But then she heard footsteps and smiled, taking her hands out of her pockets as he opened his door. He was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt, looking sort of rumpled and forgetful, as if perpetually wondering where time went.

“Hi,” she said after he stared at her a few moments, confused. “I’m Sydney Waverley, from next door.”

He finally smiled. “Oh, right. I remember.”

“I thought I’d come by and say hello.” His eyes drifted behind her, then to her side. He finally stuck his head out the door and looked over to the Waverley house. Sydney knew what he was doing, and she wondered how Claire had managed to make this guy so smitten. Maybe he had a thing for control freaks. “Claire’s not with me.”

He looked chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Please, come in.”

She’d been in the house a few times when she was young, when old lady Sanderson lived there. A lot had been done to the place. It was brighter, and it smelled a lot better. Old lady Sanderson had been feline friendly. There was a nice red couch and some comfortable chairs in the living room, but they were placed oddly, like that was where the movers had set them. There were rows and rows of unframed paintings propped against the walls, and cardboard boxes were everywhere. “I didn’t realize you’d just moved in.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “About a month ago. I’ve been meaning to unpack. I was just painting in the kitchen. What time is it?”

“A little after five. What color are you painting the kitchen?”

He shook his head and laughed. “No, no. I paint in the kitchen. That’s where my easel is set up.”

“Oh, you’re a painter painter.”

“I teach art at Orion.” He moved some newspapers from a chair and set them on the floor. “Sit, please.”

“How long have you been in Bascom?” she asked as she went to the chair.

“About a year.” He looked around for another place to sit, running his hand through his hair again, pushing it off his forehead.

“You know, I could trim your hair, if you want me to.”

He turned to her with that chagrined look again. “I keep forgetting to get it cut. You could do it?”

“You’re looking at a bona fide beauty-school graduate.”

“Okay. Sure. Thank you.” He moved a box off the couch and sat. “I’m glad you came by. I don’t really know any of my neighbors yet. Well, except maybe Mrs. Kranowski, who seems to spend half her day chasing her dog, Edward, around the neighborhood.”

“I remember Mrs. Kranowski. What is she, one hundred years old now?”

“And surprisingly fast on her feet.”

Sydney laughed and congratulated herself. This was a good idea. “I’ll bring my case over tomorrow to give you that trim. Do you mind if my daughter comes along?”

“Not at all.”

Sydney studied him a moment. “So, you like my sister.”