She put them in one of her blue bowls first, found the right spot, the right light. Ripe red berries in a blue glass bowlgood stock photo. Considering, she added more propsnew wineglassesthen put the bowl of berries and the wineglasses on the bamboo tray she’d bought and set it all out on her glider. She took another shot with the pot of pansies in frame.
She wished she had a throw pillowhadn’t bought any yet. Maybe she would then set up this shot again with a colorful pillow in the corner of the
No, better, a woman’s white silk slip or sexy nightgown, draped over the arm of the glider.
She didn’t have that either, and had less use for a slip or a sexy nightgown, but
The oven timer buzzed.
“Crap. I haven’t done the berries.”
She went back to the kitchen work, composing other shots in her head.
The finished torte looked so beautiful, the making of it so satisfying, she convinced herself she’d be fine for a couple of hours with people she actually liked.
“And how the hell am I going to get it from here to there? Didn’t think of that.”
She didn’t have a cake carrier or a torte carrier or any carrier. In the end she lined a shipping box with foil, tented the torte on its white platter, secured it in the box, and, thinking of the dog, taped the lid shut.
She packed it in the fridge, then went up to dress.
Next problem, she realized. What did people wear to Sunday dinner?
Sunday brunch had been the thing in New York. Seth and Harry hosted elaborate Sunday brunches. Dress code had been casual or colorful, or whatever struck your fancy.
She hated to think about clothes, so she didn’t have any to worry about. Eventually she’d send for what was still in New Yorkthe cocktail dresses, the sharp business wear, the artist black. Meanwhile, she had what she had.
The reliable black jeans, a white shirt. After a short debate, she went with the Converse high-tops.
Nobody would care.
She added a red belt to prove she’d given some thought to the whole deal, and remembered to do her makeup.
Anytime after four, she remembered, and as it was now four thirty, she should just go. A couple of hoursthree, topsand she’d be home, in her pajamas, back at her computer.
She loaded the boxed torte onto the floor of the passenger seat and let the dog in the back.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned him when he eyed the box.
Armed with the directions Kevin had given her, she set off.
She made the turns, took a road she’d yet to explore, and found a little neighborhood built around a skinny inlet. Docks speared out with boats moored. Sunfish, sloops, cabin cruisers. She saw a girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve paddling a butter yellow kayak toward the widening channel with such smooth skill she might have been born in one.
Naomi pulled up behind Kevin’s truck and gave Xander’s motorcycle a beady-eyed stare. She should’ve known.
She thought the house charming and decided she should have known that, too, given who lived there. Bold blue trim against weathered cedar shakes, wide windows to bring in the view of the inlet. It stood two stories, with dormers and the enchantment of a widow’s walk.
She immediately wanted one.
Flowering bushes, trees, and bedding plants danced in cheerful profusion and made her think of her own scrabbly, neglected yard.
She’d get to it.
Ordering herself to put on her Be-Sociable Suit, she got out and circled around for the torte and the dog. Tag all but glued himself to her side as she walked the pavered path to the covered front porch.
“It’s not the vet, so buck up.”
Before she could knock, Jenny opened the doorand Tag’s tail wagged in relief and joy at the sight of her.
“I saw you pull up.” Immediately Jenny moved in to hug, hard. “I’m so glad you came! Everyone’s outside running around. It’s almost like summer today.”
“I didn’t realize you lived on the waterand you have a widow’s walk. I had instant house envy.”
“Kevin built it. And half of everything else. Let me take that.” Jenny reached for the box as they stepped into an entranceway cleverly outfitted with a built-in bench and cupboards above, drawers below.
“Sorry about the delivery system. Dessert’s inside.”
“You made something? I thought you’d just get something from the bakery. You’re so busy.”
“I needed to try out my new mixer. I love your house. It’s so you.”
Colorful, cheerful, the bold blue of the trim echoed in a big sink-into-me sofa loaded with patterned pillows. And those were echoed by boldly patterned chairs.
Echoed, Naomi thought, but nothing matching. And everything complementing.
“I like cluttered.”