Free Enlisted by Love by Jenny Jacobs

right about that.” She bit her lip. That was a start. But only a start —
    â€œBut — ” Ian began.
    â€œHush,” Tess and Greta said simultaneously. Tess looked at Greta expectantly. In the back of her mind, Greta knew that Ian noticed how Tess was treating her like an oracle, and how amused he was by it. Her lips twitched. Perhaps she could make a living as a prophet or a guru if this design business didn’t work out. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Ian’s answering smile.
    â€œFocus,” Tess said in a low voice. “For heaven’s sake, Greta. Pay attention.”
    Greta looked back at the fabric in her hands. The rest was coming now. She could see it, a cool, light room, not too boring and restful. Just right.
    â€œHardwood floors with layered rugs,” she said. “A window seat with hidden storage to take advantage of that bay window. Michael can build that. We’ll need to get an estimate from him. Have you got the measurements?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. Then the beautiful asparagus fern wallpaper we tried to convince the Dunkirks to use this spring. Is there enough closet space?”
    Tess’s pen flew over her sketchbook. She paused, looked at Ian and said, “Do you have sufficient closet space?”
    â€œYes. But I do need a dresser for — ”
    â€œYes,” Tess said to Greta.
    â€œAnd bookshelves,” he put in. Then, with a pointed look at Greta, he added, “I read in bed. Is reading in bed acceptable?”
    â€œAs long as you don’t stay up too late,” Greta said. “Tess, I don’t want tall bookshelves throwing off the proportions of the room, especially if we go with a platform bed.”
    â€œGot it. Short bookshelves. Three feet?” Tess made another note in the sketchbook. “What about wall hangings to tie everything together?”
    â€œGood idea.” Greta folded the fabric and put it back in the box.
    â€œI have some woodblock prints we could frame for the walls,” Ian said.
    Greta glanced up. Although his ideas were usually bad, that one actually appealed to her. She did not want the room overwhelmed with fabric. It needed to remain essentially masculine, or Ian wouldn’t like it.
    â€œWhat do they look like?” she temporized. Ian was already going through a stack of belongings in a corner.
    â€œHere they are.” He held up a circular tube, like the kind architects used to store blueprints. He uncapped the end and shook the parchment sheets out.
    Tess scrambled to her feet and came over to help them unroll the prints. “Oh,” she said. “Look at that! How clever. Those pillars suggest a temple without having to go into a lot of detail. Is that a Thai headdress the woman is wearing?”
    The prints, of greenish black ink on thick parchment, showed various people doing various activities: playing a lyre to an audience, sitting by the edge of a pond, conversing on the steps of a temple.
    â€œThese are lovely,” Greta said. “They’ll work just fine.”
    Ian nodded and rolled up the prints. She could tell he was biting his tongue.
See, I do have good ideas.
    â€œSee, you do have good ideas,” she said in a soft voice, and she supposed it was an apology. He nodded but said nothing, just looking at her with a smile in his eyes.
    â€œWhich of these fabrics will be for the curtains?” Tess asked. She was back on the floor, rooting through the opened box. “The way this batik is finished, it’ll be easy to make curtains,” she went on. “At least for someone as talented as I am.”
    Greta gave an inelegant snort and said, “Let’s use this for the curtains.” She indicated the chosen fabric, then pulled another length from the box and asked, “Is this material wide enough for a comforter?”
    â€œFor a queen size bed?” Tess asked doubtfully.
    â€œConsidering how talented you