In fact, in the morning when she saw her work again, she might very well decide once more to hate him for getting her hopes up.
She faced Ben and caught the surreptitious glances he was casting toward the painting.
“Admiring yourself?” she asked.
He gave her a wry look. “Hardly. I’m admiring your brush strokes. You have an interesting technique, not quite Impressionistic, but close.”
She laughed at that. “I’m definitely no Renoir.”
“Few artists are,” he agreed. “But you’re good, Kathleen. Damn good.”
She drank in the compliment, even as she tried to deny its validity. “Come on, Ben. Don’t go overboard. You’ve won. I’ll finish the painting, but if you’re expecting something on a par with the great masters when I’m done, you’re doomed to disappointment.”
“You could never disappoint me,” he said with quiet certainty.
She started to offer another protest but the words died on her lips. How could she argue with such sincerity? Why would she even want to? Instead, she merely said, “Please, can’t we change the subject?”
He seemed about to argue, but then he said, “Okay, I’ll drop it for now. Get your coat. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Why don’t I cook?” she said instead.
He regarded her with a hopeful expression. “Is your cooking anything at all like your baking?”
She laughed. “It’s not half-bad. A lot depends on what’s in the refrigerator. I just shopped this morning so I think I can do something decent tonight. How do you feel about grilled lamb chops, baby red bliss potatoes and steamed vegetables?”
He sighed with undisguised pleasure. “And for dessert?”
“I left you a half-dozen raspberry tarts this morning,” she protested. “Isn’t that enough sweets for one day?”
“No such thing,” he insisted. “Besides, I only ate one. I’m saving the rest, along with the extra muffins and the remainder of the blueberry pie.”
She chuckled. “Maybe you should go home for dessert.”
He shook his head. “I’d rather watch you make something from scratch.”
“So you can steal my secret for flaky dough?”
“No, because there is something incredibly sexy about a woman who’s confident in the kitchen.”
Kathleen laughed. “Good answer. I’m very confident when it comes to my chocolate mousse. How does that sound? Or would you prefer something more manly and substantial like a cake?”
“The mousse will definitely do,” he said with enthusiasm. “Can I lick—” he gave her a look meant to curl her toes, then completed the thought “—the spoon?”
Kathleen’s knees had turned rubbery somewhere in the middle of the sentence, but she kept herself steady with some effort. “You can lick any utensil you want to,” she agreed. “And then you can wash the dishes.” She gave him a warning look. “And I tend to be a very messy cook.”
Ben laughed. “A small price to pay. Shall we walk to your place, or do you want to ride?”
“It’s only a few blocks,” she said. “Let’s walk.”
Though the night air was cold, the December sky was clear and signs of Christmas were everywhere. There was a tree lot on a corner and the fragrance of pine and spruce filled the air with an unmistakable holiday scent.
“Do you have your tree yet?” Ben asked as they drew closer to the small lot.
“No, I usually wait till the last second, because I have to get the store decorations done first. Sometimes the only festive touch at home is a small, artificial tree that’s predecorated.”
He looked aghast at that. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why on earth not?” she asked. “It hardly seems worth the effort just for me. I’m rarely at home during the holidays, and by Christmas Day I’m usually visiting my family.”
He seemed surprised. “The mother who infuriates you?”
“And the stepfather of the moment, plus my grandparents,” she told him. “I can take a day of all that, then I run back here as quickly as possible.”
Ben’s expression turned thoughtful and then he halted in front of the trees. “I think it’s time that changed. Pick out a tree, the biggest one on the lot, the one you used to imagine when you were a little girl.”
“I don’t need a tree. Besides, I certainly can’t fit a huge tree into my house,” she protested, though she was just a little charmed by the idea of it.
“We’ll make it fit,” he said, clearly not intending to give up. “Come on now. Pick one. I’ll put it up while you fix dinner. We can play Christmas carols and sing along.”
The whole idea sounded temptingly domestic. In fact, it reminded Kathleen of all the dreams she’d once had for the perfect holiday season. Instead, most of her holidays had been spent avoiding arguments that quickly escalated into something nasty. She couldn’t recall a single Christmas that bore any resemblance to those happy occasions she’d read about in storybooks.
Ben’s desire to give her one more thing she’d always longed for cut through all of her practical objections and had her walking amid the fragrant trees without another hesitation.
She sniffed deeply as the vendor held up first one tree and then another for her inspection. Ben did all the practical things. He tested needles and checked the trunk to see if it was straight. Kathleen concentrated on finding a tree that filled her senses with the right scent, a tree that was perfectly shaped for hanging ornaments.
When she found it at last, she overcame all of Ben’s objections about the curve in the trunk. “Who cares if it’s a little crooked? We can use fishing line to make sure it doesn’t topple over. This one smells like Christmas.”
He regarded her with amusement. “Your heart is really set on this one because it smells right?”
“Absolutely,” she said, drawing in another deep breath of the strong spruce aroma. Heavenly. If the
