The heavy clonk of work boots stopped. “Whoa, what did you say?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Every hotel around here is—”
“No, I want to hear what you said before that.” He held up his hand, poking his index finger into the air.
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes and drawled, “You were right.”
“Music to my ears,” he murmured. He took off his shoes, placed them under the coat rack, and sat at the kitchen table. “Is your tire fixed?”
“Yes. Sarah’s brother towed my car, put on a new tire, and gave my car a clean bill of health.” Jaye doused the steaming noodles with a generous ladle of meat sauce. “I’m mobile again.”
“Good.” Bracing his elbows on the table, he rubbed his hands against his face. The solid breadth of his shoulders slumped.
To thank him for not gloating about winning their bet, she grated fresh cheese over his food. The scent of melting cheddar wafted into the air. She put the plate in front of him. “To the winner go the spoils. Go ahead and dig in. I’ll join you in a second.”
He didn’t pick up his fork until she sat across the table. “How far did you look before you found an empty hotel room?”
“I found one in Buffalo. The drive would’ve taken an hour one way.”
“If the weather’s good.” He shoveled forkfuls of pasta into his mouth.
“The receptionist made the same point. I thought about reserving the room, but an hour commute didn’t appeal—even if the hotel did have an indoor swimming pool.” She pushed the pasta around her plate with her fork. “Looks like you’ll have me for a roommate, after all.”
“I’m looking forward to living with a consultant who’ll cook three gourmet meals every week.”
“This is hardly gourmet.” She looked up in time to see him lower his fork. “You’re done already?”
He exhaled, staring at his empty plate. “Dinner was awesome, Jaye. Thank you.”
She flushed with pleasure, unused to being thanked for what she did. He looked like he wanted to lick off the residual streaks of sauce on his place—the best compliment a cook could receive. “Do you want another serving?”
“There’s more?” He snatched his plate off the table and reached the stove in two determined strides.
“Save a little for me, okay? I planned to pack leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”
“I had no idea consultants ate leftovers.”
“We’re like everyone else.” She frowned at the heaping serving on his plate. “Did you have lunch today?”
“Yeah.” He sat and resumed eating. “Why?”
“I’m surprised you’re so hungry.”
“I haven’t eaten anything this good in a long time. I’m a rotten cook, so I live on takeout.” His mouth tilted, his bottom lip shiny from the wet pasta. “I couldn’t resist taking you up on your bet. I knew you’d lose, and I figured you could cook better than me. You consultants are a talented group, after all.”
Jaye’s sigh came out so hard, her bangs fluttered. “You say consultant like you detest the word.”
He shrugged and kept eating.
“I know you think hiring a specialist is a waste of time and money, but there’s something else you’re not telling me.” Jaye rested her chin in one hand. “What happened?”
“You don’t need to know.”
She squinted. “I think I do, since you call me a consultant.”
“Don’t screw up my life. That’s all I ask.” He stabbed pasta onto his fork.
Her cell chimed. She pulled the phone out of her jeans to glance at the screen.
“It’s lonely without you. I love you, David.”
Heartache stabbed through her. She slid the phone back into her pocket with a resolute shove. Not wanting Mitch to catch sight of her grief, she stuffed her emotions into the place where she hid everything. That dark corner of her soul was getting crowded. Between David’s betrayals, her father’s weighty expectations, and the inexplicable hopelessness that haunted her, sadness kept bubbling to the surface.
She straightened her posture. “I read your report today and told Nick some of your suggestions, but he isn’t sold on the idea of expanding the product line. Your father wants to stick with making glasses for a while.”
“I know.” Mitch shoveled the last forkful into his mouth and leaned back.
Disappointed she didn’t have better news, Jaye examined her water glass. The stem felt silky. The glass possessed enough sparkle to diffract the dim light leaking from the old fixture dangling above the kitchen table. She tapped the goblet’s smooth rim. “Did you make this?”
He nodded. “I’m using the prototypes at home for a couple of weeks before I put them into production. If they don’t break here, they’ll hold up anywhere.”
Whisking her bangs to the side, Jaye frowned. “You test new designs in your kitchen?”
His blue eyes went glacial. “Have you got a problem with that?”
“Well, yeah. Most companies put new products through extensive testing programs.”
The fork clanked against his plate. “I’m a glassblower. I know what glass can do. I’m the only test our stemware needs to pass before we sell a new product.”
“Maybe, but convincing your father to produce pitchers, bowls, and vases would be easier if you provided data proving a high demand existed for those items.” Jaye leaned forward. “I could help you pull something together.”
“Not necessary.” A long forefinger pointed at her drinking glass. “There’s always a demand for our products because they look good.”
“You’re skipping an important piece. Proper market research will—”
“No amount of research will tell me what’s coming out of my studio.” Two thick forearms braced against the edge of the table. “Or do you know more about glassblowing than I do?”
“No, of course not.” Geez, this guy wouldn’t let up, would he? “I know marketing. I can help you.”
“By building a flat, online store to sell my three-dimensional glass.” He gave a shake of his head. “Go ahead. I can see there’s no stopping you. Or my father.”
“Virtual marketing
