“She’s a character,” Erin remarked, reaching for a celery stick. “Don’t be surprised if she flirts with you.”
His grin looked more genuine than his earlier smiles. “I think she already has. Hard to take seriously.”
Lottie had to be ninety. The makeup she applied to her deeply wrinkled face gave her a cartoonish look. A tiny woman, she had a hump worse than Nanna’s had been and shuffled along with her walker, stooped over.
“Maybe I should bake her a loaf of banana bread, using Nanna’s recipe.”
Cole laughed. “She might make me tell you it’s dry as sawdust.”
“Oh, no, I’m sure she’d wait to offer me her recipe, because ‘Dear, even your grandmother conceded my banana bread is better.’”
Head thrown back, his laugh deepened. “Consider me forewarned.”
Erin chuckled. “She is a good cook, so count your blessings if she decides to feed you.”
He was quiet for a minute. “I like it when you feed me.”
It took her a moment to get past the painful contraction of her rib cage. “If you want to come to dinner tonight, I thought I’d make lasagna,” she said, careful not to sound too eager, too hopeful.
His frown formed. “You don’t have to offer, just because I said that.”
Time for a fake smile. “I have to eat, and I’ve had a craving for lasagna. If you have plans…”
“You know I don’t.” He crumpled the paper towel that had served as plate and napkin and stood. He bent to kiss her, much as he had that morning, only this time she felt some anger in his touch. But all he said was, “Got to get back to work. See you at six?”
“Six is good.”
She watched him detour, as always, to his apartment, but before he could reappear, she retreated into the house.
What had she said to make him angry? Maybe she’d imagined it, but she didn’t think so. Well, she was angry, too, at his refusal to give them a chance.
And yet, she understood how he felt. He was very much a man, but one who’d lost ten years of his life. Here she was, wishing she could lasso him and keep him penned in this very small and unexciting town that was her refuge. He had every reason to suspect she clung to him for unhealthy reasons, too.
He might even be right.
Any enthusiasm she’d had for starting to paint the ceilings had disappeared. Well, there wasn’t any hurry. She could play on the computer a little, look at those job listings again, curl up in the one comfortable chair in the living room and read. Lots of options.
Oh—and check to be sure she actually had the ingredients for lasagna, in case she needed to make a quick run to the store.
* * *
WHILE ERIN GOT up to start the coffee after dinner, Cole glanced around the kitchen, thinking how homey the old house felt to him. Concentrating on it was an alternative to focusing on her, the way she moved, her curves. Mentally stripping off her clothes, now that he knew her lithe, slim body.
“What are you thinking?”
Surprised, he saw that she was pulling out her chair. Not so long ago, he’d have known the instant she, or anyone else, approached.
“I like this house,” he said, needing a subject that stayed away from the future or what he felt for her. “I guess it feels a little like where I grew up.” He didn’t say home, because it wasn’t anymore; home was a place where you were always welcome.
“Is it an older house?” Erin resumed her seat. As she did, the braid that contained her red-gold hair flopped over her shoulder, momentarily capturing his attention. He loved her hair. And while he’d never thought of collarbones as sexy before, hers were. Delicate.
What had she asked? “Ah, yeah. It’s a brick house, not that far from Green Lake.”
She nodded. Most people who’d spent any time in the area knew where the lake was in Seattle. If nothing else, they would’ve visited the nearby Woodland Park Zoo.
“My mother liked old houses. She made Dad refinish the molding downstairs.” He smiled at the memory. “Dad wanted to paint instead, but she wasn’t having it.”
“Good for her. Although…” Erin wrinkled her nose. “Just the idea of stripping all the molding here makes my shoulders ache. I might have to—” She stopped and shook her head.