“There’s bleach under the counter,” he said, going to get a roll of paper towels from the pantry. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

“Oh, God, Clark, you don’t have to clean this up, it’s my mess. I’ll take care of it.” I took the paper towels from his hands and grabbed the bleach. It was right where he said it was. He really had been here a lot in the last few weeks. “I got the bid from the last contractor, you want to get it? It’s on the mantel. Could we look through it together?” I asked, bending down to spray some bleach. “That way instead of sending me texts about things you don’t want done you can just tell me to my face, and then I’ll yell back at you in person. Sound good?” I wiped up the last bit of shoe mess and threw everything into a plastic bag, tying it off to go out to the trash.

When I turned around though, he was still standing there. Looking at me. With an indecipherable expression on his face.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Hmm?”

“You look like you’ve got something to say. What’s up?” I asked, washing my hands, then turning to lean against the sink. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“You look like a goldfish, Clark, out with it,” I teased, and he turned bright red.

“Just forget it,” he said, walking toward the door.

“Hey, wait, where are you going? Aren’t you going to look at the bid?” I asked, reaching out to stop him. I grabbed his arm, and he glanced down at my hand.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to ride bareback, Vivian?”

“Huh?”

“Bareback. On a horse. Ring any bells?” he asked, frowning now.

“Oh! Bareback! Right. Um, well, I’m sure we won’t actually—”

“Because it’s very dangerous. Especially for someone who hasn’t done any riding in a while. Things like that should be taken slow. And steady. And not rushed.”

I could hear the old grandfather clock ticking in the dining room. I could smell the briny ocean air. I could feel the nubby texture of the tweed in Clark’s jacket, rough yet soft under my fingertips. And I could see his eyes behind those eyeglasses, dark chocolate swirled through with gold and green. Patient. Kind. Waiting?

His hand reached up to cover mine, then lifted it from his arm. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

He picked up his briefcase and his scones, and pushed open the door.

 “Wait! Clark!” He turned around. “Don’t you want to, you know, um . . . see the bid?”

The right corner of his mouth lifted in a secretive smile. “I trust you’ll pick the right one.” He left.

As I packed, the house felt really big for some reason.

The next morning, I left for Philadelphia.

Chapter eleven

The five-hour plane ride gave me a lot of time to think, to read, and then think some more. Excited as I was to see my family, I missed Mendocino within five minutes of putt-putting around that last bend in the road and leaving it behind.

I did not at all miss the tiniest rental car in America, turning it in at SFO. With any luck, when I got back to Mendocino I’d have the Blue Bomber 2.0 to toot about town in.

I read through the proposal my father had sent while I was on the plane, it was a good offer. I’d saved my own money over the last few years, sure, but this would really set me up for a while. I’d called the last contractor before I’d left, accepted his bid, and he’d be able to start working soon after I returned.

I was still puzzling over why Clark didn’t go through the bid with me. I imagined that once the work began he’d start back up with his fussing and mussing, but until then, I was going to focus on what I did have control over. The sale of my company, the packing of my apartment, the selling of my car.

I settled back, reclining my seat as far as it would go.

My mom and dad picked me up at the airport, showered me with hugs and kisses, and then immediately took me home to feed me. I wasn’t even allowed to go to my apartment first. It was to my mother’s dining room table, where all my favorite foods were on display. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, and a huge bowl of peas. “Peas for color” my mother always used to say, a phrase she’d appropriated from my grandmother, who always felt there should always be a little green on each place.

I enjoyed it all, and was tucking into my second piece of big, luscious double-chocolate cake with cocoa buttercream frosting when my father poured me a cup of coffee and sat down beside me, sweeping away crumbs with his fingertips. This signaled the serious conversation portion of our dinner.

“So, you read the proposal, I take it?” he asked, and I nodded through a mouthful of chocolate.

“And?”

“And,” I said, pausing to swallow, “everything looks really good. A few things here and there that I’d like to tweak, but essentially? You’ve got yourself a deal.”

My mother burst into tears at her end of the table. “It’s so silly to cry. It’s not like I didn’t know this was going to happen, it just . . . seems so final now. You’re really moving.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

“Mom, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll see. Give me some time to get the house in order and then you can come out and play, okay?”

“But you’ll be so far away!” she wailed.

“Gee, if only there was a way you could fly out there—like, on a plane? To visit?” I said, making a show of puzzling over this predicament. Was I teasing her? Oh my yes, it was the only way to get her to stop crying. And sure enough . . .

“Don’t sass your mother, Vivvie, I know very well that I can come out for a visit. But it isn’t the same, and you know it.” She was pointing at me now, and when that finger went out, a lecture was sure to follow.

“I know you said that you have a friend who will help you with the decorating, but there’s no reason at all why you should be spending that kind of money when I can come out to help you. You’ll see, I’ll have that place shipshape in no time.”

Right on schedule with the lecture . . .

“And another thing, this Clark character. I don’t like him giving you so much trouble. It’s your home and you should do with it as you please. The idea that he would—”

“Ma.”

“—have the nerve to tell you what you can and can’t—”

“Ma! Clark is under control. You don’t think I can handle a librarian?”