know I don’t. But I’m betting you don’t have any tape.”
“No, but I can find another box.”
“No need.” He went to his car, opened the trunk and rummaged through his toolbox. “Okay, we’re in business.” He held up a roll of tape and a pair of shears.
She held the pieces of cardboard together while he taped them. Their fingers tangled in the process, sending him an unexpected rush of heat. He shot her a glance. She was looking down, but he could swear her cheeks were pink.
When the box was mended, he helped her replace the contents. “Remy has quite a collection of fancy little dishes,” he commented.
“These are my...my mother’s.”
The catch in her voice made him wince, and he fell silent. When they finished packing, he taped the lid shut and added the container to the others in her car’s backseat.
“Is this all?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “I wish. No, there’s more in the storage locker. I’m looking at another load, at least.”
“Maybe not, if I help you.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” She vigorously shook her head and then frowned. “Don’t you have to go to your shop?”
“John’s there. Best assistant I ever had.”
“Still, no. I can manage.” She folded her arms and stood with feet planted apart.
“Is that the door to the basement?” He pointed.
“Yes, but—”
“We’ll have you and the boxes back to Riverview in no time.” He headed toward the door.
She ran to catch up. “Why are you doing this?”
“Lacey, don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? Let’s just get the job done.”
“You always were kinda bossy.”
“Huh! So were you, as I recall.”
They managed to load all the boxes into their vehicles and were soon on the road to Riverview. As he followed Lacey’s white Camaro along the highway, he experienced a wave of guilt. His offer to help was an honest one, but at the same time, he also hoped to see Remy Whitfield. Not just see her; talk to her. He went over in his mind what he would say. Since working for his grandfather, he’d had plenty of experience sealing the deal. He might not especially like working in the investment property field, but he was good at it.
* * *
LACEY PULLED UP to the service entrance at Riverview with Rory’s truck right behind her. She jumped from the car and went back to him. “Some of the boxes need to go to Gram’s apartment and the rest to her basement storage unit.”
“Just tell me which is which.”
She found a hand truck, and they sorted the boxes, transferring those to the basement first. “I can take the ones to her apartment,” she told him.
“I got ’em.” He kept a firm grip on the hand truck. “You lead the way.”
“But—”
He waved her on ahead of him.
Okay, she’d stop him at the door to the apartment.
But when they reached the door and she opened it, he swept by her, pushing the truck inside.
“That you, Lacey?” her grandmother called from the apartment’s interior.
“Yes, it’s me.” She followed on Rory’s heels, unable to squeeze ahead of him in the kitchenette’s close quarters.
“Rory Dalton? Is that you?” she heard her grandmother exclaim.
“Yes, it is, Mrs. Whitfield.”
Lacey finally reached the living room. Her grandmother sat in her wheelchair staring at Rory. “What are you doing here?”
Surprisingly, Gram’s voice held more curiosity than the anger Lacey expected.
Rory propped his foot on one of the truck’s wheels. “I just happened to be passing by your old apartment and saw Lacey loading up in the parking lot and stopped to help.”
Gram slowly shook her head. “You always were the helper. Why, just last week, I was on the shopping bus, and I saw you take Agnes Crawley’s arm and walk her across Main Street.”
Rory grinned. “Aggie’d just given up her crutches after a broken ankle, and she wasn’t too steady yet. But where do you want these?”
Gram looked around. “Ah, over in that corner.” She pointed to a space near the bedroom door.
Lacey helped Rory unload the boxes. The sooner they completed the task, the sooner he could leave.
“So, how’re you doing, Mrs. Whitfield?” he asked when the last container had been stowed away.
“Pretty good. But I’ll be a lot better when I can walk again.”
“I hear you on that.”
“Well, thanks for your help today, Rory,” Lacey said stiffly. “You can put the hand truck back by the door on your way out.”
“Now, wait, Lacey.” Gram held up a hand. “Least we can do is offer Rory a cup of tea.”
Rory shook his head. “No tea, thanks, but I’d go for a glass of cold water. That sun’s blazing today.”
Gram turned to Lacey. “There’s a pitcher of water in the fridge.”
Lacey tried to catch Rory’s eye to glare at him, but he was gazing around the apartment. She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“Sit,” Gram told Rory, pointing to an overstuffed chair across from her.
Rory sat, leaning back, settling in. He gazed around. “Nice place you got here.”
“I like it,” Gram said. “What’re you up to these days?”
“My car shop. Working for A.J.”
Lacey returned to the living room with the glass of water and handed it to Rory. When he looked up, she got in her glare. He seemed not to notice, smiling as he accepted the water. “Thanks so much.” He took a long swallow. “Ah, that hits the spot.”
“Would you like something, Gram?” Lacey asked.
Gram shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Had tea a while ago with my next-door neighbor.”
No one said anything. Lacey shifted from one foot to the other. Gram smoothed her skirt. Rory drank his water.
Then
