Final Score. Nancy Warren

to pound and he moved infinitesimally closer.

      The shrill ringing of the phone brought her back to reality faster than a plunge into cold water. She backed away fast. “I should get that.” She tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture she’d had since grade school.

      His eyes tilted at the corners in wry amusement, maybe some disappointment. “You should.” Then he turned back to his task of removing whimsical ’50s mermaids from her walls and she ran to answer her landline.

      “Hey, Dylan?” she yelled to him from the kitchen.

      “Yeah?”

      “The floor tile’s in. I’m going to pick it up.”

      “Okay. Need a hand?”

      Well, she did and she didn’t. She figured the guys at the warehouse could schlep the tiles into her car and Dylan could help her unload them when she got back. Which gave her an hour or so out on the road on her own to talk some sense into herself.

      Besides, there was something so unsexy about a tile warehouse, maybe it would be the decorating equivalent of the cold shower she really needed right now.

      “No. That’s okay. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

      There was a tiny pause. “No. I’m good.” She heard him bang into something and swear, then he yelled, “Oh, no, wait. Can you get me some three-quarter-inch finishing nails?”

      “Three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

      “Yeah. And then I’m good.”

      No, you’re not. You’re bad. Badbadbadbadbad!

      While she was heading to the warehouse, her cell phone rang. She answered on her Bluetooth. “Hello?”

      “Hey, Cassie. It’s Serena. What are you up to?”

      “Going to pick up floor tiles, you?”

      “Escaping to the gym. Adam decided he needed to install some sort of flashing over the window. A great deal of noise was involved.”

      “Yeah, Dylan’s pulling my bathroom apart. Noise, dust—” Sexual temptation of the hottest kind.

      “Don’t you miss those Saturdays when you could go for brunch and maybe do a little shopping? Get your nails done?”

      “Not only can I barely remember those days, I can’t even afford them anymore. Everybody said a house was a good investment, but all I ever do is dump more money into it.”

      “I know. When I signed up for a Lowe’s credit card I knew my days at the spa were over.”

      Since Serena was a very successful corporate coach with a bestselling leadership book, Cassie doubted this was completely true, but she appreciated the sympathy anyway.

      “Did you find your chandelier yet?”

      “Haven’t even looked.”

      “I was in this little hole-in-the-wall antique and secondhand store and I found one that, to me, looks perfect. It’s not too far past the tile warehouse. I’ll grab a quick workout while you pick up your tiles and meet you there if you like.”

      “Oh,” Cassie squealed. “Chandeliers are so much more interesting than three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

      “That is so true.” Serena gave her the directions and they agreed to meet at the store in an hour.

      When she’d finished getting the tiles loaded into her car, she had time to get the finishing nails. Boring.

      The paint store was beside the hardware place, so she pulled out her credit card one more time. The back of her car was fairly loaded by the time she’d finished, but she definitely had a chandelier-size space left.

      Definitely.

      And she knew Serena had excellent taste, so her hopes were high.

      They faltered a little when Cassie found her way to Murphy’s Antiques and Secondhand Finds. The store was in a plaza with a secondhand sports-equipment outlet and some kind of automotive place.

      Nevertheless, she pushed her way into the store. A bell rang, and when she took a step inside she knew Serena hadn’t steered her wrong. This was a store to browse in. Junk and treasure were jumbled together—old toys, clothing and books, Depression glass to Irish crystal to sterling silver and old tobacco tins. The lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling. An enormous brass wagon wheel with black lamps would have looked at home in the Munsters’ house, and there were stained-glass lamps and a bright orange midcentury modern globe and—oh, that had to be it. A small chandelier, delicate and twinkly when the door opened and the breeze shivered through the crystals.

      “What do you think?” Serena asked, coming up behind her.

      Cassie turned to her and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

      “I knew it.”

      “But it’s on hold.” She pointed at the big tag hanging from the fixture.

      “I had them put it on hold. For you.”

      “Ha. Fantastic.”

      “How can I help you ladies?” a balding man with a large stomach hanging over his belt asked them.

      “We’ll take this chandelier,” Serena said.

      “Wait. How much is it?”

      Serena put a hand on her arm. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

      “No. You can’t.”

      “I was going to buy it, but then I thought how awful if you hated it. There is nothing worse than being stuck with a gift you don’t like. So I dragged you out of your way to approve of my taste before I made a fool of myself.”

      “As if you could.”

      Cassie hugged her friend quickly, knowing that Serena was as pleased to be giving her the chandelier as she was to receive it.

      “I’m going to start painting the bedroom as soon as I get home,” she said. “I’ll make Dylan stop work on the bathroom and help me. I can’t wait to get that room in shape. It’s going to be so beautiful.”

      “The whole house is going to be beautiful. You wait.”

      While the store owner boxed the light up for them, they browsed, picking through old farm tools and vinyl records, a tray of pocket watches and boxes of linens. “My grandmother always used to smell like Joy,” she said, picking up an old bottle of the French perfume. The bottle was empty, but there was an echo of scent that reminded her of her mother’s mom, a wonderful woman who played piano and baked the best pies.

      “My grandmother smelled like this,” Serena said, picking up an old can with “Player’s Tobacco” written on it.

      They had such different backgrounds it was amazing they’d become friends. Serena rarely talked about her past, but through passing comments like this one, Cassie knew it had been rough. Serena had dragged herself up from the gutter to become one of the most successful women in Cassie’s circle, while Cassie had two parents who loved her, were still married and still called each other sweetheart. How did she get so lucky?

      Of course, Serena was getting married to one of the best men on the planet, while Cassie had celebrated her thirtieth birthday still single. Her present to herself had been a three-bedroom house she’d have trouble filling.

      Unless she took in a lot more stray cats.

      5

      THEY CARRIED THE chandelier out to the car, fitting it nicely in the space Cassie had set aside. Then Serena said, “Max is flying in to play hockey with the boys on Monday night. He’s bringing Claire with him.”

      “Oh, the famous Claire.”

      “Yes. The bush pilot.