photograph and accompanying citation were among his few treasures. “You won a city-wide photography contest,” she said. “You were in high school.” When she turned to him he was struck again by the blue-gray eyes. Like her scent, the first impression was coolness, and then you caught the heat behind the cool facade.
“Yes, but that’s not the point. Check out the picture. And read the caption.”
An absurdly young version of himself in a sports jacket—one of half a dozen times in his life he’d ever worn anything formal—his grandmother and his mom stood in a little trio, him holding his winning photograph—a bear cub sitting on top of a Dumpster eating an apple. It wasn’t much of a big event in a person’s life but to him that award had signaled the beginning of a career. Becoming a photojournalist had given him freedom, adventure, life on the road and a reasonable salary.
She read aloud. “‘Robert Klassen, fifteen, wins for his photograph, An Apple a Day, while his mother, Emily Klassen, and his grandmother, Agnes Neeson, look on.”
He pointed to his young self. “That’s me and that’s my grandmother.”
Her expression softened in a smile. “It’s a great photograph. And you were a very cute teenager.” She closed the folder and handed it back to him.
“Are you satisfied now that I am who I say I am?”
She turned her head and he was struck once more by the impact of those in-between-blue-and-gray eyes. “You pretty much had me when you opened the Chinese-puzzle-box window seat.”
“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” He was, too. Apart from being a little high-strung, she seemed like a nice woman. “Thing is, I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to sell the place. And if I do I’ll want to choose my own Realtor.”
Her nostrils flared at that. “Do you have a relationship with a Realtor in Seattle?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, let me tell you, I am an extremely competent Realtor with excellent references. I think the MacDonalds were a real possibility.”
“They seemed freaked out that my grandmother died in her bed.”
She slammed her hands to her hips. Perfectly manicured hands, no wedding ring. “She didn’t. Your grandmother, as I’m sure you know, passed away in hospital.”
A shaft of pain stabbed him. Grief, he supposed. He tried to ignore it. “Not the point. If you’d known my grandmother you’d have wanted her spirit to stay in the house.” Maybe that was why he had such a heavy feeling when he thought of other people occupying this place. To him she was still here. “People who are scared of ghosts, they wouldn’t be my kind of people or my grandmother’s.” He knew he was overtired and would soon feel more like his old self; until then though he really had to get a grip. And probably stop talking before he made a fool of himself.
The woman smiled at him. “It’s hard to let go when we’ve loved someone,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” As trite as her words sound, they were sincere.
“Were you close?”
“Oh, yeah. She pretty much raised me.” He couldn’t imagine what would have happened to him if he’d been left with his mother. His grandmother had not only raised him; she’d saved him. Given him a chance to make something of his life.
When Hailey looked at him, he felt as though she could see inside him. It was the weirdest feeling and he knew she felt it, too, from how she took an instinctive step back toward the door. It was as if they both became aware at the same moment that they were alone together in a bedroom—even if the spread was covered in little yellow duckies. He could have sworn the temperature zoomed up a few degrees.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.
That’s when he became convinced she really could read his mind. “I would get on my knees and beg for a cup.”
A genuine smile tilted her lips. Finally. “No need to beg. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He thought about asking her to bring the coffee up but knew she’d get the wrong impression. Thing was, stairs were the hardest for him to navigate. For some reason, which he could not identify, he didn’t want this woman to see him limping. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll make some later.”
“I’d like a cup anyway. And besides, I do want to talk to you.”
HAILEY GAVE HERSELF a pep talk as she prepared coffee. Stay confident, she reminded herself as she poured freshly ground beans into a French press. Be positive. Luckily she’d stocked up on coffee the day before, even had fresh milk in the refrigerator, so it wasn’t long before her favorite scent in the world filled the bright kitchen.
She heard a noise behind her and turned to find Robert Klassen in the kitchen. He was taller than she’d first imagined and upright he was more commanding and definitely more sexy.
“Have a seat,” she said brightly, pointing to the oak chairs at the kitchen table that she and Julia had decided to keep.
“Thanks.” He seemed to hesitate, then moved forward. Slowly. Stiffly. When he went to sit down, he leaned on the table and lowered himself slowly into a chair.
She turned away, busying herself with coffee so he wouldn’t think she was staring.
“Do you take milk and sugar?”
“No. Black.”
She brought coffees to the table and sat opposite him. According to her electronic planner she had thirty-five minutes until she had to be at the office for the weekly meeting and pep talk. She was determined to use the time to save her listing.
He sipped coffee. Seemed to savor every drop.
“You like your coffee,” she said, somewhat amused.
“When you live the way I do, you don’t take things like coffee or a good meal for granted. Even clean water is a luxury.” He sipped again, caught her gaze and then said, “I got shot. That’s why I’m limping. It’s no big deal, but I need to rest up for a few weeks.”
“Shot? I thought you were a photographer.” She wished she’d listened more closely.
“I’m a photojournalist. I work for World Week.”
World Week was one of the top news magazines in the country, covering international affairs, finance, politics and the arts. “Wow. That must be fascinating.”
“It is. Obviously the nature of my job requires me to cover war zones, famines, devastation both natural and human made. As you can imagine there isn’t a Starbucks on every corner.”
She sipped her own coffee, for once stopping to enjoy the flavor. How often did she even really taste her morning brew? But, with only thirty-four minutes left, she couldn’t waste time savoring coffee. She had work to do.
“Do you have a wife and family?”
The question obviously startled him. He nearly choked on his coffee. “No.”
