Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(66)

The second time she’d seen him had been seven months ago, in late November, at Granddad’s funeral. He’d stood a distance away then, as well.

Now he was here. Whoever he was. And he was asking if Matthew Blaine had survived his faithlessness.

“I’m Nicholas Lawton.”

This—he—was Nicholas Lawton? Elizabeth knew of him, of course. Three years ago, he’d been the talk, and worry, of the MacKenzie clan. Granddad had been wanting to remodel Gram’s kitchen. Her “small” business, The Apple Butter Ladies, was becoming a force to be reckoned with.

Clara and her friend and business partner, Eve, needed more space not only for the batches of apple butter the marketplace was beginning to demand, but for the support staff that processed orders, packaged the jars, unloaded the crates of apples delivered from nearby orchards, and shipped off the cartons of apple butter.

Granddad knew what the new kitchen needed to be. His years as owner and manager of MacKenzie’s Market had made him a wizard at designing flow patterns conducive to happy shoppers. And workers. His sketches for Clara’s new kitchen were based on sitting in the midst of the Apple Butter Ladies’ operation during its busiest time of year—from harvest through the holidays. He’d observed the near-collisions, the conversations that took place over shoulders, not face-to-face, and other obstacles to what should have been as enjoyable and productive as a quilting bee.

The changes were major. Walls would have to be moved. The bids he’d gotten had been pricier than he’d imagined. But the cost hadn’t been the primary sticking point. The contractors didn’t “get” his vision. They’d suggested modifications Charles had known wouldn’t work. The idea of spending hard-earned money for the privilege of arguing over the placement of every cupboard and countertop wasn’t something Charles was eager to do.

He would, though, if he had to. For Clara.

He was on the verge of accepting a bid when, out of the blue, a man named Nicholas Lawton arrived in town. A “handyman,” Charles reported to his family. Who, he assured his concerned children—and grandchildren—was fully capable of handling the entire renovation. “Nick can do anything,” Clara cheerfully added…which alarmed the family all the more. Who was this stranger who’d bewitched Gram and Granddad so completely?

Two of Elizabeth’s six cousins, all of whom were male, made an immediate surprise visit to the farmhouse. No one was going to take advantage of their grandparents.

But they’d liked Nick. Proclaimed him to be a “great guy.” The assessment was affirmed within months by two additional cousins and, over time, by the entire family. Not that everyone met Nick. But they saw Gram’s kitchen and, after Granddad’s stroke, the railings Nick installed.

They heard, too, the affection for Nick in their grandparents’ voices. Gram’s fondness was easy and familiar. Her emotions were always effortlessly conveyed. With the exception of his family, however, Granddad had been reserved. But there was emotion in Charles’s voice when he talked about Nick. It was different from what one heard for his sons and grandsons. But no less important, or impassioned.

Like the rest of her family, Elizabeth spoke highly of Nicholas Lawton, and was grateful for Nicholas Lawton, although—as it happened—every time she was in town, he was involved with projects elsewhere and unable to drop by.

She’d be meeting him this summer, Gram had said. At the farmhouse. Assuming, of course, that Nick hadn’t finished the painting he planned to do before Elizabeth’s visit in late July.

Elizabeth knew very little about painting houses. But she felt certain she and Nick would meet. Ten years ago, when then-mayor Clara MacKenzie decided the “mayorly” thing to do in honor of Sarah’s Orchard’s centennial celebration would be to return James and Sarah Keeling’s farmhouse to its original teal and white, the painters Granddad hired were at it for three months.

There’d been a team of painters then, not a solitary one. And their task, to cover cream with teal, had to be far easier than what Nick would face when he did the reverse, restoring Charles and Clara’s farmhouse to the colors it had been ever since it had served as a beacon to welcome a soldier home.

“You’re going to paint the house.”

“I am.”

“Inside and out,” Clara said.

“Inside, too?”

“Why not?” Nick asked.

“It needs to be spiffed up, Nick says, all except the kitchen. We’ve been discussing color schemes,” Clara murmured, “Nick has all sorts of options and he wants me to decide. He says he’s showing up at dawn tomorrow with a zillion paint chips. I can’t make such decisions. Now that you’re here, Elizabeth, I won’t have to.”

“You don’t want me choosing colors!”

“Of course I do. But—and here’s what I was going to do—just agree with whatever Nick thinks will look best. He’s the artist.”

“Hardly,” Nick said. “I look forward to your input, Elizabeth.” He untied the daisy-print apron he wore. “Now, I think I’ll leave you ladies alone.”

“Why don’t you take my car?” Clara asked. “It’s pouring.”

Nick didn’t glance outside. “I’m fine.” He looked at Elizabeth. “What time’s good for you tomorrow?”