Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe I’ve never been in town long enough to meet your dog.” Jay shook his head in disbelief. “What’s his name again?”
“It’s Buzzy. Buzzy, this is Jay.”
He glanced at the dog and then back at Erin. “You call your dog Buzzy?”
“His name’s Boswell. Buzzy for short.”
“Ah. Boswell, after the guy who wrote The Life of Samuel Johnson?”
Erin blinked. Nobody ever got that. She swallowed and then nodded. Then she had to ask, “Have you read The Life of Samuel Johnson?”
“Of course,” he said, looking a little incredulous. “He’s a fascinating character. I’ll admit I haven’t read all of Johnson’s works—the dictionary, for instance—but his Rasselas was brilliant.”
Erin needed to sit down. Who even was this man?
Jay was clearly a reader. Funny he never shared that with others. She’d always thought he was such an oversharer, but now she wondered if he only overshared things he didn’t mind people knowing in order to hide things that he kept private.
Maybe Erin had been unfair. She’d made so many assumptions about him because he wore slick suits and was, in fact, a brilliant agent. He just went overboard sometimes by being tough and never taking no for an answer when he wanted something for his clients.
Fortunately, he didn’t leave her any more time to dwell as he guided them through the house. As she looked around on this third visit, she saw that more items had been delivered and arranged. How many people, from interior decorators to movers, had been involved to make this move so quick and so smooth? Just a few days since he’d received the keys and he was already perfectly at home. So many people who moved to Carmel-by-the-Sea hired an agency that furnished the place for them in an identifiable Carmel Beach style, but his pieces looked as though he’d picked them out personally, or at least accompanied the designer when they’d chosen everything. She spotted a Tessa Taylor-Davenport painting—one of the sea scenes for which she was becoming justifiably famous—hanging in the hallway.
Jay opened the door to the study and said, “I thought this would be a good place to be interviewed. If I need to reference anything, it’s all at my fingertips.”
She nodded, pleased to find herself in such a businesslike environment after a night worrying about how to be professional. But she melted when Jay excused himself for a moment and then returned with a bowl of water for the dog.
“Is it okay if I give him a treat?” He held up a pack of organic dog treats that Erin recognized from one of the many exclusive pet shops in Carmel.
She nodded and then said, “You have treats? You don’t even have a dog.”
Jay laughed. “I know. But everyone else in Carmel seems to have one. I see them walking on the beach. Plus, I’ve never seen so many stores catering to dogs. I had to go in and buy some locally made, organic, vegan dog treats.” A wry smile played around his lips.
Erin knew he was making fun of her hometown, but it was gentle, maybe even teasing. She smiled back. There were a lot of vegan dog treats sold in town.
“Besides,” he went on, “I really do love dogs. I’d get one if I was ever in one place long enough. But, as it is, I get to enjoy dogs like yours. Right, Buzzy?” he said in an entirely different tone, rubbing the dog’s head, who nodded, his tongue hanging out blissfully, and then daintily accepted the offered treat. Buzzy curled up on the floor, delighted. Erin smiled. Her dog was a great judge of character, and she felt soothed that he was immediately drawn to Jay.
Jay said, “Before we start, can I get your advice on something? It’s about home decorating.”
She laughed. “Mila’s way better at this stuff than I am, but sure.”
“I think I just need a second opinion. Something’s not feeling right.”
Buzzy, who’d made himself instantly at home, curled up for a nap, so she left him in the study and followed Jay out to the garden, which was a beautiful, enclosed space. It felt more like a French or Italian courtyard garden than a place adjacent to the ocean. There were roses and irises growing, and a wrought-iron bench next to a splashing fountain. He pointed to a gorgeous, sinuous sculpture sitting on a column under an arch of roses.
“Is that a Barbara Hepworth?” Erin might not be the artist that her sister-in-law was, but she knew the famous Cornish sculptor’s work. She couldn’t even imagine what Jay must have paid for an original Hepworth. But she kept that thought to herself.
“It is,” he said, sounding pleased that she knew the artist. “I can’t find the right space for it.” He carried the piece around and set it near the bench, near the roses, dead in the center, talking all the while about how he would have a proper base made and how Barbara Hepworth’s work was so organic and worked so well outside.