He smiled, a plain friendly smile, no come-on in it, and not the smile of someone who was about to sell you something either. A straightforward, understated, professional New York smile. “You expected my grandfather. He’s retiring. I’ve taken over his clients. He still worked on Violet’s affairs, but I’ve been doing most of it already.”

I accepted that as a reasonable explanation. “Emsley.” A platinum band glinted on his ring finger. Married. Good. I stomped out a few sparks of nascent attraction I didn’t want anyway and relaxed. “Please, come in.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve met Violet a handful of times. She was special among legends.”

Someday, tears would no longer flood my eyes at the mention of her name, but that day was not today. Deep breath.

Bram glanced around. “Are you cleaning the place out yourself? I can recommend some people.”

And then my mother would kill me. “I can handle it.”

I led him into the gallery space, then remembered that the only chairs were in the tiny kitchenette in the back, way too close quarters. I halted awkwardly, midstep.

While I tried to decide whether to show him back there or conclude our business standing—signing papers on his back?—he set his leather shoulder bag next to the staircase, shrugged out of his silk-lined suit jacket, and hung it on the banister. Necktie over that. Next, he unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them up to midforearm.

The unexpected shedding of clothes caught me off guard.

He gestured at the pile of boxes and the open basement door. “You’re in the middle of bringing stuff up. I’ll help.”

I wanted to say I didn’t need help with that either, but my heart leapt at the thought of not having to be alone with the bear.

“Thank you. If you’re sure.”

He went down the stairs in front of me and when he reached the bottom, he high-fived a black paw. “What are you going to do with Tiny Tim?”

The beast? “Try not to dream of him.”

“And the rest?”

“Maybe I could sell the wardrobe to a travel agency. What do trips to Narnia run these days?”

He grinned at me. “Any plans for the carousel?”

“I think a better question is, why did Violet have a carousel?”

“Bought it in pieces a couple of years ago to have it restored. I think she meant to auction it off for charity. It was her last project before…”

I nodded.

He walked to the remaining boxes. His easy manner, his very presence, made the basement more bearable. No pun intended.

“I have a cousin who owns an antique shop in the Hamptons,” he told me. “I’ll give you his number. He knows some eccentric collectors. He’ll be able to help with the wardrobe too. Unless you’re set on the travel agency plan?”