Chat - Archer Mayor [61]
He glanced up at the upper apartment, its lights blazing behind the soundless, shifting veil of falling snow. She’d given him her phone number, but he hadn’t called ahead. For reasons he didn’t ponder, he’d merely used the number to cross-index her address on the office computer and driven the one block from the municipal building.
Joe walked up the central path, already softened by the new snow, and climbed the broad porch steps to the front door. That led to a heated, well-lighted lobby with a carpeted staircase, which he climbed to the second-floor landing and an age-darkened oak door.
He pushed the doorbell near the knob and waited, a small part of him hoping no one would be home.
His reaction to hearing her footsteps approaching was hardly disappointment, however. As the knob turned and the door opened, he felt his heart beating as fast as a teenager’s.
She smiled up at his slightly reddened face. “There’s a sight for sore eyes.”
His color darkened further. “Same for me.”
She leaned in and brushed his lips fleetingly with her own, a gesture combining friendship with intimacy while overstating neither. “Would you like to come in?”
“Is that okay? I know I should’ve called.”
She took his hand and tugged at it. “It’s a pleasure. Plus,” she added, looking at him over her shoulder as she led the way through what might once have served as a dining room, “I need a break. I’ve been spending so much time at the bar, getting ready, that I’m still living out of boxes here. It’s a drag to be unpacking no matter where I am.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. The room looked like a shipping depot, with cardboard boxes alternating with loose bundles of crinkled newspaper and bubble wrap, piled up in almost every nook and cranny.
“Impressive,” he said softly, half to himself.
But she heard him. She laughed, still walking toward the front of the large apartment. “It is bad, but you’ll find out why in a second. There’s method to my madness—at least, I hope so.”
They reached the far wall of the cluttered room, and Lyn slid open a pair of double pocket doors to what turned out to be a spacious living room.
“This is why I took the place, even though the rent was more than I wanted.”
It was a beautiful room, with hardwood floors and detailed window frames, a coffered ceiling, elaborate moldings, and gleaming antique fixtures. Along the narrow wall, under an intricate mantel, was a built-in wood stove with glass doors, currently alive with a robust fire. The warmth of it all, both physical and psychological, surrounded them both in an embrace.
“Holy smokes,” he said, looking around, reaching out to stroke the hardwood door frame beside him. “It’s like a museum.”
She groaned good-naturedly. “Yeah—of the wrong century, since all my junk is a museum to the eighties.”
He saw her point. The setting was deserving of antique knickknacks, overstuffed English furniture, and framed oil paintings. Her belongings, though attractive and comfortable-looking, clearly harkened to a different era.
“Maybe,” he didn’t argue, “but it’s not like you have beanbags and cinder-block shelves.”
In fact, she’d done wonders. With all packing materials banished to the room they’d just left, the furniture and rugs had been more or less permanently placed, over half the hangings were already on the walls, and even a few stand-arounds had been distributed along windowsills and shelves.
“You’ve made it feel like a home,” he told her honestly.
Her smile broadened. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. It kind of works.” She waved with a flourish at an oversize armchair near the fire. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Or maybe some tea?”
He hesitated, embarrassed that he’d come by unannounced and caused a commotion, but he yielded to her obvious good mood. “Sure. Tea would be great.”
“Deal,” she said. “Sit there. The kitchen’s still a wreck, so it’s better I go there alone. Be back in a sec.