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and I got you caramel-vanilla. But if you don’t want it—”
    She grabbed the waffle cone and took a small nip. “Oh.”
    â€œI take that as a yes.” He ate some of his and glanced around. “Nice house.”
    â€œCome in,” she said, her mind still on the caramel-vanilla.
    He stepped inside, and Vanessa realized no one had been invited inside this house in a long time. Shame and embarrassment hit at her with the same freezing intensity as the ice cream sliding down her throat. The built-in cabinets on each side of the enormous fireplace were true to the Craftsman style of the house. But the shelves were practically groaning with old books and side-by-side knickknacks. Not to mention stacks of newspapers and scraps of all kinds of fabric remnants lying here and there in front of the shelves.
    â€œIt’s a mess,” she said, lifting her free hand in the air. “One room at a time. I keep telling myself that’s how I’ll get it done.”
    Rory glanced around, his gaze settling on the folded blanket and bed pillow she’d left on the couch. She didn’t want to explain that she’d slept in here last night.
    But Rory didn’t mention what had to be obvious. Instead, he said, “So...are you going to sell off everything in here?”
    â€œNot everything all at once,” she said. “I have my online vintage store, so I’ll place some of the items there.” She ate more ice cream, the cold sweetness making her feel better. “And if you’re serious about me having the estate sale when you have the church rummage sale, then I’ll probably get rid of a lot of the bigger pieces there, since shipping them is kind of costly.”
    â€œOf course I’m serious. If you don’t mind staying a week or so longer than you planned. We hope to hold it sometime in May, but I’ll pin the committee people down on an exact date.”
    â€œThat would help,” she replied. “A deadline will force me to stop procrastinating and get this over with.”
    And what could a few more weeks hurt? She could handle this. She had to get this house on the market, and she couldn’t do that until she had it cleaned up and spruced up.
    â€œThen it’s settled. We can go over the details in the next week or so,” he said. “The church members will appreciate having the draw of an estate sale next door.” He walked around, studying the house. “This place has good bones, you know.”
    And a few good memories. She needed to focus on those, instead of the bad ones she’d experienced here as a teenager.
    â€œIt is a classic house,” she admitted. “It needs someone to love it enough to save it.”
    â€œI think you’re right,” Rory said, his warm, sunny gaze moving over her face.
    Vanessa tried to ignore how his nearness made her feel kind of gooey inside, so she forced herself to see it from someone else’s perspective. Her mother had been an artist, dabbling in collages and mixed media. Cora Donovan Tucker never threw anything away. So every nook and cranny, every shelf and table, held what her mother had considered treasures. A feather here, an old button there. Tarnished jewelry with missing rhinestones, old purses with worn handles, books of every shape and size, yellowed with age. Clothes, dishes, trinkets. Cora had collected husbands in much the same way. Tarnished, washed up, broken people. Losers, except for Richard. He’d been a true Godsend.
    Her mother had always been a work in progress. But even ravished by two strokes and unable to speak, Cora had died with a peaceful look on her face. Thankful that she’d made it to the nursing home in time to be with her mother at the end, Vanessa wondered what she’d left unsaid.
    Rory picked up an object here and studied a piece of art there. “Interesting collection.”
    â€œA lot of stuff, huh?” she said, wondering