Hire someone? Was that what she’d been about to say?
His determination to leave had faltered enough for him to think he might kind of enjoy doing the job for her. Stripping and refinishing the floors, too. That would mean her moving out—but she could stay with him in the apartment for that week or two.
Instead of suggesting or promising something he’d probably regret, he told her more about his childhood home, which he seemed to remember had dated to the 1920s. “Brick isn’t ideal in earthquake country, but in the older parts of Seattle, the houses are almost all brick, and they’ve survived a bunch of earthquakes.”
Erin nodded. “When I was a kid, I really wanted a brick house. The one I dreamed of had a steeply pitched roof, a front door with an arched top and one of those wings to the side—” she gestured “—with a doorway that leads to the back garden.”
“And has an arched top, too.”
She laughed at his teasing. “Of course. Those houses had a fairy-tale feel. And it seemed that all the houses I liked had beautiful gardens, too.”
No wonder she was working so hard to re-create that ideal, he reflected, doing as well as she could with the material at hand.
“Do you know when this house was built?”
“Later than your parents’. I think the 1930s. If it’d been much later than that, it wouldn’t have the details it does.”
“Yeah, if I were going to build, I’d meld the good things from houses of this era with modern improvements.”
“Like?”
He’d checked out some Architectural Digest magazines from the library, and a couple of times when he’d borrowed her Cherokee he’d driven through newer construction on acreage above the river. Mostly, he’d been preparing for his job hunt, wanting to sound well-informed.
“Not wasting so much space in the kitchen,” he said immediately.
“You have a point.” Even with the table and chairs in here, there was a lot of open floor space.
An island would help, he thought—then shut down that kind of speculation. He wouldn’t be remodeling this house.
“Oh!” She leaped up. “I forgot the coffee.”
They kept talking, but Cole knew he wasn’t the only one aware of growing tension. Had her invitation to dinner implied more? Say, that he could spend the night? Or had this morning been a one-off as far as she was concerned?
If he asked, would he sound like he was begging?
She talked about a book she was reading, a history of the First World War. “I’ve been lugging it around forever and not getting to it, but today I felt lazy and decided to read for a while.”
He could make conversation, too. “That’s outside your usual interests,” he commented, hoping he sounded semi-intelligent.
“Yes, but somehow my schooling completely skipped the early twentieth century. Well…” She shrugged. “Actually, the entire twentieth century. But my grandfather fought in World War II, and he told some really horrific stories. I was curious enough to do some reading back then. And Dad was drafted and fought in the Vietnam War.” She raised her eyebrows. “What about your father?”
“A little too young.”
“Lucky man. Anyway, my high school class in US history never made it to the turn of the century. Too much interesting stuff before that, I guess. So I’m filling in the blanks.”
Cole smiled, although he wasn’t thinking about either World War. He was thinking he’d almost finished his cup of coffee, and he ought to either offer to help clean the kitchen or make his excuses.
No contest. Clean the kitchen, he decided. At least that gave him an excuse to linger.
Taking the last swallow, he pushed back his chair. “You cooked. Why don’t you let me clean up?”
Erin jumped to her feet, her protest predictable. “Oh, but you worked today.”
Not as many hours as usual, because of the morning interlude. “I’m not tired.” Really not tired.
“I… Okay.” She looked shy. “I’ll put the food away if you want to load the dishwasher.”
The task didn’t take nearly long enough. Meanwhile, Erin covered the casserole dish holding the remaining lasagna with shrink-wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator. She did say, “If you don’t mind leftovers, there’s enough for tomorrow night, too.”