The bells over the front door of the opera house tinkled.

Brian had closed up the maintenance office and left with a list of client addresses, so Uncle Tim headed up front. He entered the lobby and was chagrinned; he recognized the client, but he had forgotten their appointment. She stood in front of the snack bar, a lovely woman in her thirties, elegantly dressed, her eyes turning from the menu to Uncle Tim. They greeted one another warmly, and she sat down on a lobby couch while Uncle Tim went upstairs to get his folio from the office.

He returned, sat down beside her, and opened the latest drawings. They chatted quietly while looking over the changes to the river pool. She liked the revised layout, but had a new list of requirements and ideas for additional rooms and outdoor islands. Uncle Tim accepted the revisions and agreed to work them in. He offered her water or espresso. She looked across the lobby to the snack bar menu and asked, “Can I have box of Rolos?”

“Of course. Be right back.” Uncle Tim went behind the snack bar, opened a new case of Rolos, and got her a fresh tube.

“I’m pleased with the overall design. And the candy,” she said to the drawings. “I do wish I could see the house clearly,” she lamented.

They shared a friendly frown.

“I know a designer,” he said, looking at the stairs to the theatre. “She is creative. And daring. Brave, I think.”

“A designer? Not an architect?”

“I’m not sure. Does that matter at this point in the design?”

“I’m not sure.”

“She’s seen the river and what I have of the house. She had some interesting and odd ideas. Well, not odd, but ...”

“Oh?”

Uncle Tim smiled and nodded.

“Stylishly odd? Not whimsical or childish?”

“Seems her work is more meaningfully odd. Well-thought-out odd.”

“I like that. Set it up. Any night this week.”

The client rose from the couch and Uncle Tim walked her out to her car. When he reentered, he extinguished the sidewalk and foyer lights and headed upstairs.

Paula met him on the landing.

“Can I sleep here?” she asked.

“Of course. There are spare rooms on the third story.”

She smiled lightly, her gaze steady, no blinks. “Where’s your bedroom? I like stealing those.”

“My room?” Uncle Tim said thoughtfully, looking to the ceiling. “That’s another story.”

“Oh. Well. Okay. I was—”

She paused at the pad of feet behind her. Karen was dancing across the landing with a handful of carrots, one raised to her teeth. She paused long enough to give Uncle Tim a hip bump, shrug her shoulders, and take another bite.

“Don’t say anything, please. You’ll spew orange,” Uncle Tim warned with a smile.

Karen opened her mouth wide, displaying chewed carrot on her tongue and teeth. She laughed, coughed, and ran off.

“Well,” Paula said, watching Karen, “if I can’t steal your room, those on three will do. Where do I go?”

“Past the kitchen. Karen’s room is at the far end.”

‘Okay. And thank you. And none of those rooms are yours?”

“Right.”

Paula twisted her lips in a scowl. Her lovely eyes tightened. Then she smiled.

“Okay. The other story?”

Uncle Tim looked confused, “I’m sorry?”

“Your room. The other story, as you said.”

Uncle Tim changed the subject, “My client is looking for help with the river house. So am I.”

“Oh?”

“Are you interested?”

“Could be. Karen’s new stage design is almost complete, but I can overlap. I do have an arch degree.”

“Ark?”

Paula laughed. It was a rare sound, rippling, and warm.

“Architecture,” she explained. “Left that for stagecraft—it suits my temperament and curiosity more. It’s almost the same—get a concept, then move the boxes around, the squares, oblongs, circles, and fit them together.”

“She is free this week in the evenings.”

“I say let’s do it. A river home ...”

Paula’s intelligent eyes processed, above a fading smile.

“I’m going to go find a bed on the third story,” she said, the words sounding reflective. She squeezed his arm, her fingers rubbing into his muscle. Then she was gone.