He perused my flour-covered face, arms, and apron with a cool, blank stare. “I washed your blanket and picked up a repeat of your order from the other night.” He lifted the bag between us. “I thought it might’ve been cold by the time you got home in the storm.”
My stomach gurgled on cue, delighted by the delicious scents wafting upward.
“Am I too late?” he asked.
For a moment, I hoped his words held a double meaning.
His blue-gray V-neck sweater highlighted his eyes. His jeans and loafers implied he’d come from the office rather than a jobsite. And he’d brought me dinner. “It looks as if you already have plans.”
“I’m making homemade noodles.” From a two-hundred-year-old recipe designed to torture me. “They won’t be ready tonight.” In fact, all I’d managed to do so far was to create a giant wad of unruly dough, which I still needed to cut into strips and hang to dry.
“So, no plans?” he asked, looking slightly confused.
“No.” In fact, until the doorbell rang, I’d considered pairing day-old muffins with wine and calling it a night.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Peace offering?”
I felt my will weakening as I met his gaze.
“I messed up,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned against the jamb. “Fine.”
I’d already spent hours imagining this exact scenario and all the ways I could respond when he came back asking for forgiveness. Initially, I’d fantasized about shutting the door in his face, but as the days passed, I remembered how limited my time was in Amherst, and I’d started to think of our falling-out as a blessing. Davis was officially an obstacle removed from my path by fate.
I took the blanket and bag from his hands.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I’m not ready to trust you again,” I clarified. “And I’ve been thinking we might as well figure this out.” I waved a hand around, indicating the house.
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s no reason you can’t get started on your renovations while I’m still here. A lot of the things you want to do won’t affect my stay. So, for the next three weeks, I think we should split the manor. You can work in the areas I’m not using or don’t have access to anyway, and I’ll stay out of your way. We both get what we want.”
“But—”
“You can start tomorrow morning. Thank you for the food.” I stepped backward into the foyer; then I shut the door in his face.
Davis arrived early the next day and set up shop in the locked supply room, where he intended to create a first-floor primary bedroom and en suite bath. As promised, I stayed out of his way.
He returned the following day with a tool belt fastened around his hips, worked for several hours, then left before dinner.
On day three, I passed him in the driveway on my way to letter-writing class at the bookstore.
“Morning.” He leaned over the tailgate of his truck, digging through a toolbox.
“Hello.”
He’d pinned his wavy hair away from his forehead with the help of a backward ball cap, unleashing the full power of his ethereal eyes. “Emma—”
I raised a palm. “Have you been sending me flowers?” I’d received another bouquet of hyacinths and peonies after dinner the previous night, identical to the other deliveries and again with no indication of the sender. I’d gone through half a bottle of wine trying to make sense of the little heart drawn on the card. Was it supposed to mean something to me? Was it a clue?
His brows arched. “Someone is still sending you flowers?”
I stared, waiting for something in his expression to suggest he was behind the deliveries and playing dumb to cover it up. I found nothing of the sort. “Never mind.”
If the flowers weren’t from Davis, then who?
