“Just goes to show you how little you know about women,” Niri pointed out.

Maggie was laughing now.

“Hey, now! Let’s not do any damage to the fine opinion Maggie’s been building of me.”

“Then I definitely won’t tell you that Sy once bet two of his friends he could pee on an electric fence longer than they could,” Nirina said to Maggie.

“Nirina Angela, if you want that very expensive designer crib you’ve been not-so-subtly hinting about since you peed on that stick, you better find some nicer stories about me real fast,” he warned her.

“Forget everything I said,” she announced, eyes dancing. “Just think of Silas here as Mr. Right.”

21

21

Silas packed Maggie’s newfound treasures into the backseat of his truck while Nirina and Kayla waved them off. Maggie had managed to talk herself out of the bed, but only just, and she was already having regrets. Suddenly the thought of another night in the creaky cot seemed unbearable.

“If you’re still thinking about that bed, we’re going right back in there, Mags,” Silas said, sliding behind the wheel.

“No. There’s no reason for me to splurge on a bed like that. The cot is fine.”

“Fine?” he scoffed. “What in life is supposed to be fine? That bed makes your cot look like a slab of busted-up concrete.”

She wasn’t going to admit that that wasn’t too far off from how it felt to sleep on the cot.

“I have to be practical. Staging is the last step before listing the property. There’s no point in me getting a gorgeous piece of furniture just for me to—”

“What? Use? Sleep in? Have sex with a tall, very smart landscaper in? I find your self-sacrificing deprivation downright depraved.”

She smirked. “You would. In comparison, you’re practically a hedonist.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, darlin’.”

True to his word, he bought them both coffees at the café. When they came back out, the rain had slowed to a lazy drizzle, leaving the streets and sidewalk shiny. Silas maneuvered the pickup down the block to a cross street and turned right.

“So who’s this mysterious source of yours? Are you sure he’s going to know something about the coin?”

“Oh, I’m sure. If anyone knows anything, it’ll be him. He’s a cranky old guy.”

Uh-oh. Wait. Odds were there was more than one cranky old guy in town.

“A widower. He volunteered for the historical society. I think he even worked at the Old Campbell Place when it was a museum. He’s got an apartment in the senior living place at the end of town.”

Maggie cleared her throat. “Does he also wear his pants up to his armpits and hate people who buy old houses to renovate them?”

“You know Wallace?”