"Of course I am!" he said. A stray handful of snow fell nearby and he turned to shout an insult at the girl who'd thrown it. "I better run or they'll hit you too. See you tomorrow!" he added as he ran across the street.

I walked on, down into Low Ferry proper, where people were less jubilant and went everywhere with their collars turned up, muttering about the weather.

I was glad to get back to the warmth of my home and unpack Dottore, setting him on the kitchen table upstairs. The way Lucas had handled him made me treat him with a little more respect than I had at first, and I wasn't certain where I wanted to display him yet.

The door clattered in the shop below and a voice called my name – there'd be plenty of time to decide what to do with him later, while I was serving my customers. I yelled back, gave Dottore one last look, and went down the stairs to the shop.

***

I soon had other artistic concerns regarding the decoration of the bookstore as well. Dusk Books actually had two front doors, one on top of the other: a wooden door that opened out and a glass door that opened in. In the summertime I only used the glass door, hooking the wooden one permanently against the outer wall. When the cold weather set in I usually reversed them, unhooking the wooden door so that it swung shut and propping the thin, uninsulated glass one against the inner wall until spring.

The wooden door was faded and peeling a little, as it usually was come autumn, and I'd been waiting for weeks to paint it. I'd wanted to do it before the snow started, but the humidity rolled in so fast that I hadn't had the chance. In wet weather it would dry too slowly and peel too quickly.

After that first flurry of snow, we had a handful of clear and reasonably dry days and Paula started to harass me about the sorry state of my storefront. So, four days after the snow had melted, when the clear weather seemed likely to hold for a little while longer, I went down to the hardware store and bought a gallon of green paint. I dug the old sanding-block, brushes, roller, and primer out of my closet, set them outside with the paint, and then began loading up a rolling shelf with books.

Considering that a new layer of paint on the door in the winter and a touch-up to my store sign in the spring were the extent of my yearly upkeep on Dusk Books, I felt that I had the right to enjoy them a little. Thus, twice-yearly, Low Ferry's main street was treated to my out-of-doors book sale when the paintbrushes came out.

I set out the second rolling shelf as well, with a pot of coffee and some pastries from the cafe as a lure to get people up the walk and onto the porch to investigate the books. I offer good bargains when I'm in a painting mood, and business is usually brisk.

"Good morning, Christopher!" Charles called, as I was fitting sandpaper into the block and deciding where to begin my attack. "Sanding the door?"

I paused and considered his question. He chuckled.

"That's a yes," he said.

"Something like that," I agreed. I knelt and smoothed my hand over the wood at the bottom of the door.

"Going to start from the bottom or the top?"

"Well, that's always the question. Do I sand top-down and save the crouch-work for last, or do I start at the bottom so that I can be stretching by the time I'm done?" I asked. "Have some coffee."

"Don't mind if I do," Charles said, helping himself to a cup and a danish before stepping back. "Just on my way to see Old Harrison about some firewood."

"Oh yes? For the bonfire?" I asked, lying down and squirming onto one shoulder, starting to sand.

"Bottom-going-up, hm? Yes, bonfire – I thought his boys could build it for us this year. Are you coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it," I replied.

"What about the dancing afterwards?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's really for the youngsters, huh?" I grunted, working at a knot in the wood.

"What do you think you are? I don't ask for myself, actually, there are a few women in the village who think it's high time you settled down."

I laughed. "Everyone seems to think that. Who's been asking? No, never mind. I'd rather not know."

"Sandra, actually."

"Sandra! Doesn't she have enough trouble on her plate with Nolan and Michael?"

"I get the feeling she's not asking for herself. Anyhow, it all seems to have calmed down now."

"Oh? Did she pick someone?"

"I don't know," Charles said vaguely, just as Jacob appeared on my walkway, still sporting a spectacular bruise on his face from his car accident.

"Mornin'," he said, stepping around the paint cans and helping himself to a pastry. "Painting the door, Christopher?"

"Yep," I replied, sighing.

"Going to seal it?"

"Think so."

"Before or after?"

"Both," I said, to stop him from giving me advice.

"Shouldn't seal before if you're going to seal after."

Sometimes, the effort is pointless.

"Jacob, just the man I wanted to see," Charles said. "Now, I was wondering what you think of the church buying a new coffee urn. I know we have three, but one of them's gasping it's last..."