Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and saw a you have a sec text from Kip.
She smiled as she called him.
“I was just thinking about you,” she said when he picked up.
“That’s good.” He chuckled. “I wasn’t sure if you were back from your charter.”
“About a half hour ago. I’m locking up tonight, so I’m waiting for the rest of the boats to come in. I should be done in about an hour.”
“Good. Can’t wait to see you.” He paused. “My mom called.”
Harlow ignored a sinking sensation. “Okay.”
“She’s upset about how things went at the club. She wants to have you over for dinner. Not to talk about it,” he added hastily. “Just to have a nice evening together.”
Harlow liked Kip’s parents well enough, she supposed. They never spent much time over there. While she mostly wanted to refuse, she not only knew that wasn’t an option, she thought maybe this would be a good time to learn more about Kip’s childhood.
“We can do that,” she told him. “Ask her what I can bring. She shouldn’t have to cook dinner on her own.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” she lied. “Please let her know I’m not the least bit upset about her reaction to the club. In fact, I appreciate it. Getting married there would be a lot of money. Maybe we should look at other venues.”
“I’ll let her know. Thanks, Harlow. You’re being great.”
“Because I love you,” she said, her voice teasing. “See you in a bit.”
She hung up just as Austin walked into her office, looking more than a little grumpy.
“We’re back,” he told her. “I’m going to clean up the boat, then I’ll clock out.”
“Bad trip?”
“No. It was fine. Just a bunch of men fishing. They want to drink beers, lie about how successful they are, and catch fish. Easy duty.” He glanced down the hall. “Dad and I were supposed to talk tonight when I got back.”
“He took off about a half hour ago. I’m locking up.” She walked over to Austin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had an appointment.”
“He keeps blowing me off. I have stuff I want to talk to him about.”
Austin was uncharacteristically intense as he spoke.
“Can I help?”
“No. Thanks for the offer, but this is between me and Dad.” His mouth twisted. “This is the third time he’s either not shown up or told me he was too busy. I miss Mom. She listens.”
Harlow nodded. “She does, and I miss her, too.”
“Then text her.”
“I should. I will.”
“Liar.”
“It’s hard to give in when we had a fight.”
“You mean it’s hard to admit you were wrong.” His mouth curved up. “You were the wrongest.”
“I’m not going there.”
He laughed. “Harlow the Harpy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Harp, harp, harpy.”
She pointed to the front door. “Go clean up your boat. I’ll inspect it in twenty minutes.”
He grabbed her in a neck lock, kissed the top of her head, then released her. She watched him go, grateful that at least one relationship in her life was uncomplicated. Now if only she could find a second one that was equally easy, she would consider herself very, very lucky.
* * *
Mason told himself that anticipation was good. It made life interesting and gave people things to look forward to. Expectations were different—especially unrealistic ones, which his would be, if he was dumb enough to have any. The chance to explore the house with Robyn was plenty. Spending time with her was going to be fun. Whatever he felt when she was close was his business and his problem. But damn, there was something about her.
He stood by the rear staircase, where she’d told him to meet her. He was three minutes early because being on time was the same as being late in his mind—a characteristic neither of his wives had appreciated. He was prepared to wait all day. But about thirty seconds before the hour, Robyn appeared on the landing.
She smiled when she saw him—an easy, welcoming smile. Friendly. He smiled back, taking in the long blond hair, the big blue eyes and the way just looking at her was a kick to the gut…and the groin.
“Hi,” she said as she approached. “Are you excited about our house tour?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night.”
She laughed, a sweet, happy sound he couldn’t get enough of. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“You’re right. I’m a good sleeper. Years of training. Get it while you can.”
“It’s an admirable superpower,” she teased. “Come on. Let’s head upstairs. I thought we’d start on the fourth floor. This is the only staircase to that part of the house. It’s smaller than the other levels because it only covers the northeast section. Interestingly, you can’t get to the roof from it. You have to use one of the other staircases and go up through the third floor.”
“Nothing about this house surprises me.”
She laughed. “I’m happy to tell you that you are in for many surprises today.”
They went up to the fourth floor. Each staircase narrowed progressively, with the final one barely three feet wide.
“You wouldn’t want to bring a king-sized bed up here,” he said when they reached a small landing with a hallway heading off in each direction.
“I agree, and yet there are some very large pieces of furniture on this floor.” She started toward the left. “I think they used ropes to pull it up from outside. Although the windows aren’t that big, either.”
The narrow hallway lacked the high ceilings of the other floors. There were closed doors and empty built-in shelves. If the house was haunted, it all happened up here, he thought.
The hardwood floors looked like they hadn’t been walked on very much. She led the way to the end of the hallway and opened an unassuming-looking door.
“Prepare to be amazed.”
He stepped into a huge room with soaring ceilings and tall windows on two sides. The walls were painted with old-fashioned tableaus of exotic locations. Display cases held dozens and dozens of globes. Small, large, plain, enameled, bejeweled. Large tables were covered with piles of maps. Bins held rolled maps. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands of maps. Many looked old and hand drawn while a few were more contemporary.
He turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. When he glanced up, he saw constellations painted on the ceiling, along with the points of a compass. He looked at Robyn.
“I don’t know what to say.”
She smiled. “Told you. We refer to this as the map room, but it really needs a better name.” She motioned to a bookshelf in the corner. It was crammed with books of different sizes. No, he thought, walking closer. Not books.
“Journals?” he asked.
“Yes. Handwritten travel journals. It’s all very random. Some are detailed. Some barely say anything. A few have wonderful drawings. It’s as if someone went around the world and bought up old travel journals, then brought them all here.”