Her eyes widened. “Oh, I’d love to say yes, but I don’t have any ice, and that nice boy from the icehouse—what’s his name?”

A shop down the road, formerly a bookstore that had been burned out during the war, sold blocks of ice. When the convoy delivered fresh goods to my store, he usually had good days. People didn’t want to trust rare treats to the whims of electricity.

“Clark. And he’s not quite a boy. I think he’s seventy-eight.”

She waved a hand. “I’m ninety-eight, dear. And I don’t look a day over seventy-two.”

“Not a day over,” Gavin agreed, and winked at her.

She winked back. “He won’t be back around until tomorrow. Which is fine by me. I don’t mind the heat. But I don’t think the butter could take it.”

“Well, I’ll keep a stick aside, and if you decide you want some after you visit with Clark, just let me know.”

She nodded. “I will do that.” She unsnapped her coin purse and handed me several tightly folded dollars.

I gave her back her change and put the receipt in her bag. “Thank you, Mrs. Proctor. I appreciate your business.”

She smiled at me. “You know I love your store, dear. It makes me feel young to walk around, see all of your . . . beautiful things.” Her eyes settled on Gavin, and he smiled grandly.

“The merchandise isn’t the only beautiful thing in the store,” he said.

But Liam wasn’t about to be outdone by his baby brother. “Ma’am, can we help you with your package?”

Mrs. Proctor looked slowly up at Liam, who towered over her by nearly two feet, her grin spreading. “As much as I would like to say yes, young man, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle me.” She patted his hand. “The day I stop being able to carry my packages is the day they put me in the ground.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Liam said, with a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

Mrs. Proctor nodded, took her package, and shuffled back to the door.

“I like her,” Liam said. “She’s got spirit.”

“She’s fantastic. Gets lonely, I think. I visit her sometimes, take her a book or two.” I gestured to a bookshelf on the opposite wall, where I’d made a small lending library, including two full shelves of paperback romances. In times of crisis, people needed a good love story.

“When are you planning to introduce her to Nix?” Gavin asked, when Mrs. Proctor was safely out the door.

Liam’s lips tightened. “Tonight.”

Gavin pushed off the counter he’d been leaning against. “I’m going to talk to her again.”

“You do that,” Liam said. “But go see Eleanor first.” He looked at me. “I’ll see you at six.”

I nodded, and without another word for me, both of them focused on their irritation with each other, they headed for the door.

“And thank you for your business,” I mumbled as the door closed behind them.

CHAPTER NINE

Word traveled fast (delivered by Mrs. Proctor), and the butter all but disappeared in a few hours. I traded two of the sticks for a bar of goat’s milk soap dotted with lavender, which would feel a lot better than the industrial-strength stuff that usually arrived on the convoy. I had one bar left, which I’d save for an emergency or special occasion. Or to trade for honey, if I could find some. I’d heard a woman in what was left of Metairie still kept bees, and honey had a thousand uses. Maybe I could convince Gunnar to give me a ride out there.

In the lulls when business was slow, I tried to work on the owl again. But my mind kept drifting, and I couldn’t let that happen during daylight hours, when the store was open and Containment agents were in and out. And I certainly couldn’t take another chance with the monitor.