She sighed. “Oh hell. I know you’re right. But before I spend what little money I have left…”
He knew for a fact Tilly was loaded. A friend of Meg’s back in the day, Tilly had given him the job because she knew him. Fortunately, Tilly had a strength of character and kindness inside her Meg never had. She also had a small fortune left to her from her deceased husband.
“Eh. I suppose it’s not all bad.” Tilly shrugged. “I’ll be sure to write it off.”
“Plus, you can buy something from this century that will be energy efficient and save you money in the long run.”
“There’s that.” She hobbled to her feet, waved him away when he stood to help, then told him to wait for her.
Smith stood in place, overly conscious of the sounds from the kitchen. Would Erin wear an apron? He’d been having the strangest dreams lately, of her offering him cookies wearing an apron with nothing beneath.
Yeah, his nights had turned into a sweet hell he needed to fix. Soon. Time to find a woman before he ended up asking out his neighbor. A poor thing like Erin wouldn’t be able to handle a monster like Smith. He’d hurt her feelings or prove too much in the sack. And she’d been through enough with dickbag Cody.
Not to mention a smart guy didn’t fuck around at home. If things went south with Erin, as they no doubt would, he’d have to deal with a pouty, crying woman who lived right next door. Uncomfortable, to say the least. Smith might not be great when it came to social situations, but he had a brain he used on occasion.
No, he’d steer clear of Erin Briggs except for the sporadic, uber polite hello.
“Use these guys,” Tilly said as she returned, handing him a scrap of paper. “Call ‘em and see what they have to say.” She continued past him toward the kitchen.
He glanced at the paper. “McSons Plumbing?” He followed her and found Erin putting something into the oven. A sauce cooking on the stove smelled of tomatoes and garlic. His mouth watered.
Tilly smiled at him. “I hear they’re good looking and reasonable. They did some work for a friend of mine, and she recommended them.”
“So, which is more important?” he asked drily. “That they’re good looking, reasonable, or good at their jobs?”
“Good looking,” Tilly answered without missing a beat.
Erin snickered.
Smith sighed. “Fine. But they’ll have to work around my schedule if you want me to handle them and the tenants.” He ignored the way his pulse raced seeing Erin’s smile.
“No problem. Now what are you cooking for us, Erin? Isn’t she great? An amazing cook and so smart. She has her own business, you know.” Tilly was less than subtle, staring from Smith to Erin and practically chortling with glee.
But he had no intention of falling into whatever scheme the old woman had planned. No way in hell he’d do more than eat and be as pleasant as he could be for a guy who hated chitchat.
So, an hour and a half later, he could do nothing but stare at Erin in consternation, wondering how in the hell he found himself sitting with her at Ringo’s Bar. On a date.
Chapter Four
Erin smiled at Smith. She’d been wrong about him. He did have a mode other than standoffish jerk. “Thanks again for bringing me along. I know this isn’t a date, that you were just trying to get Tilly off your case,” she said in a hurry, still embarrassed at the way Tilly had been throwing them together during dinner.
“Uh-huh.” He frowned down at his beer.
She took a sip of the concoction the waitress had suggested. Just Say Yes! —a mix of cranberry syrup, vodka, and two other alcohols that combined to make the potent drink both sweet and tasty. Erin didn’t drink much, but she felt entitled after that dinner. “I mean, I really like Tilly. She means well, but it was beyond obvious she wanted us to go out together.” She laughed at the thought.
“What’s so funny?”
She drank some more, then nibbled at the pretzels on the table. Between Smith and Tilly, they’d consumed most of the meal. They hadn’t seemed too bothered at her excuse she wasn’t hungry, finishing off what should have been leftovers while she’d picked at her small plate of noodles. Between Smith’s brooding presence and Tilly’s obvious and poorly thought out matchmaking skills, Erin had been too on edge to eat. Now she was hungry and thirsty. Pretzels and a cocktail. The meal of champions.
“Funny?” she said to answer Smith, who sat studying her. “The thought of you and me.” She laughed again.
“Explain.”
“Well, for one, you’re a giant. I’m—”
“The perfect size. I remember.” He smirked.
“Plus, I’m nice. You don’t like people.”
