“There really isn’t much to rent. You know how Eastwick is. Everyone wants to own. And no one’s looking to encourage transients.”

She had to laugh at the idea of Garrett being considered a transient. And though he expressed concern over stealing any more of her workday, she walked over to the place with him. She knew Marietta would be uneasy without a personal introduction-and she was also a little worried what she might have gotten him into. If the place was a disaster, she didn’t want him to feel obligated to take it because of her.

Marrietta Collins took one look at Garrett, beamed and promptly gave them the key to check out the upstairs at their leisure.

Emma’s impression of the apartment was the opposite of Garrett’s. “Well, it isn’t exactly a garret, Garrett, but-”

“That pun is sick. I’ve always liked a sick sense of humor in a woman.”

She had to chuckle-but the apartment was hardly what Garrett must be used to. A few centuries before, the structure had been a tavern where customers slept upstairs-apparently next to each other, since there was only one main room. Obviously the details had been modernized, but the core architecture had been preserved. The mellow old floorboards creaked and groaned, but they’d obviously been treasured, because they were polished to a high gleam. Honey-pine paneling framed a small stone fireplace. The bathroom was strictly utilitarian, but the tiny kitchen area had an eating nook tucked under a graceful Palladian window, shaded by giant elms just outside.

“The furniture’s the pits,” Emma said ruefully.

Garrett was checking out every window view. “Spoken like a woman,” he teased. “There’s a couch and a chair. What more do I need?”

“Some lamps. Some pictures. Some rugs,” she fussed.

“It’s got a decent desk.” He motioned to the relic that may-may-have been a teacher’s desk in some century past. Emma loved antiques, but in this case she thought someone should have had the sense to throw it out-in that same century past.