Cassie guessed that finding himself completely alone at seventeen had shattered any illusions about home and hearth. Although nothing could bring back his parents, she could help him connect to a part of his family he’d never known. But first, he needed to forgive his grandfather.
Boy, did she ever have her work cut out for her. “Fine,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll take care of the plant for you.” She held up a can of coffee. “I didn’t know what brand, but guessed you at least wanted caffeine.”
“Definitely.” His expression even more puzzled, he approached the table. “How much do I owe you for the groceries?” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.
She waved away the offer. “If you pay, then I’ll have to assume that because my gift isn’t homemade it doesn’t measure up. I’m not much of a cook or a baker, so I can’t compete with all this wonderful food.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Good.” She grinned. “Here’s rule number two in a small town—when someone is nice to you, a simple thank you is enough.”
She expected some sort of resistance, either a rationalization to pay, or even the return of his earlier wariness. Instead, his dark gaze grew warm, the firm lines of his mouth softened. His expression held something that unnerved her even more—interest.
Tanner snapped out of his flustered fog, jolted by Cassie’s lighthearted explanation of why he should put back his wallet. She could have just as easily pouted or acted insulted by his offer of money. How refreshing. He smiled. “Thank you.”
Her eyes grew wide, her face flushed. She fidgeted with the denim hat that covered most of her rich brown hair. Not many women pulled off wearing hats, in his opinion, but it looked natural on Cassie.
“You—you’re welcome.”
In fact, he suspected she’d look good in just about anything. Tonight, instead of overalls, faded jeans outlined dangerous curves. A sleeveless blouse revealed well-defined arms. Bright-pink toenails poked out of sandals, the vivid, feminine color a further reminder that she was all woman.
As if he could forget.
She inched backward toward the kitchen door. “I—I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good night,” she said, then left.
Tanner walked over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He untucked his shirt and used it as a towel, hoping to also wipe away the image now firm in his mind of Cassie’s tempting package of curves and muscle, firmness and warmth.
Damn. He wanted to see Cassie as just a hired hand, not a woman. She was too sentimental and emotional. Tears had threatened at the mention of his power-hungry grandfather. She’d reacted to a smile and a thank you the way some women responded to a compliment or flowers.
Yes, he had derived satisfaction from managing to fluster her. And he couldn’t deny he was glad, even grateful, to discover that she also felt the chemistry between them. But he’d ignore the attraction. One reason had brought him to New Haven—to inherit the house in order to sell it.
Thirty days and counting. After that, the entire town could swarm Fairfax House. He’d be gone.
Saturday morning at nine o’clock sharp, Cassie knocked on the kitchen door of Fairfax House and braced herself to see Tanner again. She just hoped he wouldn’t mention her frazzled state last night, which had been entirely his fault. His unexpected smile had softened his features and reminded her of how moments earlier she’d found him adorable. Then he’d given her that look.
Once home and in her own bed, she’d tossed and turned for hours. Had she imagined the curiosity in his gaze? If her instincts were correct, would any interest on his part prove a complication or an asset in her attempt to convince him to remain at Fairfax House?
No. The tantalizing notion wouldn’t get another thought. Besides just being plain wrong to capitalize on whatever chemistry existed between them, she’d never been one to do things the easy way.
The aroma of strong coffee and cinnamon streamed through the screen door and made serious thinking difficult. Her mouth watered, her stomach grumbled, and she silently cursed her weakness for sweets. She didn’t need any distractions.
She wanted something from Tanner Fairfax, something she could almost taste, the way she could already taste the perfect blend of cinnamon and sugars in Miss Eva’s famous rolls. She didn’t care if Tanner acted bitter, suspicious, flustered or even flirty. She’d deal with whatever he threw at her.
“Come in.” He held the door open.
“Thanks.” She stepped inside. Her determination to act naturally took a nosedive at the sight of Tanner, obviously fresh out of the shower. Drops of water clung to his hair. A navy T-shirt outlined his broad chest. Gray gym shorts revealed tanned, lean, muscular legs.
So, her customer was attractive. Not a problem.
She swallowed hard and forced her thoughts back to business. “Before I forget, another customer still has my wallpaper books. I can have them here in a day or so, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” The door banged shut as he walked across the kitchen, his weathered sneakers silent on the tiled floor. “How about coffee and a roll before you start? This good food shouldn’t go to waste.” He nodded at two places already set with paper plates and napkins at the kitchen table.
She didn’t know what to make of his almost formal manner, the polite smile. Not a smidgen of curiosity. Apparently, she’d tossed and turned for no reason last night.
She was okay with that, though. Polite, she could handle. “Only a fool would turn down that offer.” She took a seat, determined to keep things light, friendly, but still professional, in order to win his trust.
“Butter?” he asked.
With a guilty start she shook her head and turned her thoughts to the safer topic of breakfast. She unwound a portion of the roll coated with homemade icing, tore off a piece and popped it in her mouth.
“Heaven,” she murmured, savoring the sinfully rich confection, heavy on the cinnamon and some other blend of spices which remained Miss Eva’s secret. Bit by bit, she unraveled the roll, enjoying each delicious bite.
She glanced up to find Tanner staring at her. “What’s wrong? Do I have a frosting mustache or something?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Nothing like that. I mean, I’ve never seen anyone eat a roll like that before.”
“When something is this good, I try to make it last even longer. Don’t worry, though. With wallpapering, I charge by the roll, not the hour.” She wiped her fingers on the napkin next to her plate. Teetering on the edge of sugar overload, she took a sip of coffee as strong as the aroma had promised.
Over the rim of her cup she caught him studying her as if she were a complex blueprint. What had she said or done?
“I’m not worried.” He nudged his plate away, having already inhaled two buttered rolls before she’d finished one. Obviously, he didn’t share her tendency to savor. “I didn’t mean to rush you,” he continued, “you were on time this morning, which is refreshing in itself.”
“I can’t take credit for that. I live across the street in Mrs. Boone’s upstairs apartment.”
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Seems like I was recently told that when someone says something nice to you, a simple thank you is enough.”
She smiled, surprised and much too pleased by his sudden shift from impersonal politeness to friendly bantering. “A quick study. I like that. And you got points last night for not commenting on the fact that I don’t cook or bake.”
“Big deal. I’ve never spent any time in a kitchen, either.”
“But