Two by two they replaced the chairs between them until they stood face to face again.
“Walk you to your car?” he asked. “Just want to make sure you make it home okay.”
Cali laughed uncomfortably and pulled a curl behind her ear. “I—I’ll be fine. I feel lucky to say this, but Autumn Ridge isn’t exactly an unsafe town.”
His nose crinkled. “But you locked the library doors before book club.”
“Oh.” She had to think for a moment. “Habit. I used to work in Eastmoor.”
“That explains a lot.”
Cali eyed him, not sure if that was a knowing stare or another tease. He held her gaze, refusing to give her any more clarity. She felt faint just looking at him, his pecs and mouth and fragrant hair dangerously close. Close enough to touch. She could hardly breathe. “But aren’t—aren’t you and Leo going to catch up or something?”
“Nah, he’s gotta feed his cat.”
“If Fred didn’t sneak out again,” Cali snorted.
“Leo’s cat’s an escape artist?”
“Notoriously so.” Cali nervously tucked a curl behind her ear. “Well, what about Catsby? Don’t you have to get home to him?”
“Her and no. Catsby’s probably sitting on the couch like a loaf, still digesting her dinner.”
Her. Of course.
Cali gulped and nodded her head. “I guess I’ll grab my purse from my office then. Meet me at the front doors.”
Chapter 4
The dark, crisp, early autumn air was intoxicating. Not cool enough for Cali to see her breath yet but cool enough to justify leaving her windows open tonight as she slept. The faint buzz from the wine at book club was already wearing off, but in its place was a warm, cozy feeling in her belly. She clutched her trench with one hand and her purse with the other as she and Ethan walked down the long handicap ramp toward the parking lot.
“You’re all smiles,” Ethan noted. He’d pushed up his sleeves again, exposing the intricate tattoo that wrapped his left forearm down to the wrist, while he waited for her at the door.
“The wine helps,” she quipped, “and fall is my favorite season.”
He shrugged. “Fall’s okay. I’m more of a winter guy myself.”
She asked him why, and she expected some contrived response like “I hate the heat” or “I love snow.” But what he said instead was “More time to cook.”
“You do not!” she blurted and let out a startled laugh, mostly out of surprise. Maybe the wine wasn’t wearing off after all. She regretted it the instant his face changed.
“I’m a really good cook!” he insisted.
Cali didn’t know how to counter that one. “But can’t—can’t you cook in the summer, too?” she asked. “Spring? Fall?”Three questions into twenty questions already. Way to go, Cali.
He straightened sharply, his spine rigid, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Winter means less daylight and, therefore, shorter days on the construction site. Fewer hours there means more time at home, perfecting mycoq au vin.”
Cali couldn’t tell if he was serious or messing with her again. “So you hibernate in winter with wine and French stew? Very manly.”
Ethan chuckled at the hazing as they strode toward the only car left in the library’s parking lot. “This one’s mine,” she said.
Her Honda didn’t exactly scream witty, early-thirties woman, but it was reliable and came with the house. Cali never drove in the city, but she was just glad she had a car here—and a short and mostly traffic-less ride each workday to boot. Autumn Ridge only had a handful of stoplights and a sprinkling of stop signs to navigate. If it weren’t for the fact that her grandmother’s A-frame house and the lake were on the outskirts of town, she could have still been fine without a vehicle.
She unlocked her car and turned toward Ethan, thinking she’d say thanks and speed off, take some time to wonder why she felt pulled to the warmth of his body the longer they’d walked side by side. But the way the moonlight illuminated his hair and face and chiseled torso, like one of those Roman sculptures, made her swallow her words.
“What are you doing right now?” Ethan asked, jarring her from her trance.
Was he about to ask her out for drinks? After they’d already had drinks? She knew herself well enough to know no good could come from this. And this man was transitory anyway. Here one construction project, gone for the next. To indulge in any thought of having something serious with him was naive.
