Kim Watters - Home Sweet Home

Cole’s stiffening back didn’t go unnoticed. Her neighbor’s words made him uncomfortable; her, too. Abby wasn’t here to find romance.

“How’s your husband doing?” Cole questioned, as if trying to steer the conversation to a more neutral ground.

Abby released the breath she held and filled her lungs with much needed oxygen. Mrs. Wendt’s gaze kept darting between the two of them and mischief crept into her smile. Dread filled Abby. Cole had admitted earlier he wasn’t the stay-around-for-the-long-haul kind of guy.

“Just fine, though his arthritis is acting up with the cold weather. He wants to move but I can’t imagine leaving Dynamite Creek for Phoenix. This is my home and where I’m needed. So, Cole. Where are you staying while you do the restorations?” All innocence fled the woman’s expression and Abby’s knees threatened to have a meeting with the thin rug under her feet.

Abby watched Cole back up until the railing stopped him. “I haven’t given that much thought, Mrs. Wendt. My first priority was to come here and get started on the house.”

“Well, I know it’s not much, but Phillip and I have a small apartment above the garage that we’ve been wanting to rent out for a while. That way you won’t have a long commute to work.” Determination gleamed in her eyes. The woman’s grin released a million butterflies in Abby’s stomach.

It took a few seconds for Cole to formulate an answer that Abby suspected was more for her benefit than Mrs. Wendt’s. “That’s very kind of you and it would be convenient. I haven’t had a chance to speak to my sister, but I suspect her place probably isn’t big enough for a semi-temporary guest and my mother’s is out of the question.” Cole’s gaze flipped between the two. “As long as you understand it’s nothing permanent. I’ll be moving on when I’m done here.”

Relief and disappointment filled Abby, yet she schooled her expression to remain neutral. It was nothing she hadn’t expected anyway.

“I understand completely. I’ll go put fresh linens on the bed and find the extra key. Oh, and I have a coupon for Mama Zita’s. It’s the best pizza in town, you know. Phillip can’t have it because of his high cholesterol, but you just have to try it tonight. Neither one of you had any dinner plans, did you? No? Good. I’m sure you’ll still have lots to discuss for what needs to be done here.” Helen thrust the plate of cookies into Abby’s hands and hummed on her way out the door.

Abby’s jaw dropped and the butterflies inside her refused to be stilled. With Cole living next door during the restorations, she’d find no peace of mind at all. Especially when his new landlady appeared to have matchmaking on her mind.

The knock on her front door just before seven o’clock still took Abby by surprise even though she expected it. Agreeing to Helen Wendt’s scheme of sharing a pizza at home with Cole so they could continue to go through plans probably wasn’t one of her smartest moves. Not like she had much choice in the matter. Her fingers smoothed out a tiny crease in the blue and white floral printed tablecloth she’d found in the linen closet. The automatic gesture reassured her, reminding her of how she used to rub her blankie between her fingers to calm down when she was a child. She glanced around the dining room before she stepped into the reception area.

Her low heels clicked against the wood flooring and now she questioned her sanity as to why she’d changed into a skirt. Or let her hair down. Or applied just a hint of makeup. Would Cole think that she was going to be a willing participant in Mrs. Wendt’s matchmaking scheme?

Her nervous sigh rattled all the way to her toes. Too late to change now.

Light spilled in through the stained-glass window and beyond the pane Abby could see Cole’s silhouette against the dark backdrop. Distorted and colorful, yet tied together into a recognizable shape, his image reminded her of a Picasso she’d studied in art class.

She took a deep breath, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, and then rubbed her damp hands over the black skirt. The lock didn’t want to slide back again, which didn’t help her nerves. Finally, using her shoulder, she pushed against the door to relieve some of the pressure on the lock and tried again. This time it worked.

Pulling back the oak door, she saw Cole balancing a large square box with a white plastic bag set on top. His hesitant smile signaled that, like herself, maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with the dinner idea, either. “Hi, again.”

“Hi, yourself.” Abby took the box and watched as Cole carefully wiped his feet on the mat before he shrugged out of his black jacket and hung it on a hook on the hall tree.

He retrieved the pizza. “Thanks.”

“We’re in the dining room tonight. I thought it would give us more room.”

“Good idea.” When he moved passed her, the hint of freshly applied aftershave drifted by her nose. His still slightly damp hair curled away from his forehead. Abby forced her hand to remain at her side instead of reaching out to touch it. This reaction to Cole was crazy. He was her contractor. Nothing more.

“Smells delicious.” Abby took her own seat kitty-corner from where Cole stood and settled the blue linen napkin onto her lap.

“It is.” Cole opened the plastic bag and pulled out a baggie full of celery, some Ranch dressing and a Styrofoam container and placed them on the table. “I also took the liberty of getting some barbecue chicken wings. Mama Zita’s place is the best in town. Or it used to be anyway.”

Then he flipped up the lid to the cardboard box, revealing the thin crust pie covered in pepperoni, sausage, onions, green peppers and olives. The tangy aroma teased her taste buds and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled in anticipation because she hadn’t eaten anything since a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at noon.

“Wow. It looks wonderful, Cole.” Abby held up her delicate china plate so Cole could set the slice of pizza on it.

His eyebrows lifted. “Plates? I’m sure I could have gotten some paper ones at Mama Zita’s.”

Abby set it in front of her. “I found paper plates in the pantry. I didn’t want to use them.”

“Why not? They’re so much easier to clean up.” A frown emerged as his gaze roved over her face as if he were trying to make up his mind about her.

She could almost hear the imaginary taunts she’d thought she’d left behind in her awkward teenage years. She knew it had been silly of her to use the plates in the large, built-in cabinet behind her but Abby dared to hope Cole would understand her odd behavior. Her pointer finger traced the gold edge of the antique ivory plate with the multicolored floral print painted on the surface.

“Paper means temporary and on the move and seems a bit impersonal. I want permanence. They’re not exactly my type but they fit with the theme I envision for the house.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It just surprised me. Outside of a restaurant, I haven’t eaten off a real plate in years.” Cole tucked his napkin on his lap, a hesitant smile creeping across his lips. His confession only solidified his lack of willingness to stay in one place. “You and my sister would get along. She refuses to use paper or plastic because it brings up painful memories.”

“Oh. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

“I’m sure you will. Christine lives on the other side of town but she owns a cute boutique on Main Street. She makes candles for a living.”

Pleasure filled her, yet panic tried to take hold. Cole noticed. Abby bit her lip and glanced away from the twinkle in his eyes. She may have gone overboard though with the candle in the slightly tarnished pewter candelabra gracing the center of the table. The dancing flame created an almost intimate and romantic atmosphere, virtually blocking out everything but the two of them. She grabbed her crystal goblet and drank most of the water inside. While it quenched her parched throat, it didn’t come near to satisfying her need to fit in.