“I want this lamp in the studio.”
Sonya swiped at her hair, nodded. “I should’ve known that.”
“She’s perfect. I’m doing a book on mermaids.”
“Did I know that?”
“I haven’t started yet. It’s the Monday meeting. An adult book.” She circled the lamp. “Coffee-table, illustrations depicting various lores, various cultures.”
“That’s your wheelhouse.”
“It is. The desk. Oh, oh, oh!” She danced to it.
“It’s going to weigh a ton,” Sonya predicted. “And it’ll take some work to get it down there, considering the L-shape extension.”
“Where there’s a will. It’s gorgeous.” Reverently, Cleo ran a hand over the surface and its leather insert. “I wonder what kind of wood it is.”
“No clue. But drawers for supplies, room for your monitor, and you could use the extension for hand sketching.”
“Well, I want it, and the mermaid. I can bring my own desk chair, it works for me. Same with my desk lamp. I could probably use a small couch, settee, divan. Something curved would be nice, considering the shape of the studio. At least one chair for when my best friend hangs out up there.”
Laughing, she looked around. “God, Sonya, it’s like shopping for free in a fabulous antiques shop.”
A board creaked overhead.
“Attic space,” Sonya murmured.
“I remember—the trunks of clothes and more. Let’s go see.”
Hedging, Sonya slid her hands into her pockets. “It’s pretty chilly up there.”
“I remember from yesterday. I didn’t really get a good look.”
They went up now, and Cleo pointed.
“I wanted a small, curved sofa, and there it is.”
“You know that was covered with a sheet yesterday—and when I went through before that.”
“Well, it’s not covered now, and it’s just right.” Beyond delighted, Cleo circled it. “I love this deep royal blue color. It’s velvet, and look at the hearts carved in the frame. So sweet! It’ll really work in there. A chair, a couple tables, and kaboom, a sitting area, a work area, that view, and room to paint when that mood strikes.”
“Use Collin’s supplies. They’ll go to waste if you don’t. Later on—when it’s not as cold up here—we should go through everything. Take the sheets and tarps off, and go through it all.”
“Then we will.” After one more circle, Cleo nodded. “You know, I think we could get that little sofa down there.”
Sonya studied it. “Won’t know unless we try.”
It proved heavier than it looked, but small enough to maneuver down steps and hallways.
When, a little out of breath, they set it in the curve of windows in the studio, they fist-bumped.
The doorbell bonged.
“Now I know why it’s so freaking loud. Well, let’s go let the manly men in, and hope they’re up for it.”
They went down, opened the door to the two men. And two dogs.
“It’s Mookie!” Since the big blond swished his feathery tail, Sonya crouched down. And was rewarded with more wags and a nuzzle. “And who’s this?”
“That’s Jones,” Owen told her.
Sonya cooed over the scrappy-looking black dog with an eye patch over his left eye.
“What happened to his eye?”
“He lost it in a bar fight with a Doberman.”
Hands busy petting two at once, Sonya looked up. Owen shrugged.
“That’s the story I got.”
“I bet the Doberman got the worst of it.” Cleo stepped back, gestured. “Bring them on in out of the cold.”
“Yes, sorry. Cleo Fabares, Trey Doyle, Owen Poole.”
“Nice to—” Trey broke off. “Mook!”
The dog, already heading into the front parlor, glanced back.
“He tends to make himself at home.”
“Fine with me. Let me get your coats. First, we really appreciate the help, and second, full disclosure. We’ve found more stuff to move.”
Owen handed Sonya his coat. “Got beer?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good.”
“You’re a tough little guy, aren’t you?” Cleo bent to scratch Jones between the ears, along his square jaw. He huffed.
“He doesn’t think of himself as little.”
Giving her hair a toss, Cleo shot Owen a quick, side-eyed smile. “Well, it’s the size of the fight in the dog, isn’t it?”