Coming in from the patio, she squinted into the dark of the cottage, bumping her shin on a coffee table that seemed to be in the way no matter where she put it. Cursing, she half hopped to the front door, pulling it open just as the person on the other side started to knock again.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, bending to rub her shin.
Henry grinned. “It is me. Are you all right?”
“Sorry. I’m glad you’re here, it’s just that I gave myself a knock on the coffee table,” she said.
“Coffee tables are the most vicious of all the furniture. They have a tendency to leap out at you when you least expect it.”
She gave a little laugh. “Something like that.” She spotted a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Are those your grandmother’s sketchbooks?”
He patted the bag. “Guilty as charged. Can I come in for a moment?”
“Sorry. Yes.”
He looked around as he walked into the entryway. “I haven’t been in here since Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan sold Bow Cottage. It’s looking good.”
“It’s just a rental, so I took it as is.” She glanced at his shirt, which read Lou Rawls in Coca-Cola font. “Who is Lou Rawls?”
“Try ‘Stormy Monday’ or ‘Love Is a Hurtin’ Thing.’？”
Two more for the playlist. “We’re in the back garden. Do you want a beer?”
“I wouldn’t say no to one. Who’s ‘we’？”
“Charlie. Best friend and right-hand man. He was my first hire at Turning Back Thyme.”
“Sounds like a good friend to have.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without him,” she said. And it was true. If Charlie ever told her he was moving on, she’d be happy for him and devastated in equal parts.
They stopped in the kitchen long enough for her to pull a beer out of the fridge, pop the top, and hand it to him.
“We have company,” she called to Charlie as she stepped out of the French doors. “Charlie, this is Henry Jones. He’s got Highbury House Farm, right next door to the Wilcoxes.”
“I think you filled in for me at a pub quiz. Nice to meet you in person, mate,” said Henry.
“What brings you over this way?” Charlie asked. The way he relaxed back into his chair might have fooled most, but Emma knew him too well. He was on high alert, scoping out the man. She scowled, and Charlie smirked.
“Emma thought I might have some things that would be useful for her research. Nan was here during the war,” said Henry.
“Oh, you’re the one with the sketches,” said Charlie, glancing at Henry’s shirt as though something had just dawned on him. He swigged the last of his beer and stood. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, then.”
“You don’t have to go,” she said.
Charlie smiled. “I know. Let me know what you find out, hey?”
After Charlie said his goodbyes, she glanced back at Henry.
“I always wondered what a gardener’s garden would look like,” he said.
She cringed at the patchy grass and the few drab shrubs. “It’s a rental, so I haven’t done anything with it.”
He nodded. “It must be strange being away from your home base for so long.”
“I don’t have one. Once a job is wrapping up and I’m getting ready to transition it over to a team of regular gardeners for maintenance, I’ve usually lined up my next job and am looking for a new place to live.”
“That’s nomadic,” he said.
She shrugged. “I haven’t really had a reason to stay in one place.”
He raised a brow. “What if someone gave you a reason?”
The word “yes” started to form on her lips, but she stopped it before it could be more than an idea. Yes to what exactly? Flirtation was all well and good, but what else could there be with a man she hardly knew?
She cleared her throat and gestured toward the bag. “The sketchbooks?”
“The sketchbooks. There are three.” He dragged his chair closer to hers, and she tried to ignore his heat invading her space as he pulled the sketchbooks out. “The paper’s not great quality.”
“There was a paper ration on during the war.”
“History A levels?” he asked.
“And spending too much time around archivists.”
“Well, you might be happy to know that Nan dated her sketches.” He opened the cover of one of the books. “Like in the bottom right-hand corner here.”