“Barton.”
After a hectic morning, I’d finally gotten a chance to phone Blue Cottage’s owner a little before lunch. He’d answered almost on the first ring. His last name, a one-word greeting, rolled over me and nearly brought me to my knees, it sounded so beautiful. God, I love baritones. His deep, husky voice soothed me. I could live under this landlord. I refused to giggle at my joke.
“Uh, hi. This is, uh, Fen Miller.”
“You want to see the apartment.” His tone said not to waste his time. I could hear the sounds of pots and pans rattling around in the background.
So I launched into my schedule.
“I’m off at five Tuesdays through Fridays, work half days on Saturday morning and Monday afternoon. Are any of those times good for you?” He wanted serious, I could do serious.
“Tonight at fiv
