sensibility. Like many fine Victorians, Cheshire House was roofed in shingles arranged in a decorative pattern. Covering them up with massive shiny solar panels hurt my sensitive feelings—no doubt about that. Other green techniques, such as using sustainable and reclaimed woods and other building materials and incorporating water-saving devices were no problem at all.
“Sorry,” I said after a moment when I realized Graham was waiting for me to say something further. “I was hoping—”
“I wanted to talk to you about—”
We began talking at the same time and then paused, each waiting for the other to finish.
“Everything okay out here?” Matt interrupted, the cameras tailing him loyally.
Relationship, Interrupted . Story of my life.
“So I have to know,” Matt said under his breath a few minutes later. “What’s going on with you and Graham?”
“You don’t have to know anything, and nothing’s going on. Do you want semigloss or high gloss paint on the bathroom woodwork?”
Matt and I were flipping through paint chips, and I was forcing him to decide, once and for all, on the paint schedule. The schedule was a flowchart of what paint type, gloss, and color goes where, which was very useful when painting an entire house. Trim, walls, doors; things like mantelpieces and special transoms—everything needs to be thought out. In Matt’s house I was excited about a wall of silver gilt in the master bedroom that was to be hung with beautifully framed original drawings from an art deco dress-design book. Last month Matt had acquired the antique book from, and paid a nice commission to, my friend and personal costume designer, Stephen.
“Whatever you say. Semi is fine.” Matt dropped his voice again. “So this thing with you and Graham. Is this a past tense situation?”
“No tenses, past, present, or future.”
He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, signaling that he didn’t believe me.
“Could I ask you something, Matt?”
“Anything, pet.”
“If I did have something I didn’t want to talk about, what would possibly make you think I’d say it in front of the cameras?”
“Hmm, I see your point. Boys, why don’t you take a break?” He ordered the cameras away. “Now tell me. What’s going on between you and Graham?”
“Nothing,” I repeated with a smile.
He gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re as bad as Graham. He won’t tell me a bloody thing. The pair of you should be working for the secret service. Mark my words: I’m going to get one or both of you drunk one evening and worm the truth out of you.”
I smiled some more as I filled in details on the paint schedule. Matt and I had met some time ago—his son, Dylan, is a good friend of Caleb’s. But since working together on his house, not to mention our adventure with murder and ghosts, we’d grown closer. He was impulsive, overly dramatic, and a tad self-obsessed—like most celebrities I’d met—but was also profoundly sweet and kind.
His determination to fix me up, however, might strain that relationship.
“Anyway, it’s just as well. I have someone I want to introduce you to. He’s a brilliant fellow—I really think you’ll like him.”
“Why would I like him? I don’t like anybody.”
“You like Graham,” he said with a wicked smile.
“Matt, seriously, keep out of it.”
“And you like me .”
“Your word against mine.”
“I know you like to think of yourself as a loner, but it’s not so.”
I refrained from grunting. Barely.
“Just meet him for a drink tonight.”
“No . ”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re giving a party for my dad’s friend Stan tonight. And besides that, I don’t go on blind dates. Plus, I dealt with a murder this morning. It’s been a long day.”
“You dealt with a what ?”
“It was the neighbor across the street from a job I’m working on.”
Matt looked at me, his blue eyes worried. Unfortunately, he was no stranger to violent death. “Are you
“Sorry,” I said after a moment when I realized Graham was waiting for me to say something further. “I was hoping—”
“I wanted to talk to you about—”
We began talking at the same time and then paused, each waiting for the other to finish.
“Everything okay out here?” Matt interrupted, the cameras tailing him loyally.
Relationship, Interrupted . Story of my life.
“So I have to know,” Matt said under his breath a few minutes later. “What’s going on with you and Graham?”
“You don’t have to know anything, and nothing’s going on. Do you want semigloss or high gloss paint on the bathroom woodwork?”
Matt and I were flipping through paint chips, and I was forcing him to decide, once and for all, on the paint schedule. The schedule was a flowchart of what paint type, gloss, and color goes where, which was very useful when painting an entire house. Trim, walls, doors; things like mantelpieces and special transoms—everything needs to be thought out. In Matt’s house I was excited about a wall of silver gilt in the master bedroom that was to be hung with beautifully framed original drawings from an art deco dress-design book. Last month Matt had acquired the antique book from, and paid a nice commission to, my friend and personal costume designer, Stephen.
“Whatever you say. Semi is fine.” Matt dropped his voice again. “So this thing with you and Graham. Is this a past tense situation?”
“No tenses, past, present, or future.”
He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, signaling that he didn’t believe me.
“Could I ask you something, Matt?”
“Anything, pet.”
“If I did have something I didn’t want to talk about, what would possibly make you think I’d say it in front of the cameras?”
“Hmm, I see your point. Boys, why don’t you take a break?” He ordered the cameras away. “Now tell me. What’s going on between you and Graham?”
“Nothing,” I repeated with a smile.
He gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re as bad as Graham. He won’t tell me a bloody thing. The pair of you should be working for the secret service. Mark my words: I’m going to get one or both of you drunk one evening and worm the truth out of you.”
I smiled some more as I filled in details on the paint schedule. Matt and I had met some time ago—his son, Dylan, is a good friend of Caleb’s. But since working together on his house, not to mention our adventure with murder and ghosts, we’d grown closer. He was impulsive, overly dramatic, and a tad self-obsessed—like most celebrities I’d met—but was also profoundly sweet and kind.
His determination to fix me up, however, might strain that relationship.
“Anyway, it’s just as well. I have someone I want to introduce you to. He’s a brilliant fellow—I really think you’ll like him.”
“Why would I like him? I don’t like anybody.”
“You like Graham,” he said with a wicked smile.
“Matt, seriously, keep out of it.”
“And you like me .”
“Your word against mine.”
“I know you like to think of yourself as a loner, but it’s not so.”
I refrained from grunting. Barely.
“Just meet him for a drink tonight.”
“No . ”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re giving a party for my dad’s friend Stan tonight. And besides that, I don’t go on blind dates. Plus, I dealt with a murder this morning. It’s been a long day.”
“You dealt with a what ?”
“It was the neighbor across the street from a job I’m working on.”
Matt looked at me, his blue eyes worried. Unfortunately, he was no stranger to violent death. “Are you
Similar Books
