The Obsession(57)

“Kevin built it. And half of everything else. Let me take that.” Jenny reached for the box as they stepped into an entranceway cleverly outfitted with a built-in bench and cupboards above, drawers below.

“Sorry about the delivery system. Dessert’s inside.”

“You made something? I thought you’d just get something from the bakery. You’re so busy.”

“I needed to try out my new mixer. I love your house. It’s so you.”

Colorful, cheerful, the bold blue of the trim echoed in a big sink-into-me sofa loaded with patterned pillows. And those were echoed by boldly patterned chairs.

Echoed, Naomi thought, but nothing matching. And everything complementing.

“I like cluttered.”

“It’s not cluttered. It’s clever and happy.”

“I really like you. Come on back to the kitchen. I’m dying to see what’s in this box.”

The kitchen showed Kevin’s hand and Jenny’s style. It followed the open floor plan with a lounge/play area, more comfortable seating, and the man-size flat wall screen.

Jenny set the box on the long, wide white granite peninsula and tore at the tape.

Naomi glanced toward the dining area, the painted blue table, the mix and match of green chairs with flowered cushions. “I love the dining room—did you paint the furniture?”

“I did. I wanted color—and easy maintenance.”

“It’s happy, again, and I really love the chandelier.”

Distressed iron strips formed a large ball with clear, round bulbs inside.

“Me, too, thanks. Kevin found it on one of his job sites—it was some sort of decoration. He brought it home, I fixed it up, he rewired it.”

“Handy couple—and I’m getting so many ideas.”

“I’m going to get you a glass of wine in just a minute,” Jenny promised, “but— Oh my God, you made this?”

“I can’t make a chandelier, but I can make a strawberry torte.”

Almost reverently, Jenny lifted the torte from the box. “It looks like something out of Martha Stewart. I’d ask for the recipe, but I already know it’s beyond me. And it’s going to put my lasagna to shame.”

“I love lasagna.”

“Mostly with two kids and a part-time job, I toss meals together. So Sunday dinner’s the day I actually try to cook, take time with it. Shiraz all right?”

“Yes, it’s great. I almost talked myself out of coming.”

Jenny glanced away from the torte she’d set in the center of the prep counter—like a centerpiece. “Why?”

“I’m easier alone than with people. But I’m glad I came, even if just to see your house.”

With a humming sound, Jenny poured Naomi a glass of wine, then picked up her own. “I should tell you, then, I’ve decided we’re going to be really good friends, and I’m just relentless.”

“I haven’t had a really good friend in a long time. I’m out of practice.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Jenny wrist-flicked that away. “I’ve got the skills. Why don’t I show you my workshop? I’ve got your desk stripped down.”

They went through a laundry room and straight into a space full of tables, chairs, shelves, workbenches. Though both windows stood open, Naomi caught the scents of paint thinner, linseed oil, polish.

“I keep picking things up,” Jenny explained. “It’s a sickness. Then I fix them up and talk my boss at Treasures and Trinkets into taking them on consignment. She’ll use pieces for display, and if they don’t sell, I haul them down to this co-op in Shelton. If they don’t sell there, I haul them back. I’m getting some work from people who want a piece redone or fixed up, but most is Dumpster diving, I guess.”

Naomi gestured to a three-tiered piecrust table. “You didn’t get that out of a Dumpster.”

“Job site again. The lady sold it to Kevin for ten dollars—it was broken, the top tier snapped clean off. So he fixed it—you can’t even tell it was broken. And I’m—”

“I want it. When you’ve refinished it, I’ll buy it.”

Thrown off rhythm, Jenny blinked. “You think fast.”

“It’s just the sort of thing I want. I’m looking to mix a lot of old pieces, character pieces, through the house. This is perfect.”

“I should have you over more often. Will you barter for it?”

“You’ve already got the torte.”

“I mean, would you trade me a picture for it and the work on the desk? You’ve got this one on your website, and I keep seeing it over our little fireplace in the living room in a white—shabby-chic white—frame. It’s sunset, and oh, the sky is just full of red and gold and going to indigo blue, and the trees are reflected on the water. And there’s a white boat—sailboat—in the sound. It makes me think that’s what heaven could be. Sailing in a white boat on the water into the red and golds.”

“I know the one you mean, but it doesn’t seem fair—two pieces for one.”

“I know what your work goes for. And I know what mine goes for. I’m getting the better deal.”

“Depends on where you’re standing. Done—but I frame it. Tell me what size you want.”