With that deadpan expression I enjoy so much, she nods. “Yes, but I would give good money to see you in stonewashed denim.”
I gesture to my house. “How much? Twenty bucks?”
“Bargain basement. Do it,” she says with a sly grin.
“Don’t tempt me. Twenty bucks covers wine.”
She arches one dubious brow. “You clearly haven’t set foot in Oscar’s Wine Bar, then.”
“True. Kerri did pay the other day. I’ll take ten, then. Enough for a tip. Should I go put them on right now?”
“Do it, do it,” she chants.
I tip my head toward the street, laughing. “Next time, I promise to give you a fashion show, but I should be getting on.” I take a beat, studying her and wondering if her gaze isn’t tinged with perhaps a touch of longing. Or maybe I’m simply wishing. “Unless you’d like to join me for a walk into town . . .”
I leave that invitation hanging in the air as my chest flips with the hope that she’ll say yes. It’s strange, this sensation of waiting for something, wanting something.
Her smile spreads slow and easy, and her yes seems to float across her eyes.
But I don’t want to assume.
“I would love to.” It’s not dry, it’s not sarcastic, and it’s not deadpan.
They’re just four lovely words that I relish hearing from her.
She holds up her hands. “Just give me a second to wash up. I was working all day. And to let Wednesday know she’s cooking for me tonight.”
“She cooks?”
January lights up with a cartoonishly large smile. “Yes! I highly recommend acquiring children who are useful. She loves to cook. I think it’s because she loves workarounds and she searches for cooking hacks for nearly every recipe.”
“Because recipes shouldn’t be followed?”
“Psh. Hacks are so much more fun.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that.”
She darts inside and returns a minute later, showing off her clean palms. “My hands are spick-and-span, and my kid is going to make pasta salad with zucchini noodles instead of noodle noodles. Feel free to shudder.”
I do. “Zucchini is the worst.”
She pats my shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re missing, doc. I bet I could get you to like veggies. You did enjoy the green beans, didn’t you?”
“They were decent,” I grumble.
“Aww. See? The veggie lifestyle is growing on you. Wednesday and I make the most awesome salads in Northern California. My mom is a convert. She used to be all carbs and meat, and now she’s becoming a salad lover. I’m working on you next, neighbor.”
The way she says neighbor sends a wicked thrill through me. Maybe because she delivers it with a twinkle in her blue eyes, with a saucy lift of her lips. Like it’s the start of something.
Maybe I should say yes to her mutant pasta dish. Maybe I do want to try zucchini noodles. But I can’t quite let on how much yet, so I say, “I dunno. Zucchini noodles seem like noodles gone wrong.”
“They are noodles gone right. I promise.”
There’s an invitation somewhere in there, and I want to RSVP to it, but instead I just nod toward town. “Shall we?”
“Let’s go.” As we set off, she adds, “Now, Liam, am I the pillow tonight?”
I give her a blank look, but quickly dig into my bag of at-the-ready replies. “You’d like me to sleep on you?”
“You are so good with innuendos. And with blatantly bringing up sex,” she says, shaking her head in amusement.
“True, true. One of my many skills is the ability to weave sex into many conversations.”
As we turn the corner, she makes a rolling gesture with her hands. “Work with me. Remember, pillows as a lubricant? A lubricant to sleep? So you’re going to use me as lube before your date?”
I laugh, getting it this time. “Who’s saucy now? I’m pretty sure you just went full innuendo.”
She gives me a you got me shrug. “Maybe I did.”
I raise a too-suave-for-words eyebrow. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make fantastic lube, January.”
We both laugh, and perhaps that means she’s enjoying the naughty edge to the conversation too.
But it’s time to downshift, since I do have a date, and I shouldn’t show up with other women on my mind. That’s ungentlemanly, not to mention unfair to Maya.
I steer us to safer ground. “Did you have a busy day?”
“Exhausting. I built a new door for a family room after a teenage son swung on it too many times and it came unhinged.”
“Boys can be part monkey. Is the work done?”
“One more day. It’s looking good, and it’s a gig I busted my butt to land. They decided to start over from scratch. New framing, new paint, matching wood, and so on. I was competing against Big Beams Construction, and I wasn’t sure I was going to land it. They’re a national chain.”
“I’ve heard the ads. They’re constantly trying to undercut local carpenters, aren’t they?”
