She warmed to her subject as they meandered through the shop, telling him bits and pieces of information about each piece—where it’d been found, who’d made it, or who’d owned it. She had an incredible knowledge of each piece but lingered over the ones that had stories attached.
“The man who sold me this chair told me George Washington once sat on it while he was in Philadelphia for the Constitutional Convention of 1787. Of course, I can’t prove it, but it is the right age and make, and I can trace its provenance back to the early 1800s in Philadelphia. I just can’t place Washington in the chair.” Her smile returned. “When I sit in it, though, I swear I feel presidential.”
And she made him feel like a hormonally charged teenager when she smiled at him like that.
As she showed him around the rest of shop, he struggled to take mental notes. It was hard with her by his side, talking, laughing, and smiling. But he did manage some general impressions and he’d already had a few ideas from yesterday.
As they made their way back to the counter, Annabelle fell silent until she sat back down on her stool, the counter between them again.
“So?” She propped her elbow on the counter and placed her chin in her hand. “What do you think?”
He thought she looked damn good naked, and he wanted to spread her out on the counter and feast on her.
Of course, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, so he said, “Organization and presentation.”
Tiny furrows grew between her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you know your stuff. Now you just have to package it better.”
He paused to see how she was taking this and was encouraged by the interest in her expression.
“And how do you think I should do that?”
He swallowed the smile that probably would have put her nose out of joint at his cockiness, but he knew he had her hooked.
“Well, that’s going to cost you another dinner with me.”
Her head tilted to the side, and she bit her bottom lip while weighing the pros and cons.
Most women he knew would have jumped at his offer. If Belle said no…Fine. No harm, no foul.
She looked to be seriously considering her options. And for the first time, he actually worried that he wouldn’t measure up.
Finally she lifted her chin off her hand and sat up straight on the stool. “I can do dinner again. Here at my place, around seven tonight.”
Her place? Not at a restaurant but here, which was more intimate. But was she worried about staying out of sight of prying eyes?
“Absolutely. Can I bring wine?”
“Sure. Are you okay with Italian?”
“Love it.” And he did. Hell, she could make soup and sandwiches and he’d be there.
She hopped off her stool, rubbed her palms on her slightly baggy jeans, then put her hands in her pockets. “Great. So I’ll see you tonight.”
She wanted him gone. How was that for a kick in the ass?
With a true grin now, he acknowledged her unspoken demand with a slight nod of his head. “I should get to my meeting with the Realtor. I’ll be back.”
And she’d pay for kicking him out. And love every minute of it. He’d make sure she did.
“Hello, girls. How are you today?”
“Hello, Mrs. Schell,” Kate and Annabelle replied in perfect schoolgirl unison, causing them to exchange an eye roll.
Planted dead center in the first aisle of the grocery store, her hair in perfect blue-gray curls peeking from beneath her ball cap, Mrs. Schell held out a chocolate chip cookie in each blue-veined hand. “You young ladies can afford the calories. And”—she gave Annabelle a sly grin—“you need to keep up your strength, Annabelle. I heard he’s a looker. Good for you, dear.”
As Kate nearly choked on her cookie, Annabelle forced a pleasant smile for the great-grandmother of three who’d worked for this same store since the Vietnam War. She was half-blind and had a tendency to wander around talking to herself, but loyalty and longevity meant everything in a small town. “Thanks for the cookie, Mrs. Schell.”
“Oh, you’re very welcome. Have a good day, girls.”
Annabelle pushed the cart into the produce aisle as fast as she could without running, Kate still trying to choke down her cookie through her laughter.
“Jesus, I swear I’m going to become a hermit.” Annabelle stopped to pick up lettuce and shredded carrots, figuring she’d make a salad to start. She made a mental note to pick up walnuts in the next aisle. “The man is a menace.”
“Right.” Kate drew the word out to about five syllables. “So that’s why you’re making dinner for him. Because he’s a menace.”
“He wreaks havoc with my brain. Why else would I agree to make dinner for a man who only eats gourmet cuisine? Hell, I had a jar of unopened peanut butter and a box of stale crackers in my cabinet.”
“But you can cook. You took cooking classes in Italy, for chrissake. And I know you enjoy it. Why wouldn’t you ask him?”
Racing through the aisles, trying to figure out what to make, Annabelle stopped in the pasta aisle, picked up a box of linguine, and waved it at Kate. “Don’t you start with me. You’re supposed to nod and agree with everything I say.”
Kate’s smile reminded Annabelle of a lounging tiger who’d just spotted an easy lunch. “Sorry, but that only applies to discussions of boyfriends and fiancés. Jared didn’t happen to cross over into that designation yet, did he?”
Annabelle huffed and put the linguine back on the shelf, reaching instead for the fettuccine. Fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp and broccoli. Simple, tasty, and basically foolproof.
“You know he didn’t. We don’t even really know each other. But…he offered me a job and now I’m cooking dinner for the man. How did that happen?”
Kate snorted. “I would assume you agreed to it.”
Annabelle opened her mouth to swear at Kate until she noticed the Mennonite woman with three children headed down the aisle. So she settled instead for a death glare. “Yes, I did. But I swear that man puts a spell on me every time he smiles.”
“He certainly does have a nice smile.”
Groaning, Annabelle placed the pasta in the cart and headed for the meat and seafood counter. Thankfully, the store had decent fresh seafood. “I’m in over my head, Kate. He’s so far out of my league, I feel like he’s in the majors and I’m still in junior high. I don’t want to fall for him. I can’t let myself.”
“And the harm in that would be…what?”
“He’s a playboy. Just like Gary.” After she placed her order for chicken and shrimp with the teenage boy behind the counter, she turned back to Kate. “And I certainly don’t need another one of those in my life.”
“Then what’s wrong with having a little fun while he’s here? It’s not like you’re going to marry the man, right?”
“Of course not.”
Marriage and Jared Golden did not belong in the same sentence. He’d said as much New Year’s Eve. And she had secrets to keep.
“So have a good time, enjoy the sex, and take the help with the business. And when everyone sees what amazing furniture you find for the spa, you won’t need Carmen Moran’s backing as an appraiser. You’ll be turning away clients.”
Annabelle took her packages and headed back to the produce aisle. She needed something for dessert and the strawberries had looked good.
“But why did I invite him for dinner? It’s so…intimate.”
Kate’s smile turned apologetic. “Because you’re already gone?”
“I can’t be.” Annabelle shook her head, sighed, then let her smile inch out. “So what am I going to wear tonight?”