Jonah was tempted to ditch the project and take her back to bed.
“What are you working on?” She leaned past his arm but didn’t wait for a response. “Is that Kenzie’s?”
Roxanne circled around him and walked to the table. He’d made a lot of progress over the last week. Another two or three and it’d be complete.
“Jonah …” Her eyes glimmered in appreciation. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not done yet.”
Roxanne glanced up, smiling. “She’s going to love it. Bogs too.”
He hoped so. Personal satisfaction with any project was important. But knowing the buyer loved it carried more weight. Especially from those close to him.
“Let me get this cleaned up, and we’ll get you back to bed.”
Roxanne shook her head, wandering to the chair near the table. She pointed down. “Can I sit?”
“Yeah.”
Roxanne sat down and nestled in the chair. She adjusted her back into the corner, facing him. “It needs a throw pillow, but other than that, it’s perfect.”
“Accessories aren’t my thing.” He arched his brow, eyeing her as she settled in, looking like she had no plans of leaving. “You want to hang out while I work?”
She nodded. “Do you mind?”
“No.”
He didn’t mind at all. If anything, he liked her in his personal space, especially the workshop that had always been his sanctuary. It occurred to him that while she never complained about it, they spent a lot of time at his place. He hadn’t even been to her apartment, though she’d asked a few times. Roxanne was uprooting her living arrangements to accommodate him. He was about to change that.
“Got a meeting with Ethan tomorrow night, but after, I’ll take you out to dinner.”
The corners of her mouth pulled down in a frown, and her shoulders sagged. “I have plans with Emory. She’s finally paying me back for standing me up. I plan on cashing in on that and ordering half the menu.”
Jonah snorted, shaking his head and grabbing the sander. “How about I come by your place when you get home?”
“And stay overnight?” A small smile played on her lips.
“Yeah.”
“I’d love that.”
It was settled.
Chapter Eighteen
The atmosphere wasn’t what she expected or was accustomed to. Roxanne had been to plenty of dive bars, but this was different. She and Emory had been dodging suspicious glances from the locals for the last hour since they arrived. She’d tried her best to make small talk when they initially sat at the bar. However, neither bartender seemed interested. They retreated to a table in the corner and ordered dinner and a few beers.
Emory wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin into the empty basket of fried pickles.
“Well, that just destroyed my diet. Probably set me back five pounds.” Emory sipped her beer and placed the mug on the table. She parted her lips, but both of them jumped in their seats when a hand slapped down on the table.
The waitress darted her glare between them and stepped back, leaving the check on the table. “Cash only. Gratuity isnotincluded in the total.”
That was an interesting way to saydon’t forget to tip. Emory chuckled, which only earned them a stern scowl from the waitress before she walked away.
Emory rested her arms on the table, leaning in. “I think that’s our cue to leave. In fact, I think they’ve wanted us gone since we walked through the door.”
True. It was the same impression she’d gotten. The vibe was odd. Almost territorial. Everyone in the bar knew they weren’t locals, and therefore not welcome. So much for small-town hospitality.
