Читать книгу The Complete Christmas Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 27

Erik hesitated at the store’s front door. For years he’d simply walked in when the business had been open. After his grandparents had moved, he’d let himself in with his key. Since the sale had closed two days ago, he no longer had the right to come and go as he pleased from a place that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember.

The odd sense of having been displaced lingered as he rapped his knuckles on the frame of the screen door, and promptly disappeared the instant the inside door swung open. Even with her pretty features schooled into a smile of greeting, the unease in Rory’s guarded expression made him suspect she was already having second thoughts about what she’d taken on.

Or so he was thinking when she let him in and his glance cut from the black hoodie and yoga pants molding her curves to the furniture behind her.

It looked as if every possession she owned sat piled in the interior of the market. Bedroom sets, tables, chairs, boxes.

“You said you didn’t need any help moving in.”

Good morning to you, too, Rory thought. “I didn’t think I did,” she said, stepping back for him to pass.

Deliberately overlooking the accusation shadowing his rugged features, she crossed her arms over her hoodie and the teal turtleneck and thermal undershirt layered beneath it. She wanted to believe her shiver had more to do with the chill in the large space than with the big man in the waffle-weave pullover and charcoal cargo pants. After all, the thermometer by the dairy case did read forty-nine degrees.

The man should wear a coat, she insisted to herself. It was easily ten degrees colder outside.

She turned on her heel to lead him inside where it was warmer. “The college kids I hired were only available long enough to drive the U-Haul over and unload it into the market,” she explained, heading between the packing boxes that formed an aisle to the interior door. “It wasn’t until we got here that they told me they wouldn’t have time to carry everything to the rooms. They did take one of the beds upstairs, though.” The thud of heavy hiking boots echoed behind her. In running shoes, her footsteps barely made a squeak. “A mattress, anyway,” she qualified. “And a box of bedding.” That had been huge.

Spending the past couple of nights on a hard floor would have guaranteed even less sleep than she usually managed. Even with a reasonably comfortable place to rest, she’d spent most of both nights trying not to disturb Tyler and listening to the building’s unfamiliar creaks and groans while hoping to heaven she could make this store work.

“They’ll come back to finish sometime next week,” she continued, “so I’ve been taking in what I can by myself. Tyler’s helping.” Boxes too heavy to carry she’d emptied one armload at a time. The method wasn’t the most efficient, but she now had one bathroom in order and the kitchen organized, except for the table and chairs. The old refectory table weighed a ton. She knew—she’d tried to move it last night.

She chafed her arms along her sleeves, winced a little when she rubbed a spot above the elbow that now sported the bruise she’d earned in the attempt. She had a matching one on the back of her shoulder. No longer hearing Erik’s footfalls, she glanced around to see that he had stopped.

Across ten feet of worn plank flooring, she saw his dark eyebrows merge. “Isn’t the furnace working?”

“It’s working just fine.”

“Then why is it so cold in here?”

“Because I’m not heating this big space until I have to. Fuel’s expensive. By the way,” she added, gratitude slipping into her voice, “thank you for having the tank filled. You saved me from running out of oil.” She’d always had electric heat before. Not accustomed to an oil furnace, she hadn’t realized the need for fuel until the man who’d performed the building inspection Sunday had showed her the tank and pointed out the gauge.

“The driver of the truck wouldn’t leave an invoice,” she told him. “So if you’ll tell me what I owe you, I’ll give you a check.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No,” he insisted, “you don’t. Just think of it as a move-in present.”

He obviously considered the matter settled. There seemed no doubt of that as he turned away to ponder the height and breadth of the obstacles blocking his view of the back of the store.

As appreciative as she was for his thoughtfulness, she couldn’t accept his gift.

“Look.” Hugging her arms a little tighter, she stepped in front of him. “I’m already not sure how I’ll repay you for helping me get to know the store. I know you agreed to do it to help your grandparents sell this place,” she conceded, which meant his benevolence definitely wasn’t personal, “but I’d rather not be any more obligated to you than I already am. Or will be,” she qualified, because other than make her acutely aware of his reluctant and very male presence, he hadn’t done anything yet. “Okay?”

For a moment, he said nothing. He just let his deceptively easy glance slip over the quiet determination in her eyes before he headed to the checkout counter.

“Then don’t accept it as a gift. Accept it because I’d rather work out here with heat.”

Confusion preempted further defense. “I thought we were going to go over the inventory.”

“That’s the plan.”

He carried a briefcase. A rather hefty one of scarred butterscotch leather and straps with buckles that had far more character than the sleek, unscuffed ones carried by other men she knew. As he set it on the scratched counter, she could see his burnished initials, worn shiny in places, above the equally worn lock. A section of stitching on the side looked new, as if it had recently been repaired. The case was old, she thought. It had history. And part of that history seemed to say that he’d rather keep and care for what he had than replace it.

Not appreciating how he’d dismissed her attempt to establish an understanding, she didn’t bother to wonder why she found that so appealing.

“I thought we’d work where it’s already warm. Inside,” she pointed out, ever so reasonably. “We can sit at the island and go over the books in there.”

“I meant the physical inventory. The stuff that’s on the shelves and in the bins back there.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “I have a printout of what came with the sale, but those items have been sitting around for a year. You’ll want to discount some of what you have and replace it with new merchandise. Things like sinkers, bobbers and leaders are fine, but creels and some of the stock that isn’t packaged looks shopworn.”

Rory hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

“Fishing gear,” he explained, apparently sensing that.

Undaunted, she picked up a couple of the boxes from the cracked surface. She’d already decided the old laminate needed to go. “Then we’ll work here at the counter.”

The boxes had been emptied, Erik realized when she easily lifted two marked Dishes from where his grandfather had once kept displays of bug repellent and sunglasses. She removed two more, adding them to the only space available without blocking either doorway: the tops of three tall stacks of red-and-green bins marked Christmas.

She had to stretch to get them there. Jerking his glance from the enticing curve of her backside, he reached past her.

“Let me get that.”

“Already have it,” she insisted, and having placed the boxes, turned right into him.

Rock had more give to it.

The thought occurred vaguely as she bumped into his chest. Promptly bouncing back, she gasped a breath when his quick grip tightened on her upper arms. Her heart had barely slammed against her ribs when he pulled her forward to keep her from hitting the bins behind her and bringing the empty boxes down on their heads.

The freshness of soap and sea air clung to him. With her pulse scrambling, his grip tight on her bruise, she had no idea why the scents even registered. Her hand shot up, covering the back of his where it curved over the tender spot on her arm.

The pressure of his fingers eased.

With their bodies inches apart, she went as still as stone. Or maybe he froze first. She just knew that one moment she’d been intent on doing whatever she needed to do to make it clear that she wouldn’t waste his time, and the next, the tension in his body and the warmth of his hands had seeped through to her skin, making her conscious of little more than...him.

Erik’s eyes narrowed on hers an instant before she ducked her head. Slacking his grip, he dropped his hands. There’d been no mistaking the way she’d winced when he’d grabbed her.

Without thinking, he reached toward her again, touched the back of her hand where it now covered where his had been.

He hadn’t thought he’d grabbed her that hard.

“Are you okay?”

At the concern in his voice, the caution in his touch, her head came back up. “I’m fine.” Wanting to convince them both, she smiled. “Really.”

His brow pinched as he drew his hand away once more.

Rory’s breath slithered out. That small contact had been far too brief to elicit the loss she felt when he stepped back. Yet that sense of loss existed, sinking deeper into her chest with every heartbeat—unexpected, unwanted and feeling far too threatening under his quiet scrutiny.

A certain numbness had protected her since she’d lost what had felt like the other half of herself. Yet, as with the first time this man had touched her, something about him scraped at the edges of that barrier, made her conscious of things she truly didn’t want to consider.

Out of nowhere, the need to be held sprang to mind. It was such a simple thing, so basic that she’d never truly considered it until it had been found and suddenly lost—that need for security, comfort, a sense of oneness. But she knew how rare it was to find that sense of belonging, and the need didn’t feel simple at all. Not when she realized she was actually wondering what it would feel like to be folded against Erik’s broad, undeniably solid chest. A woman would feel sheltered there. Safe from what troubled her. And for a few moments, anyway, free of the need to stand alone.

Shaken by her thoughts, by him, she started to move back, as much from the need behind the unexpected admissions as from the man who’d prompted them. The stacks behind her allowed her no escape at all.

His scrutiny narrowed. “If you’re okay, why are you still holding your arm?”

She was holding in his touch. Realizing that, hoping he didn’t, she promptly dropped her hand.

“It’s nothing.” Rattled, trying not to be, she shrugged. “It’s just a little sore.”

“Why?”

“Because I landed against the corner of a dresser.” She was just tired. Tired and apparently in need of some downtime with her yoga mat. If she could find it. Or, even better, some fudge. The one thing she did not need was to think about this man’s chest, his arms or the way he was scowling at her. “I was trying to move a table and lost my grip.

“So,” she said, fully prepared to move on so he’d move himself.

He didn’t budge. “Which table?”

Trapped between the counter, bins and boxes, she leaned sideways and pointed toward the eight-foot-long, solid oak-and-iron refectory table jammed between a bedroom set and the dairy case. “That one.”

His scowl deepened as it swung back to her. “You tried to move that yourself?”

“It wasn’t going to go inside on its own.”

Forbearance entered his tone. “You said you were going to wait for the kids who moved you here to help with the heavy stuff.”

“What I said,” she reminded him, just as patiently, “is that they’d be back next week.”

“When next week?”

“When they can fit it in.”

“Meaning this could all be here a week from now,” he said flatly. “Or the week after that.”

She didn’t particularly appreciate the cynical certainty in his tone. Especially since she was trying not to dwell on that discouraging suspicion herself.

“What about your friends?” he asked, clearly prepared to pursue other possibilities. “Have you asked any of them to help you?”

“I’m sure everyone’s busy.”

“Do you know that for certain?”

She could omit and evade. No way could she lie. Thinking of the few people she still thought of as friends, she muttered, “Not exactly.”

“Then ask.”

She started to say that she didn’t want to. Fearing she’d sound like a five-year-old, not liking how he prodded at her defenses, she ignored the command entirely.

Since he had yet to move, she ducked around him. “I’ll go turn on the heat.”

She would do her best to cooperate with him for his help with the store. She could cut corners somewhere else to keep expenses down.

“I only took two bar stools inside, so there are a couple more back there we can bring up to sit on. I’m going to tell Tyler I’ll be out here. He’s watching a DVD on my laptop.”

Erik watched her slip behind the counter, his focus on the resolute set of her shoulders as she disappeared inside. Her son was undoubtedly watching her laptop because her television was buried somewhere in the stacks beyond him. He also gave the guys she’d hired about a fifty-fifty chance of returning to finish their job.

He didn’t care what she said. She did need help here. She just didn’t want to ask for it.

Considering that she hadn’t wanted to accept his little housewarming present, either, he couldn’t help but wonder if the woman was always unreasonable, impractical and stubborn, or if some less obvious trait compelled her to refuse assistance when she clearly needed it.

What she needed now was some serious muscle.

Judging from the size of the decidedly upscale sofa and armchairs, sections of wall units, tables and a huge mirror sitting between the rows of shelving, there had been significant space in the house she’d left behind. The larger of two armoires was the size of a king-size mattress. He had no idea where she was going to put that. It might have fit in the largest of the bedrooms upstairs, but it would never make the bend at the top of the staircase.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, checked the time before scrolling through his contact list.

He’d just ended his call when she hurried back through the door.

“I have a friend on the way to help with the heavy stuff,” he announced. “You and I can take care of the rest of it.” Pushing up his sleeves, he motioned to an overstuffed, roll-armed, oatmeal-colored chair blocking a bedroom set. “Where does that go?”

Beneath a dusting of dark hair, his forearms were roped with sinew and muscle. They looked every bit as strong as she imagined them to be, but it was his left arm that had her staring. A silvery scar, hook shaped and wide, slashed from wrist to elbow.

“Just part of a collection. Caught a jib line when it snapped,” he said, seeing what had her attention. “It couldn’t be helped.” His glance slid pointedly to the sore spot on her arm. “Unlike banging yourself up trying to move something you had to know was too heavy for you.

“So where do you want it?” he asked. “The living room?”

His presumption made her let the table reference go.

“You don’t need to do this.” Part of a collection, he’d said. He had more injuries like that? “And you definitely didn’t need to call your friend.”

Unease over what he’d done had collided with a hint of concern for the scar. Or maybe what he saw was embarrassment warring with interest. Whichever it was, he could practically see her struggling to decide which should take precedence as she moved with him toward the chair. The process, he thought, was rather fascinating.

“Yeah,” he muttered, undeterred. At least she now had some color in her cheeks. “I did. I can’t get those dressers up the stairs by myself.”

“I meant, you didn’t need to impose on him at all. I can’t ask you to do this,” she stressed, only to have him hand her the chair’s seat cushion.

“You didn’t ask,” he pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” she muttered back, arms wrapped around the awkward bulk.

“What I know is that there’s no way to go over the inventory when we can’t even get to it. So, yeah. I do need to do this.” Challenge lit the chips of silver in his steel-gray eyes as he pulled one of her arms free and handed her the wide back cushion, as well. His glance slid to her biceps. “You’re skinny, but you have more muscle than I’d thought. This’ll go faster if you help.”

Over the tops of the pillows, Rory could have sworn she saw challenge shift to a smile. Too disconcerted by him and what he’d done to stand there and make certain of it, she turned with the cushions and headed for the door.

She’d admit to having lost a couple of pounds in the past year or so, but no one had called her skinny since sixth grade.

“Which room do you want the twin bed in?” she heard him call.

“The one next to the master,” she called back.

She had no intention of arguing with him. Not just because she didn’t want to appear difficult. Or because he had a valid point about not being able to get to the inventory. As unsettled as her life felt—would always feel, she feared—getting the visible chaos under control would be huge. Tyler having his own bed that night would be nice, too.

Focusing on her son distracted her from the man carrying up her little boy’s bed. For all of five minutes. The moment Tyler saw his bookshelf going up the stairs, he wanted to help. Wanting to keep him out of Erik’s way, since she was trying to stay out of it herself, she waited until the piece was in place, then put him to work filling the shelves with his toys. While Erik moved on to tackle the living room furniture, she carried in lamps, pictures and, now that she could get to it, her box of potted herbs for the kitchen windowsill.

They didn’t work together so much as they worked around each other. Erik clearly just wanted to get the job done so he could get on with the job he was there to do. Hating how she’d inconvenienced him, she just wanted to get it done, too.

An hour later, she’d returned to the base of the stairs for the rolled-up dinosaur posters she’d left there when muffled male voices drifted from inside the store.

“No way is this thing going up the stairs,” she heard Erik insist. “Not without a saw.”

“She might take exception to that,” came the sensible reply. “How about through the bedroom window? Aren’t there picture windows on that side of the house?”

“We’d have to take the window out and bring over a crane, but it might be doable. The boys could load the EZ-Rig on a trailer and one of them can drive it over.”

“That would do it.” The unfamiliar voice paused. “There just isn’t enough time to do it today. Not if you want the rest of this cleared out. That party starts at six.”

Not totally sure what had the men talking about bringing in heavy equipment, equally concerned by mention of a prior obligation, Rory left the posters and poked her head inside the store. In the bright overhead lights, she saw Erik facing the large cherry armoire that blocked one of the grocery aisles. He stood in profile to her, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his wide brow furrowed.

He seemed totally occupied with logistics. She just couldn’t see whom he was talking with. Whoever it was remained hidden by the sizable piece of furniture.

Needing to remove the apparent complication, she scooted past the checkout counter. “If it can’t be carried up, just leave it. Or move it out of the way if you need to. I’ll figure out what to do with it later.”

Erik’s glance caught hers as an athletic-looking male in worn denims and a plaid flannel shirt stepped from behind the armoire. The man had a scant inch on her mentor in height, which put him in the range of six-three or so, and the same imposing, broad-shouldered, leanly muscular build that spoke of intimate familiarity with hard physical work. Or a gym.

Beneath his wavy, wood-brown hair, his eyes narrowed an instant before he smiled. That smile seemed as easygoing as the man himself when Erik introduced him to her as Pax Merrick.

“My business partner,” Erik added.

Pax reached out. “And partner in crime.”

Shaking her hand, he gave her a quick once-over, the kind men who enjoy women often do, along with a rakish wink. “We go back a long way. You’re Rory,” he said, sparing his partner the introduction, along with whatever he could have added about their apparently extensive history.

Her glance bounced between the two unquestionably attractive, undoubtedly successful, probably rather fearless males. With the sense that their history might be rather intriguing, she offered Pax an apologetic smile of her own. “I’m really sorry to cut into your day like this.”

“Not a problem. He’d do the same for me,” he admitted, eyeing her with no small amount of curiosity. “You’re really taking over this place?”

Something in the man’s tone gave her pause.

“I am,” she replied. “Why?”

“It’ll seem really different, is all. I used to hang out here with Erik when we were kids. We built our first boat in Gramps’s garage down there. And this store... It was just the Sullivans here all those years. They had sort of a mom-and-pop thing going,” he explained, looking her over as if to verify some preconceived impression. “Down-to-earth. Comfortable, you know? I never thought about it being run by someone...”

Like you, she was sure he’d been about to say, only to be cut off by the quick-but-subtle slicing motion Erik made across his own throat.

“...else,” he hastily concluded. “But if Erik’s going to teach you the ropes,” he hurried to add, “I’m sure you don’t have a thing to worry about. The guy’s got the patience of Job.”

Meaning he thought she was going to require...what? she wondered, swinging her glance to Erik. Patience of biblical proportions?

Erik pointedly ignored her. “Are you going to help me move this, Merrick?”

“Absolutely. I’m on it.”

As if wanting to muffle his partner, Erik motioned to the furniture the large piece blocked. “As soon as we get this out of the way, we’ll take up your son’s dresser,” he told her. “Where do you want those bookcases?”

“In the spare room across from Tyler’s.” Please, she might have added, but his friend’s insinuation still stung.

“Is there a bed that goes in there?”

“I don’t have a spare bed anymore.” She nodded toward the headboard and nightstands an aisle over with the same carving as the armoire. “That’s a set we had in a guest room. I’ll use it for my room now.”

She’d sold the bed she’d slept in with Curt for so many years. Its new owner had picked up all the master bedroom furnishings the morning her movers had come. She’d sold the bulk of her other possessions to an estate broker she’d met at the country club to which she no longer belonged. Had it not been for Tyler, she’d have sold everything and bought only what she’d need to start over. But too much had changed for him already for her to indulge the need she felt to shed all the reminders of a life that no longer was.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her hand through her hair and looked over to see Erik still watching her.

“I take it you’ve downsized.”

“You have no idea,” she murmured back.

She couldn’t imagine what he saw in her expression, but she saw something in his that looked remarkably like understanding. It was as if he knew what it was like to walk away from the trappings and reminders of a former life. Whether he’d had no choice or the choice had been solely his, she had no idea. All she felt with any certainty as he shoved up his shirtsleeves to get back to work was that he wanted no part of those reminders now.

The realizations gave her pause. As she turned away herself and headed inside to pick up the posters, so did her disquiet over his partner’s unwitting revelations. The fact that Erik had obviously implied to his friend that she would require considerable patience was merely annoying. She also questioned just how patient he actually was, given his steamroller approach to getting her things moved out of his way. But what truly troubled her was what his friend had said about her mentor’s grandparents having been there for so long.

She hadn’t even considered what her neighbors and customers would think of someone new running a business that might well be some sort of institution in the area. She’d already been wondering if she could keep it open year-round, and added that to her list of questions for Erik. Her newly heightened concerns about fitting in she’d have to add later, though, when she wasn’t busy keeping Tyler out of the way of all the testosterone hauling bedroom furniture up the stairs.

Every time they clamored up the stairs and down the hall with another piece of something large, he’d dart to the door of his new bedroom to watch them go by.

Pax joked with him, noticeably at ease with small children. Erik, preoccupied, said even less to him than when he’d been around him before. He’d given him a half smile on their first pass, which had put a shy grin on Tyler’s face, then barely glanced at him at all.

Because her little boy continued to wait in his doorway for “the man with the boat,” it soon became painfully apparent that Tyler was hoping Erik would acknowledge him again—which had her feeling even more protective than usual when he asked if he could help him.

“I don’t think so, sweetie. They’re in a hurry,” she explained, brushing his sandy hair back from his forehead. “When people get in a hurry, accidents can happen.”

“If I be careful can I help?”

Erik heard the tiny plea drift down the hallway. Focused on getting Rory’s possessions out of the way of the inventory, he’d paid scant attention to the child other than to make sure he wasn’t where he could get something dropped on him.

But now they needed tools. Deciding to save himself a trip and do something about the dejection he’d heard in that small voice, he called, “Hey, Tyler. Can you do something for me?”

A nanosecond later, little footsteps, muffled by carpeting, pounded down the hall.

Tyler appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom, shoving his hair back from the expectation dancing in his eyes. Rory was right behind him, unmasked concern in hers.

Erik crouched in his cargos, his forearms on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees. Behind him, Pax continued squaring the bed frame to the headboard.

Rory’s glance fixed on his as she caught her son by his shoulders. “What do you need?”

Whatever it was, she seemed prepared to do it herself. She had mother hen written all over her pretty face.

“Let him do it. Okay?”

The little boy tipped his head backward to look up at his mom. “Okay?” he echoed. “Please?”

For a moment, she said nothing. She simply looked as if she wasn’t at all sure she trusted him with whatever it was he had in mind, before caving in with a cautious okay of her own.

It didn’t surprise him at all that, physically, she hadn’t budged an inch.

“There’s a red metal box at the bottom of the stairs,” he said to the boy. “It has socket wrenches in it. It’s kind of heavy,” he warned. “Do you think you can bring it up?”

With a quick nod, Tyler turned with a grin.

“No running with tools!” Rory called as he disappeared out the door.

“’Kay!” the boy called back, and dutifully slowed his steps.

Caught totally off guard by what Erik had done, Rory looked back to the big man crouched by her bed frame. He was already back to work, he and his partner slipping the frame parts into place and talking about how much longer it would take them to finish.

Not wanting to be in their way herself, she backed into the hall, waiting there while Tyler, lugging the case with both hands, grinning the whole while, made his delivery.

When he walked back out of the room moments later, his expression hadn’t changed. She couldn’t remember the last time her little boy had looked so pleased. Or so proud.

“Erik said I did good.”

She knew. She’d heard him.

“Can I show him my boat?”

“Maybe some other time. He’s really busy right now,” she explained, then added that she really needed his help finishing his room.

Helping his mom wasn’t nearly the thrill of helping the guys. Especially when Erik called for him again ten minutes later, this time to carry down the tools he’d had him bring up.

From where she stood on a chair adjusting the ties on a primordial-forest curtain valance, she watched Tyler walk by his bedroom door with both hands again gripping the handle of the red metal box. Right behind him came Erik, telling him he’d take the box when they got to the stairs so he wouldn’t lose his balance with it.

Right behind Erik, Pax paused and poked his head into the room.

“I’ve got to run, Rory. No need to stop what you’re doing,” he called, because she’d done just that. “We have a client’s Christmas party tonight or I’d stick around and help. Erik’s going to finish up.”

She’d forgotten they had plans. Groaning at the lapse, she left the last tie undone and headed for the door.

Erik had disappeared into the store. Tyler, now empty-handed, stood in the entryway as Pax passed him, ruffling his hair on the way.

“What can I do to repay you?” she called.

“Do you bake?”

“What’s your favorite cookie?”

“Any kind that goes with coffee.” Grinning, he disappeared, too.

Erik eyed his buddy as Pax walked into the store. “If she has any spare time,” he insisted, setting the toolbox on the counter, “she’ll need to spend it out here.”

“Hey,” his shameless partner said with a shrug, “if she wants to bake me something, it’d be rude to refuse. So how much longer will you be?”

Erik flatly rejected the odd sensation that hit out of nowhere. It almost felt like protectiveness. But just whom he felt protective of, he had no idea. The woman wasn’t Pax’s type at all. “Half an hour at the most.”

“You taking a date tonight?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, the word oddly tight. “What about you?”

“I’m leaving my options open. I’ll cover for you if you need more time,” he added, his smile good-natured as he headed out the store’s front door.

Erik wished he’d left his options open, too. Though all he said to his partner was that he’d catch up with him at the party and turned back to what was left of his task.

The aisles were finally clear. The inventory visible. Except for the large armoire they’d moved to the empty space near the front door and the boxes and bins Rory had said she didn’t need just yet, mostly those marked Christmas, nothing else needed to be carried in. Except for her monster of a dining table, which they’d put in place, he and Pax had carried the rest of the furniture in and left it all wherever it had landed in the living room.

His briefcase still lay on the checkout counter’s marred surface, its contents untouched.

Burying his frustration with that, he glanced up to see her watching him uneasily from the inner doorway. More comfortable dealing with logistics than whatever had her looking so cautious, he figured the furniture in the living room could be pushed or shoved into place. It didn’t feel right leaving her to do it alone. It wasn’t as if she’d call a neighbor for help with the heavier pieces. She didn’t even know them. And she’d seemed inexplicably reluctant to call in a friend.

“Where do you want the sofa? Facing the window?” That was where his grandparents had always had theirs.

Rory wanted it to face the fireplace. She just wasn’t about to impose on him any more than she already had.

“I’ll take care of it,” she insisted, because he had that purposeful set to his jaw that said he was about to get his own way. Again.

“What about the big cabinet?”

“It’s fine where it is. For now,” she conceded, not about to tell him she wanted it moved across the room to the stair wall. “I’m hugely grateful for your help with all this, Erik. And for your friend’s. But I’d just as soon not feel guiltier than I already do for having used your time like this. You came to work on the business. Not to help me move in. You need to go now.”

One dark eyebrow arched. “I need to go because you feel guilty?”

“You need to go because you have a date.”

She’d obviously overheard his conversation with his partner. Not that it mattered. Like Pax’s unveiled allusion to the care and feeding Erik had told him he was sure she’d require, nothing had been said that he’d rather she hadn’t heard. He’d bet his boat she already suspected he wasn’t crazy about being there, anyway.

“Right.” He wasn’t in the habit of leaving a woman waiting. “We’ll get to the inventory later this week. I won’t have time until Friday.”

“Friday will be fine. I’ll be here. And thank you,” she added again, touching his arm when he started to turn away. The moment he turned back, she dropped her hand. “For letting Tyler help,” she explained. “I haven’t seen him smile like that in a really long time.”

Thinking the cute little kid had just wanted to be one of the guys, he murmured, “No problem,” and picked up the toolbox and his briefcase. There was no reason for her to be looking all that grateful. Or all that concerned.

Still, as he told her he’d call her later and turned for the door, adding, “Bye, sport,” for the little boy who’d just appeared behind his mom, cradling a toy boat, he really wished he didn’t have the date with the bubbly event planner he’d taken out a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t know the striking blonde all that well, but she’d been easy on the eyes, into sailing and, had he been interested in pursuing her hints, not at all opposed to a little casual sex.

He just hoped she’d need to make it an early evening so there’d be no awkwardness at her door. His head wasn’t into games tonight. He wasn’t much up for a party, either, though he wasn’t about to stand up a client.

For reasons he didn’t bother to consider, what he wanted to do was stay right where he was.