By Design by Jayne Denker Page B

back to being angry. And disgusted. And hurt. She looked away with what she hoped was an icy snub.
    “Professor Cooper?”
    All eyes turned to Avery. Oh, for the love of . . . Emmie groaned inwardly. What fresh hell is this?
    Graham brightened in recognition. “Avery! Good to see you!”
    They shook hands, and Avery explained to Emmie and Juliet, “I took a course in historic architecture from Professor Cooper at JCC last year.”
    “Small world,” Emmie murmured.
    He said to Graham, “That was a great class—I learned a lot.”
    “Thank you, Avery. That’s nice of you to say. But I’m not a professor,” he was quick to add for Juliet’s and Emmie’s benefit. “Just an adjunct instructor. One class a semester, when I have time.”
    Juliet bubbled, “Graham is a won derful architect. He’s doing some work for me, in fact. I just bought a shop, and it needs a lot of TLC. It’s right over there.” She indicated a dark storefront down the block. “We were just taking a look around the place and thought we’d stop by the festival and warm up a bit. I can’t help it—I have a thing for candied nuts.”
    As if to corroborate Juliet’s story, Graham dolefully held up a tiny, white paper bag from the candy shop and shook it a few times so the nuts rattled around inside. He looked for all the world like a melancholy lapdog. Serves him right, Emmie thought, although a faint twinge of pity stirred deep down inside her.
    “Congratulations on the new business,” Avery said politely. “What kind is it going to be?”
    “A florist shop,” Juliet informed him, then exclaimed, “You two should come see it!” And she pulled out the keys from her jacket pocket.
    “Oh . . .” Emmie started shaking her head a little too vehemently. “Nnooo, I don’t think—that is, we have to—er . . .”
    “It’ll only take a minute. Emmie, I really want to get your thoughts about the space. I’m hoping that once Graham has done his part, you could take care of the design elements—you know, like we discussed?”
    Emmie started to protest anew, but Juliet wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She grabbed Emmie’s arm and practically pulled her down the block and across the street.
     
    It seemed colder inside the vacant shop than outside on the street. Emmie could feel the icy chill of the linoleum floor seeping up through the soles of her boots. She looked around at the shadowed space: high ceilings, cupboards, a dilapidated counter. A doorway in the far wall revealed a hall that stretched straight back, dissolving into darkness.
    Avery wandered around and gazed appreciatively up at the tin ceiling, just visible in the light from the streetlamps. Emmie stayed where she was, near the front windows. Juliet took her elbow and pulled her farther in.
    “Take a look over here,” she said as she hauled Emmie across the room. “It’s the original counter. Not in the greatest shape, but I thought maybe we could do something to bring it back.”
    Emmie tried to focus on the woodwork while wondering if she could get away with bolting from Juliet a third time. She doubted it.
    “I just love the dark sage green on the front—was it the original color, do you think?”
    Emmie tried to collect her thoughts and respond without sounding like an idiot, even though the last thing in the world she wanted to do was talk turn-of-the-century design elements with Juliet in this cold, dark, echoing space. “Uh . . . no, I don’t think so. If this counter was made from high-quality hardwood, it would have been shellacked, not painted. I can’t really tell what kind of wood this might be—I’ll know better when I see it in daylight—”
    Emmie gave herself a virtual dope slap. Had she just agreed to be Juliet’s designer? It seemed Juliet assumed as much. She got the feeling the woman did this a lot—acted as though you wanted what she wanted, and voilà—instant compliance from everyone in her orbit. Emmie wondered if that was how