On her tablet below, the music stopped, then started again with what she recognized as The Byrds’ “Turn! Turn! Turn! （To Everything There Is a Season）” because her father had often played it and, to her, other ancient records on his old turntable in his studio.
“I guess that suits the moment,” she muttered.
But more to the point, she could make room in the cabinet, set up her printer, her letterhead, a ream of paper.
Of course, that meant hauling the printer—and its considerable weight—up those curving steps. So that could wait, as much as it pained her to admit, until she had someone with more muscle and a strong back to carry it up.
By early afternoon, she’d done all she could do both personal and professional office–wise.
Time for a break, she thought, and debated grabbing something to eat or cleaning up a bit more and venturing down to the village.
Before she could decide, a trio of bongs all but boomed up the stairs. By the time her heart stopped jumping and she realized it had to be the doorbell, they sounded again.
“Okay, Jesus!” Hoping it was Trey or John Dee—muscles, strong backs—she jogged downstairs to answer.
A woman with a varicolored knit cap over short black hair stood on gorgeous knee-high boots in the portico. She held a cake carrier.
“Hi! I’m Anna. Anna Doyle. Welcome to Poole’s Bay.”
“Oh, thanks.” She should’ve noted the resemblance, but the eyes were more blue-gray, the face more heart shaped. “Come in.”
“I hope you’re not working. Trey said you’d probably be working or setting up your work area.”
“I just finished setting up. Or enough.”
“This is for you. Coffee cake. I bake when I’m thinking.”
“I eat when I’m thinking. Can I take your coat?” The fabulous red suede coat.
“If you don’t mind me pushing in for a few minutes.”
“I don’t. At all.”
Anna handed over the coat, the hat, and the amazing scarf of butter-soft wool.
Beneath she wore a winter-white tunic and chocolate leggings that set off the boots Sonya wanted for her own.
Tall and leanly built like her brother, with a short, sleek cap of black hair and flawless skin, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
“Are you settling in?” Anna asked as Sonya took the coat to the closet to hang. “It’s such a spectacular house.”
“I’m making headway.”
And needed to make friends and contacts, she thought.
“Why don’t we take this cake back to the kitchen and try it out? I’ll make coffee.”
“I’d love to—if you could make that tea for me. I’ve had my one miserly cup of coffee today.” She laid a hand on her belly as they walked. “That’s all we’re allowed.”
“Oh. Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks. We’re thrilled. I’ve hit my second trimester, and got the all clear. So other than my family, my husband Seth’s family, and a few select friends, you’re the first to know.”
She paused outside the office. “Trey said the painting’s your father’s work.”
“It is.”
“I’ve always loved it. I’m so sorry Collin and your father never had a chance to be brothers.”
“So am I. I was just thinking they’d have liked each other. They had a lot in common, I’m finding out. My friend calls it twin synergy. I think I saw tea in here.”
Anna gestured to a cabinet. “I helped Mom stock you up. Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. I appreciate all your family’s done to make this easy on me.”
“Can’t be easy.” Anna opened the cupboard, selected a tea from what Sonya noted were half a dozen choices. “Finding out you had an uncle, and finding out the way you did. Relocating, adjusting to a place like this.”
She filled a copper kettle as she spoke, obviously at home.
“We were Collin’s family, so we want to do what we can. We hope you’ll stay, first because he did.”
She got out two dessert plates, a cake knife, forks.
“And next because my dad and my brother both liked you. I thought I’d take a chance and drop by, see if I did.”
If Cleo asked for three words to describe Anna Doyle, Sonya would have said fresh, free, and gorgeous.
“How am I doing?”
“You asked me in. That’s a good start.”
“I asked you in even though you look like a glossy ad for casual chic, and I’m in old sweats. I should get more points.”