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wall.
    “You want to watch something?” he askedincredulously.
    “No.” She turned to give him a long kiss on his lips. He put his arms around her slim back and pulled her against him, their bodies fitting tightly together. “I was just wondering where we would have put a television if we couldn’t hang it up.”
    “I never had one in my room. This is a luxury.”
    Julie looked up at him, her fingers dancing around his lips. Brad caught them, nipping them gently. She brushed the hair from his face. She opened her mouth to complain about the room, but decided not to ruin the mood. “Tell me about the house today.”
    Brad’s slate-gray eyes darkened for a moment.
    “What? Were there any problems?”
    Brad clicked his tongue. “It’s a mess. Too much dust. Too much wind.”
    “Wind?” Julie asked, only to be cut off by Brad’s lips.
    He rolled her over and moved down her body, kissing her softly. Julie opened her arms and closed her eyes. She wanted to ask another question, but it fluttered out of her head like an escaping butterfly.
    Hours later, they sat with the chicken between them, ripped into manageable parts. They ate it right out of the box.
    “You want potatoes?” Julie asked, her mouth full.
    Brad wiped a bit of food from the corner of her mouth. “Nope. This is enough.”
    She was wearing his T-shirt and nothing else. Greasy napkins littered the cover. Brad held up oily hands, looking for another napkin, laughing at Julie’s squeal when he motioned that he was going to wipe his hands on the white comforter.
    “I saw some artwork and a box in the living room.”
    “There’re a few things worth taking to Sal’s.” Sal was an antique dealer who directed them with their finds. He paid them fairly and,when it was warranted, arranged for things to be brought to auctions. Julie cocked her head. Brad smiled at her. “I found mounds of boxes in a sealed-off room in the cellar.”
    “Spooky.” Julie rolled her eyes.
    “You don’t know the half of it,” Brad mumbled.
    “What?” Julie asked, her fingers shredding a chicken wing.
    “Nothing. It’s just going to take some extra time to go through all the boxes. I found a sampler.” He paused. “It looks to be early, you know, from, like, the eighteen hundreds.”
    “Folk art.” Julie nodded. “I watch
Antiques Roadshow
, too. What did it say?”
    Brad laughed at her. “Not sure. Something like ‘Home is where the heart is,’ I think. Looks homemade, like a kid did it. Then there was a landscape, dark with lots of greens.”
    “Could be a Hudson River School painting.”
    “I don’t think so. It looks like a painting of the house. Probably a local artist.”
    “Was there a name?”
    Brad nodded.
    “Good. I’ll google the name tomorrow. What else?” She burped delicately, and Brad laughed out loud.
    “There’s a portrait, probably a Hemmingsancestor. Then I found a print—could be Manet.”
    “Framed?” she questioned.
    “Impressively. All rococo and gold leaf.” Brad took a swig from a pony-neck bottle of Samuel Adams Summer Ale. It was icy-cold, the way he liked it.
    “Eclectic.” Julie smiled. “That could generate some nice income if it’s real. The frames alone could bring us a few dollars. If it’s a Manet, it would be nice to keep.”
    “To hang in this dump? I think not. Where are you going?” Brad called to her as she skittered out of the room, the bottom of her tight little ass exposed underneath his shirt. “It’s probably just a copy anyway. I didn’t see any numbers.”
    “I’m sure everything was culled through when the bed-and-breakfast people bought the house.” Her voice came from the kitchen.
    “I don’t know. The basement is a regular time capsule. I did find the false wall and the room filled with boxes. I’ve barely scratched the surface on separating the things in there. I didn’t even have a chance to get into the attic.”
    Julie walked into the room with the biggest chocolate cake he’d