pasta wafted out, causing her stomach to rumble.
A wooden table was set with white stoneware and gleaming cutlery. Wineglasses twinkled in the light of a row of candles set down the centre of the table and a bottle of wine decanted on one side.
The living area was central to the loft, with a cream-coloured leather sofa flanked by two club chairs in some kind of grey fabric. The coffee and end tables were steel and glass and a bright red rug framed the area, setting it apart from the rest of the loft. Lotus’ dog bed was sandwiched between the chair and the sofa and she’d gone and flopped down on it as Bridget made her perusal.
A king-sized bed sat off to the side under a bank of huge, frosted windows. The coverlet was black and the sheets were silver. Two metal and glass tables flanked it and a soft, silver rug lay on the floor. A stack of books sat on one table and she was very tempted to go see what titles he was reading.
He had good taste.
But what was truly stunning was the art covering his walls. They had to be his works. Each was vivid in colour. They lined his walls, creating a surrealistic effect. It was almost as if each painting was a window into a different dimension.
They were breathtaking.
Each was startling in its intensity of colour and realism even as it was fantastical. She couldn’t imagine why he kept these pictures to himself. He had talent, and she was willing to bet that Mona would display his work.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Connor’s return. He was clearly making himself known so as not to startle her. No one walked that loudly. The depth of his consideration tugged at her heart.
‘Like what you see?’
‘Definitely.’ She turned to face him and smiled at his obvious pleasure in her appreciation. He was simply dressed in a soft, cotton button-down in a pale shade of blue and jeans that looked just as touchable. Pulling herself out of her wayward thoughts, she said, ‘You have so much talent, Connor. You really should be showing these.’
Something she couldn’t read flashed across his face and he just shook his head. ‘Nah, my work is strictly for me.’
‘That’s not true. What about your photography? You sell that, don’t you?’
Connor tensed and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
‘Connor? What’s wrong?’
He stared off toward the kitchen for several moments before muttering, ‘Well, it would have been a good dinner.’ He shrugged.
‘Huh?’ He wasn’t making any sense.
‘Bridget, I need to tell you something.’
Her chest clenched. Nothing good came of those words.
Connor’s stomach flipped at the possibility of additional humiliation. Something told him, though, that lying to Bridget was a quick way to guarantee they had no future and he found himself very much wanting to see what the future held with her.
She appealed to him in a way no other woman had. He didn’t question it, though he couldn’t pinpoint the why of it. It was too early. He only knew she was much more than the voluptuous body and quick wit. She was a puzzle he wanted to piece together. Too bad he wasn’t likely to get the opportunity now.
‘Here, sit with me.’ He poured two glasses of the Chianti and offered her one. She accepted it, but didn’t sip. ‘The food will be ready in a few minutes.’
She was quiet, not saying anything, and Lotus took the opportunity to come over and nose Bridget’s hand for a scratch. Almost absent-mindedly, Bridget complied. The contented sigh Lotus let out broke the tension as they both laughed at the dog’s obvious pleasure.
‘What did you want to tell me, Connor?’ Her voice was soft. She didn’t meet his eyes, but rather looked intently at where she massaged Lotus’ ear.
Tension radiated from her body and, in a moment of insight, he realised she thought this was about her.
Resolve flowed through him; he couldn’t allow her to think her revelation had changed anything. Better to just get this over with.
‘I’m a janitor.’
Her eyes shot to his and confusion clouded their green depths.
‘I’m not a professional photographer. I’m a janitor. At Pinewood, ironically.’
‘Why did you lie to me?’
He shifted uncomfortably. The semantics of lies versus omission were not going to help here.
‘I am a photographer, Bridget. It is a passion and something that I do. That I don’t make my living at it really shouldn’t matter.’
‘I agree. You’re the one who made it an issue by lying.’ She clearly was not happy.
He flushed, but continued. ‘I didn’t correct your assumptions about me because I wanted the chance to get to know you. Up to now, I’ve found that “janitor” doesn’t equate to boyfriend material. My last attempt netted me some really ugly public humiliation.’
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and decided to lay it all on the line. ‘The long story short of it all, Bridget, is that I like you very much. I’m extremely attracted to you and I’d like to see where this leads. My experience has been that women don’t find janitors appealing, so I found it convenient to leave your assumptions in place rather than expose myself.’
He paused not knowing if he should say more.
‘I apologise, Bridget. If you want to cancel dinner, I understand.’
Bridget continued to scratch Lotus behind the ear saying nothing. He refused to break the silence, allowing her the power position in this. Finally, just as his resolve was wavering, she spoke.
‘What’s for dinner?’
Not at all what he’d expected, and the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding whooshed out of him.
‘Baked ziti, French rolls, and Caesar salad.’
‘Bought or cooked by you?’ She still wasn’t looking at him, but he’d take it.
‘Made by me. Gran would have a fit it I tried to pass off takeout on a date.’
‘Gran was smart.’
The timer he’d set on the ziti dinged and he started to rise, but halted as Bridget held up a hand.
‘I understand where you were coming from with this. It’s not easy to be shamed.’ Her voice was whisper soft as she spoke. ‘But if you lie to me again, it’s done. Got it?’
He was so relieved he wanted to laugh, but he had the feeling she’d think he wasn’t taking her seriously so he settled for a grin and a very emphatic, ‘I got it.’
‘Good, can we eat? I’ve been so nervous over coming here, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
That took the wind out of his sails and he took her hand as she stood, ‘Bridget, obviously I can’t promise to never hurt you. Things happen beyond our control, but I can promise that I will do my best to always be open and understanding.’
She stared intently into his eyes, her own suspiciously damp.
‘OK.’ With an adorable sniffle, she added, ‘You gonna feed me or what, sugar?’
Chapter Eleven
Dinner was phenomenal. The Caesar salad was crisp and tangy, the ziti was baked to perfection, the rolls were crusty and warm, and the wine was bold and fruity. The melody of flavours was comforting, especially given the way her senses were in a riot.
Dessert was warming in the oven. Connor had admitted he didn’t know how to bake, so the apple pie was from the local bakery. She didn’t mind. So far, the man had far exceeded all her expectations.
The conversation had flowed easily. He had filled her in on the details of how he’d come to be in River Rock
