If she really had to, she could calculate it right down to hours and minutes. “A while,” she allowed.
“All right, then.” He waited until she lifted her glass also. “To old friends and nonexistent cats.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “You cannot really be serious.”
His eyes glinted, the green color seeming deeper than ever. “To old friends and unexpected bedfellows.”
Her cheeks burned. “To old friends and nonexistent cats,” she said crisply.
He smiled and lightly touched the edge of his glass to hers.
When she lifted the glass to her lips, she hoped she was the only one who noticed her hand wasn’t entirely steady.
He sliced the enormous steak into two pieces and pushed one of the slabs onto her plate, then followed it up with half of the grilled vegetables despite her protest that she’d never be able to eat that much.
His eyes crinkled. “Sure you can.”
And she did.
Afterward, when all of the dishes were empty—except the salad bowl, which was still full—they washed up and Nell gave up trying to stave off that sense of companionability. He poured her a second glass of wine while she dried the few plates they’d used and she sipped at it while he put them away.
And even though she knew she ought to make some move to leave, she kept putting it off.
He showed her around the rest of his house, consisting of three minimally furnished bedrooms—she barely allowed herself to glance into his—an office that was bigger than her room at the Cozy Night and lined with bookshelves crammed with books, a finished basement that housed a gigantic half-moon of a couch and a television that took up nearly an entire wall, the spectacular deck that surrounded three-fourths of the exterior, of course, and yes, even the guesthouse that did exist, after all.
The only reason she hadn’t noticed it at first was because it was down a steep hill on the far side of the house, and reached by several steps cut into the hillside.
“Sun rises there,” he said, gesturing in that direction. “Best view in the world. And you could still use it. No moths last time I checked.”
She looked from the darkened windows of the small guesthouse to his face. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Archer.”
He made a soft hmm sound. “You promised to feed the cat.”
“You’re here. You feed the cat. You won’t even be serious about whether he’s real or not.”
He dropped his arm over her shoulder. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”
She tried to refuse but he was adamant. Despite the brilliant moonlight and the bouquet of stars that looked close enough to pluck, it would be too easy to turn an ankle, he said. Too easy to cross paths with a wild animal.
The drive was short. In a matter of minutes, he came to a stop next to her car, right where she’d left it on the other side of the open gate.
She pushed open the truck door and slid out onto the ground. “Didn’t see any wild animals,” she told him drily, conveniently ignoring her scare when she thought he was one just a few hours earlier.
He draped his wrist over the steering wheel as he looked at her. “I don’t want to chance you getting hurt.”
Too late.
The words whispered through her mind and had nothing to do with turned ankles or wild animals and everything to do with him.
She stepped away from the truck. “Good night, Archer. Thanks for the steak.”
Then she firmly shut the door, climbed quickly into her own car and drove away, grateful that she was the only one who’d ever know the way her heartbeat squiggled around wildly like lines on a canvas.
Chapter Eight
Nell pushed through the door at Ruby’s Diner the next afternoon. There was the usual crowd of people waiting for tables alongside the door.
But the occupant of the stool at the counter whom she’d gotten used to seeing was not there at all and she was so surprised that she stopped right in the doorway.
And was promptly bumped into from the rear, and everything she was holding in her arms slid right onto the floor. Pages spilled out of her binder and her purse went sliding.
“Sorry, miss.” The bumper crouched down beside her to help as she scrabbled her belongings together. “Didn’t see your brake lights fast enough.” He gathered up a splayed pile of documents, handing them to her, and she flushed a little.
He was smiling, dark-haired and ridiculously good-looking.
“It was my fault,” she said quickly, taking the pages and pushing them every which way between the covers of the binder. She started to straighten but he beat her to it and took her hand, helping her up the rest of the way.
She flushed harder, more from knowing they’d earned the attention of the diners all around them than because of him. Though he really was attractive. Sort of like an engagingly cute puppy.
“I’m Nick,” he said. “Nick Ventura.”
His name surprised her even more. “You’re Vivian’s architect! The one who’s been designing the new library.” Her employer hadn’t said just how young her architect was.
His smile widened. “Guilty, I’m afraid. And I hope one day the library actually makes it off the page. And you are—”
“Nell Brewster.” She adjusted her tenuous grasp on her belongings again to stick out her hand. “And I can tell you that she absolutely intends for the library to make it off the page. Vivian hired me to manage the project.”
He closed his hand around hers, smiling warmly. “Then I’ll have something more to look forward to when she calls for design change five hundred and sixty-two.”
Nell laughed. “She does have a strong opinion about things that matter to her. I’ve learned that much.” Which was probably the reason why she’d hired an architect before she even had a confirmed location or approval from the town council. “But as it happens,
