people over.”
I blinked. “Ouch, Ian!”
“What?” He gazed at me impassively, unaware that he’d just stuck a knife in my heart.
My mouth opened and closed before I could actually form words. “Well, if you mean I’m good at talking to people in a polite and interested way, Ian, then yes, I am good at it. Perhaps you can learn by my example. And thank you for the compliment.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” he said. “It’s an observation.”
“Why are you being mean to me?”
“I’m not being mean, Callie. I’m just … being honest. You try very hard to make everyone like you, and not everyone needs that kind of … affirmation. I don’t.”
“No, of course not. You’re perfect in every way.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Well, what are you saying?” My voice was getting a little loud, and my face felt hot.
“Just … you seem to try very hard at something that maybe you shouldn’t.”
“And how would you know anything about me?” I asked tightly.
He shrugged. “I’ve seen you in action. That older woman in line in the Department of Motor Vehicles. The guy who made things out of hair. All those people at Elements. The older man on the hike that day. You work people.”
I slapped my cup down on the coffee table, getting a gratifying twitch from my host as the coffee sloshed nearly over the rim of my cup. “I do not work people, Ian. I’m nice. I’m cheerful. I’m smart and I’m cute. People like me because those are likable qualities. Much more so than, oh, I don’t know, frosty and anal retentive, wouldn’t you say?”
He just looked at me, unblinking, and I couldn’t tell if he was mad or amused or just unfeeling. Unexpectedly, a lump rose in my throat.
“I think I should head back,” I said, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee. It was delicious. And your house is beautiful.”
“There you go again,” he murmured.
“I’m just being polite, Ian! It’s how my mother raised me! I’m sorry if you think I’m some insincere phony!”
He stood up quickly, took a step toward me and then stopped, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I don’t, Callie. I don’t think that.” He gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know how we got into this conversation.”
“Me, neither,” I muttered.
“Look, Callie,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean to insult you, but it’s clear I did. I meant only that …” His gaze drifted to his dog, then to the bookcase. “You don’t have to try so hard.” He paused, then met my eyes with some difficulty. “Not with me, anyway.”
Oh. Oh.
Suddenly aware that my mouth was open, I shut it. What should I say? Thank you? Bite me? I don’t mean to try so hard, it’s just ingrained? Why don’t you just kiss him? Betty Boop suggested.
“I’ll walk you back to your kayak,” Ian offered.
“Okay,” I said faintly.
The walk back to the dock didn’t seem nearly as long as the walk in had. We didn’t talk. I was still trying to sort out what Ian had said, if there had been … something. He was not the easiest man to read.
The clouds were back, though a few shafts of gold pierced the lake. Rain was about an hour off, if I interpreted the signs correctly. Not that I ever did.
“Well. See you soon,” I said, looking at my kayak.
“Okay,” Ian said. “Need a hand?”
Ah, blushing. Ever reliable, those cheeks o’ mine. “Sure,” I said. He held out his hand, and I took it, and it sure did feel safer, that warm, strong hand holding mine. Alas, the second I was in the kayak, he let go.
“Next weekend’s the pet fair,” I reminded him. He stood on the rocks with his hands in his back pockets.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I’ll … I’ll call you, but everything’s pretty much in place,” I said.
“I’m sure it is,” he said, looking at me with those disconcerting blue, blue eyes. Say something, I urged him silently.
“Do you need a push?”
Not what I was hoping for. “Okay.”
And with that, he gave the boat a strong shove, sending me out past his dock.
“Thanks, Ian,” I called, giving him a wave.
“Nice seeing you,” he said, then turned and walked down the path, disappearing almost at once into the woods. I took a deep breath and started paddling uncharacteristically hard, both glad and relieved to be away from him.
You don’t have to try so hard. Not with me, anyway.
If it meant what I wanted it to mean, it was the nicest thing a man had said to me in a long, long time.
Then again, I was excellent at misinterpretation.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IN A VERY RARE MANEUVER, my sister came over one night. “Hi,” I said, opening the door as Bowie leaped and crooned. “Did someone die?”
“No,” she answered. “Why? Did someone die here?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s just … you never come over.”
“Does that mean you’re thrilled to see me and want to pour me a glass of wine?”
“Yes! Yes, it does, Hes.”
“Keep it down!” Noah bellowed from the living room.
“We have company!” I yelled back.
“I don’t know how you live with him,” Hester said. “Dog, get off my leg or I’ll castrate you so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
“I’m trying to watch America’s Next Top Model!” our dear grandfather shouted. “Go upstairs, you two!”
“He’s very dedicated,” I told Hester, grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge. “He thinks Tenisha’s going to win, but her pictures last week … train wreck.”
Hester sighed. “Callie, I need advice,” she said.
I paused as I reached for the glasses. This was new. “Um … okay. Sure. Let’s go up to my room.”
