitely can’t have the cake,” Eliot told him. “You’ll get sick and nobody wants that. So don’t ask, okay?”

She was fiddling with her cake more than eating it when he returned to the table. He gestured at the boxes at their feet.

“Do you want to deal with any of this right now?”

It was clear she did not but couldn’t think of a polite way to say it. Finally, she mustered up something.

“I think it would be more fun to look at them tomorrow,” she replied slowly. Eliot thought he could see her feeling her way among the words, then realized how long and probably disorienting the day had been for her. She had started the day not married in her own home and her own bed, and was finishing it married in a completely new place.

“Want me to rinse the dishes off?” she offered instead.

“We have a dishwasher,” he said. “It’s commercial. One of those you can put the whole turkey in and it still cleans the platter. These aren’t a problem. But, no, I don’t want you to rinse the dishes.”

She stood with her plate in her hand, reaching for his too. “I don’t mind helping.”

He stood at that, putting his hands on her face so gently she barely felt them.

“Princess, you’re not washing dishes tonight, so you’ll just have to deal with that, okay?” She nodded her understanding. “But why don’t you go on upstairs. I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher and turn the tv on for Devil, then I’ll be up too.”

He and Devil finished the dishes in record time, then Eliot put the tv on Devil’s favorite DIY channel as he had promised.

“Stay down here,” he said. “Usual deal: pancakes and bacon in the morning. But she’s had a long day and she’s going to want to sleep late. Got it?”

Devil thumped his tail on the carpet and grinned, then got into his crate for a night of watching how-to videos and keeping out bears. He wasn’t completely certain there were bears here, but the possibility was certainly higher than at Ophelia’s.

He thought she was being extremely quiet as he took the stairs two at a time. It happened that she was on the bed, still wearing his robe, with one of their favorite books in her hand. And she was sound asleep.

“Next time I’ll leave the dishes on the table, Princess.”

She barely woke up when he picked her up and flipped the covers back. The sheets were entirely too nice for her to sleep on top of them her first night here. He took off the rest of his clothes and stacked them on the chair before climbing into bed with her.

“Sweet dreams, Dr. Spencer.”