Isabella toward the stairs. He ushered his daughter out onto the landing then slipped past her and down a few steps before turning and gathering her into his arms. She laid her precious red head on his shoulders. Laying his cheek against those bright curls, he thought of his late wife, Eve, and the old familiar ache of loss filled him. If their daughter could have known Eve for even a little while, she’d give up her matchmaking ways, but the imp had never known her mother.
After carrying his daughter down the stairs, he nodded at Ann Mars, who scampered across the street in her bedroom slippers and housedress, the coil of her long white hair sliding to and fro atop her head. The tiny, bent old woman had to be eighty if she was a day, and as far as Tate knew, she had never married. If she had family, he was unaware of them. Stepping up onto the curb, she crossed the sidewalk to greet Lily.
Tate made the introduction. “Miss Mars, Lily Farnsworth. Lily, Miss Ann Mars, SOS Committee member and your neighbor.”
“So happy to meet you!” Miss Mars exclaimed, bending far backward to get a good look at the newcomer. “You’re aptly named for a florist.”
Lily smiled and pushed her glasses up. “I guess I am, at that.”
Miss Mars stuck her nose to the window of Lily’s shop, asking, “What are in those big boxes in there?”
“Glass shelving.”
“You’ll have to put it together, I expect,” Tate stated, and Lily nodded. “You have the tools for it and everything?”
She blinked behind those round glasses. “Uh, not exactly.”
Not exactly. Tate shook his head. He supposed he’d better show up tomorrow morning prepared to get those shelves together for her.
“I have to get my girl home to bed,” he said, carrying his daughter to the truck.
Lily called out her thanks as he belted Isabella into her seat. Already thinking about what he would need to bring with him in the morning, he shut the truck door, walked around and got in behind the wheel. He’d be more comfortable about the whole thing if Lily Farnsworth looked less like a fetching, ballet-dancing librarian and more like Miss Ann Mars, but Tate was not one to shirk his responsibilities, no matter how much he might want to.
* * *
Looking up from the half-finished shelving unit the next morning, Lily tilted back her head to peer through her glasses and the thick beveled glass insert of her shop door. She’d already hung a little brass bell over the heavy green door, and it tinkled pleasantly, evoking a smile even before she recognized Tate’s tall, muscular figure. He carried a heavy, somewhat battered metal toolbox at his side. Pushing back the bill of his faded red cap, he stared down at her, his frown at odds with the dimples in his cheeks.
“How’d you get that together without tools?”
She lifted a screwdriver with one hand and a pair of pliers with the other, wishing she’d worn jeans instead of baggy leggings and a cute top instead of this shapeless, oversize T-shirt. Then again, when was she ever really at her best?
“Miss Ann had a few things out back of her shop. We dug around out there after breakfast, although I have to tell you, I think she knows exactly where to find every item in the place.”
“Huh.” He set down the heavy toolbox and parked his hands at his belt, brown to match his round-toed boots.
“Where’s Isabella?” Lily asked, getting up off the floor and dusting off her behind with both hands, though earlier she’d swept the finely refinished wood floor with a broom that she’d picked up at the This ‘N’ That.
“With my folks.”
“Ah.” Not with her mother then.
He glanced around at the spring green walls. The short wall in the back had been painted a rich scarlet. He pointed at the unpainted counter. “You didn’t specify what color you wanted that, so the contractor just left some cans of paint in the back.”
“I’m thinking lavender,” she told him, “with the logo and name of the
After carrying his daughter down the stairs, he nodded at Ann Mars, who scampered across the street in her bedroom slippers and housedress, the coil of her long white hair sliding to and fro atop her head. The tiny, bent old woman had to be eighty if she was a day, and as far as Tate knew, she had never married. If she had family, he was unaware of them. Stepping up onto the curb, she crossed the sidewalk to greet Lily.
Tate made the introduction. “Miss Mars, Lily Farnsworth. Lily, Miss Ann Mars, SOS Committee member and your neighbor.”
“So happy to meet you!” Miss Mars exclaimed, bending far backward to get a good look at the newcomer. “You’re aptly named for a florist.”
Lily smiled and pushed her glasses up. “I guess I am, at that.”
Miss Mars stuck her nose to the window of Lily’s shop, asking, “What are in those big boxes in there?”
“Glass shelving.”
“You’ll have to put it together, I expect,” Tate stated, and Lily nodded. “You have the tools for it and everything?”
She blinked behind those round glasses. “Uh, not exactly.”
Not exactly. Tate shook his head. He supposed he’d better show up tomorrow morning prepared to get those shelves together for her.
“I have to get my girl home to bed,” he said, carrying his daughter to the truck.
Lily called out her thanks as he belted Isabella into her seat. Already thinking about what he would need to bring with him in the morning, he shut the truck door, walked around and got in behind the wheel. He’d be more comfortable about the whole thing if Lily Farnsworth looked less like a fetching, ballet-dancing librarian and more like Miss Ann Mars, but Tate was not one to shirk his responsibilities, no matter how much he might want to.
* * *
Looking up from the half-finished shelving unit the next morning, Lily tilted back her head to peer through her glasses and the thick beveled glass insert of her shop door. She’d already hung a little brass bell over the heavy green door, and it tinkled pleasantly, evoking a smile even before she recognized Tate’s tall, muscular figure. He carried a heavy, somewhat battered metal toolbox at his side. Pushing back the bill of his faded red cap, he stared down at her, his frown at odds with the dimples in his cheeks.
“How’d you get that together without tools?”
She lifted a screwdriver with one hand and a pair of pliers with the other, wishing she’d worn jeans instead of baggy leggings and a cute top instead of this shapeless, oversize T-shirt. Then again, when was she ever really at her best?
“Miss Ann had a few things out back of her shop. We dug around out there after breakfast, although I have to tell you, I think she knows exactly where to find every item in the place.”
“Huh.” He set down the heavy toolbox and parked his hands at his belt, brown to match his round-toed boots.
“Where’s Isabella?” Lily asked, getting up off the floor and dusting off her behind with both hands, though earlier she’d swept the finely refinished wood floor with a broom that she’d picked up at the This ‘N’ That.
“With my folks.”
“Ah.” Not with her mother then.
He glanced around at the spring green walls. The short wall in the back had been painted a rich scarlet. He pointed at the unpainted counter. “You didn’t specify what color you wanted that, so the contractor just left some cans of paint in the back.”
“I’m thinking lavender,” she told him, “with the logo and name of the