mine with action figures. GI Joes and He-Man stuff, mostly. Coolest tree ever,” he said, chewing. “Couldn’t bear to take it down. So I didn’t.”
“Ever?”
“Might still be there, for all I know,” he said, and she laughed. Then she sighed.
“It is tempting, to leave it up. But if I do, what’ve I got to look forward to next year?”
Setting his plate on the floor—to Gumbo’s unbridled joy—Scott propped his elbow on the arm of the chair to rest the side of his face in his hand. “You really see yourself in the same place next year? In your life, I mean?”
His question caught her up short. “I…don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Then maybe you should,” he said softly, rising to take her plate, as well as his dog-slimed one, to the kitchen.
“No,” she said to his back, making him turn. “No, you’re right…of course I don’t see myself in the same place.”
His smile warmed her heart. And scared the heck out of her. Nobody ever paid this much attention to her, ever. Or cared two hoots about her plans. Her dreams. To be treated like a grown-up, and an intelligent one at that…
“Good girl,” he said, then pointed to the tree, one eyebrow raised.
Christina nodded, sighing as Scott began to dismantle it, handling the cheap ornaments like they were precious heirlooms.
Just like he’s handling you, she thought, stifling a sudden urge to throw something at the man.
Scott had meant what he’d said—to his father, about feeling a responsibility to help Christina; to Christina, about genuinely liking her. Nor could he deny the immediate whoosh of attraction, off-the-wall though that had been. However, if he were being honest, another thought had niggled, that those feelings would pass. That the mist of infatuation would clear and he’d see Christina as simply a sweet, very pretty young woman who could use a helping hand. Period.
Four days on, he was pretty sure he could put that worry to rest.
Especially since he’d seen Christina at her worst, during those four days—frustrated and cranky and given to periodic bouts of pure muleheadedness just for the heck of it, as far as he could tell. Once or twice she’d even snarled at him. But was he put off?
Nope.
And how could he be, when she’d also laugh at herself for being such a pain in the butt. Or compliment his cooking skills, such as they were, with a sparkle in her eyes that turned him inside out. Or ask him what courses he thought she should take to help her reach her goals. And with every laugh, every tease, every sparkle, the mist cleared a little more, leaving Scott even more convinced that while adrenaline and testosterone might have fueled that initial, kick-to-the-head reaction, neither accounted for what he was feeling now.
What the next step was, however, was anybody’s guess.
He’d spent most of the day putting out metaphorical fires Mike couldn’t, or didn’t want to, handle back in Atlanta. Now he pulled up in front of Christina’s apartment, making a mental note to research an outfit that could fix that pool. Enid’s insurance would take care of the tornado damage, but he was guessing the pool had fallen victim to insufficient cash flow. That, he could handle…
He saw Christina’s curtains twitch as he got out of the car, a bouquet of flowers in hand. A moment later the landlady came out onto the porch, silently shutting the door behind her and huddling inside a heavy cardigan against the night’s chill. They’d only chatted a couple of times since Scott brought Christina home, but now the old woman’s protective, suspicious expression, even in the jaundiced light from the caged bulb over the door, put him on alert.
“I’m just leaving, I think my hanging around was making her twitchy,” Enid said with an eyeroll behind the glasses. “But she’s already had supper, dog’s been fed, too.”
“Thank you—”
“So what’s your deal with her, anyway?”
“Pardon?”
The old
“Ever?”
“Might still be there, for all I know,” he said, and she laughed. Then she sighed.
“It is tempting, to leave it up. But if I do, what’ve I got to look forward to next year?”
Setting his plate on the floor—to Gumbo’s unbridled joy—Scott propped his elbow on the arm of the chair to rest the side of his face in his hand. “You really see yourself in the same place next year? In your life, I mean?”
His question caught her up short. “I…don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Then maybe you should,” he said softly, rising to take her plate, as well as his dog-slimed one, to the kitchen.
“No,” she said to his back, making him turn. “No, you’re right…of course I don’t see myself in the same place.”
His smile warmed her heart. And scared the heck out of her. Nobody ever paid this much attention to her, ever. Or cared two hoots about her plans. Her dreams. To be treated like a grown-up, and an intelligent one at that…
“Good girl,” he said, then pointed to the tree, one eyebrow raised.
Christina nodded, sighing as Scott began to dismantle it, handling the cheap ornaments like they were precious heirlooms.
Just like he’s handling you, she thought, stifling a sudden urge to throw something at the man.
Scott had meant what he’d said—to his father, about feeling a responsibility to help Christina; to Christina, about genuinely liking her. Nor could he deny the immediate whoosh of attraction, off-the-wall though that had been. However, if he were being honest, another thought had niggled, that those feelings would pass. That the mist of infatuation would clear and he’d see Christina as simply a sweet, very pretty young woman who could use a helping hand. Period.
Four days on, he was pretty sure he could put that worry to rest.
Especially since he’d seen Christina at her worst, during those four days—frustrated and cranky and given to periodic bouts of pure muleheadedness just for the heck of it, as far as he could tell. Once or twice she’d even snarled at him. But was he put off?
Nope.
And how could he be, when she’d also laugh at herself for being such a pain in the butt. Or compliment his cooking skills, such as they were, with a sparkle in her eyes that turned him inside out. Or ask him what courses he thought she should take to help her reach her goals. And with every laugh, every tease, every sparkle, the mist cleared a little more, leaving Scott even more convinced that while adrenaline and testosterone might have fueled that initial, kick-to-the-head reaction, neither accounted for what he was feeling now.
What the next step was, however, was anybody’s guess.
He’d spent most of the day putting out metaphorical fires Mike couldn’t, or didn’t want to, handle back in Atlanta. Now he pulled up in front of Christina’s apartment, making a mental note to research an outfit that could fix that pool. Enid’s insurance would take care of the tornado damage, but he was guessing the pool had fallen victim to insufficient cash flow. That, he could handle…
He saw Christina’s curtains twitch as he got out of the car, a bouquet of flowers in hand. A moment later the landlady came out onto the porch, silently shutting the door behind her and huddling inside a heavy cardigan against the night’s chill. They’d only chatted a couple of times since Scott brought Christina home, but now the old woman’s protective, suspicious expression, even in the jaundiced light from the caged bulb over the door, put him on alert.
“I’m just leaving, I think my hanging around was making her twitchy,” Enid said with an eyeroll behind the glasses. “But she’s already had supper, dog’s been fed, too.”
“Thank you—”
“So what’s your deal with her, anyway?”
“Pardon?”
The old
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