Haven Creek by Rochelle Alers Page B

and dated?”
    “The underside is stamped: Shaw 1898.”
    Nate gave Morgan a quick glance. “How many pieces do you own that were made by my ancestors?”
    “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
    She led the way to the back of the shop, where she’d set up her private office. She’d divided the expansive area in half, to accommodate a lounge. “The credenza is a Shaw, and so is the drop-leaf table.” Morgan stared at Nate when he touched the credenza as if it were a priceless relic.
    “Was this a part of a dining room set?”
    “Yes. My grandfather gave away the table, chairs, and china closet when he married my grandmother. She came to their marriage with her own furniture, so he agreed to part with everything but the tables and credenza. When his mother heard what her daughter-in-law had done she never spoke to her again.”
    Nate crossed muscular arms over his chest and angled his head. “I’ve heard of families falling out over money, but rarely furniture.”
    Morgan stared into his clear brown eyes, which seemed not to look at her but through her. It was the same look she remembered when they’d shared a booth at Perry’s, which now seemed eons ago. Had he recognized her longing gazes? Or had he thought her a silly, awestruck girl all too eager for an upperclassman to acknowledge her?
    “We Danes are reluctant to let go of our past, lest we forget where we’ve come from.”
    Bending slightly, Nate peered closely at the photographs atop the credenza. “Living here makes it almost impossible to forget where we’ve come from. Your grandfather made certain to preserve history when he took those pictures.” There were black-and-white photographs of couples walking to church in their Sunday best, a group of men sitting on the back of a pickup truck filled with watermelons, a young man in a zoot suit, and girls jumping rope.
    “Grandpa was known as the Lowcountry James Van Der Zee.”
    He stood up straight. “Are these photos originals?”
    Morgan shook her head. “No. When Grandpa passed away he left me all his photographs, camera equipment, and negatives. Some of his originals are exhibited in museums and many are in private collections.”
    “You’ve done an incredible job decorating this place.”
    She curbed the urge to curtsy. “Thank you.”
    “Now that I see this place, I’d like to hire you to decorate my barn.”
    Morgan went completely still. “You want me to decorate a barn?”
    “It’s not what you think. I built a two-bedroom apartment in the loft.”
    “How large is the apartment?” she asked.
    “It’s about twenty-one hundred square feet.”
    “That’s larger than some of the houses on the island.”
    A rumble of laughter came from Nate’s broad chest. “Well, it is in a barn. Will you come by and look at it?”
    There was a pregnant pause before Morgan said, “Sure. But I can’t come for at least two weeks. I’m currently interviewing brick masons and landscapers while attempting to complete a research project. Is that okay with you?”
    He nodded. “It’s fine.”
    “Now that we’ve got that settled, would you like to see the rest of the office?”
    “Sure.”
    She opened the door to the lounge, revealing four yellow leather chairs pushed under a round glass-top table and bookcases filled with books on subjects ranging from art, African-American history, architecture, castles, gardens, and handicrafts to decorating and interior design. A wall-mounted flat-screen TV and an orange leather reclining love seat had turned it into the perfect place to unwind and relax. Open louvered mahogany doors exposed a utility kitchen with overhead cabinets, a refrigerator, microwave, and dishwasher.
    “This is the office lounge. The door in the corner is a bathroom.”
    “Was all this here when you rented the space?” Nate asked.
    “No. It was an open space with a minuscule bathroom. I had the bathroom expanded and a plumber put in a shower stall, but I can’t use it because the