Why Not Tonight (Happily Inc. #3)(65)

“Let’s make it a maybe.”

“I’m hoping for door handles or hinges.”

“Why?”

She looked at him. “Because I have a feeling. I think they’d work well and the material could withstand the weather. Ronan, seriously, you have to be willing to use your imagination.”

“Okay, door hinges and handles. Got it.”

She eyed him. “Don’t just go buy them. It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Hey, would I do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit it. They found a clock face that was missing several numbers. Natalie picked it up and hugged it as if it were golden treasure.

“This is going to work really well,” she told him. “We’re off to a great start.”

“You like doing this, don’t you?”

“Sure. It’s fun. You never know what you’re going to find. Even if there isn’t a lot of stuff for the bridge project, I may find something for my next art piece. I’m in flower mode right now but that could change.”

She picked up an old pie tin and he wasn’t the least bit surprised when she slipped it into her basket. He took the basket from her.

“Let me carry that for you, pretty lady.”

She flashed him a smile. “Thank you. Isn’t this fun? My mom and I used to do this all the time when I was a kid. We’d go to flea markets and church bazaars. Oh, and library sales. It made the teachers at school go totally insane when she would start ripping up the picture books for art projects. In the end, she had to tear them up at home so the teachers wouldn’t get upset.”

“I didn’t know your mom was a teacher.”

Natalie looked at him, obviously confused. “She wasn’t. She was an artist. Why would you think she was a teacher?”

Now it was his turn to not know what they were talking about. “You said the teachers got upset when she ripped up books for an art project. Why was she at school if she wasn’t a teacher?”

Natalie’s expression cleared. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t explain that well, did I? My mom was kind of well-known in our little community. She volunteered at the elementary school. She came in once a month and taught an art class to two or three different grades. She loved doing it.”

“You enjoyed having her with you at school,” he guessed.

“I did. I got to show her off and all my friends were impressed. My mom always said that art was an important way to expand the mind. It wasn’t about ability but being able to think in different ways. To have tangible proof that there are dozens of ways to solve a single problem.”

She rushed forward. “Look! Forks.”

Sure enough, there was a pile of battered forks. Each of them had at least one tine missing. Ronan would have passed them over but Natalie sorted through them and chose five that she carefully put in the basket.

“I can’t believe all the great stuff they have here,” she said happily.

“Me, either.”

She poked his arm. “You’re lying and we all know it, but I don’t care what you think. This is fun.”

He looked at her. “It’s fun for me, too.”

Being with her, listening to her talk. He didn’t care about junk except that she wanted it. But what she’d said about art was interesting. He wondered if they were still able to teach it in schools or if money was too tight. Were there still art teachers? He was a part of the local community now. Shouldn’t he know stuff like that?

They continued to examine every object—or rather Natalie examined and he dutifully held the basket. She found three broken license plates that she had to have, the back of a metal chair and two sprinkler heads.

“Treasures, every one,” he said as they walked to the exit.

“Mock me all you want, but you’ll see.”

She paused to put five dollars in a can by the doorway. Above it a sign said Donations Welcome.

Natalie looked at him. “I can’t just take it. I can’t. So I always leave something.”

Of course she did, he thought as he pulled a twenty from his jeans pocket and surreptitiously dropped it in the can as he went by. Natalie couldn’t possibly take without giving back. Even from a room where everything was free.

What she’d said about art in schools had stuck in his head and refused to budge. He reminded himself that he didn’t have anywhere near the time to teach art to a bunch of kids, and even if he did, he had no idea if anyone would be interested in him helping. And if they were, he had neither the skills nor the experience to design an art project that a bunch of eight-year-olds would enjoy or learn from. He should just write a check and be done with it. Only he couldn’t help thinking writing a check might not always be the answer.

*

“I’M RENEE.”

Natalie shook hands with the petite redhead and did her best not to feel intimidated. There was something about Pallas’s new assistant that made her feel instantly inadequate, not to mention slightly out of place and badly dressed.

Maybe it was the fact that Renee was, well, perfect. Her dark red hair hung perfectly straight down her back; her thick bangs were perfectly even. The black suit was professional, well fitted and conservative, as if designed not to draw attention. Even her patent leather pumps were polished, contemporary and had a killer five-inch heel. In a word—perfect.