not necessary.”
“C’mon, Kath,” he said softly, turning her around as his strong hands rubbed her neck in a heavenly way that made it hard to think. “You have a lot of fires to put out today, and guess what? That’s what I do. I put out fires.”
She smiled. “You’re good at starting them, too, I’d say.”
She was flirting. She couldn’t resist.
Hank chuckled. “Where is Erin?”
“She left earlier, but I can try her cell. Hopefully she has it on, though she was in a mood earlier, so probably not.”
She grabbed her phone. Hank stopped her.
“Let her be. I’ll do it.”
“What?”
“Tell me where to go, what to do, and I can get your deliveries done.”
She turned back around, facing Hank, and couldn’t help but be skeptical. “Are you joking?”
“Nope. I’ve never delivered flowers, but I did a stint delivering pizzas in college. How different can it be? Give me the rundown, and I’ll go finish your deliveries. I can do tomorrow, too, if you need me to. My SUV should handle whatever you’ve got.”
“You must have better things to do on your days off.”
“Not really. I coach peewee baseball, but that’s not until tomorrow night.”
Kit wasn’t sure what to say. She liked Hank, she truly did—and she could fall for him. It would be easy enough. But she didn’t want to do that. He might be charming and attentive now, but his heart belonged to his job.
But she also needed her flowers delivered.
“Is this your way of angling for a date?”
“No. I thought that was a given.”
When he smiled like that, she lost track of everything. But what he was offering was better than sex—well, almost.
“Okay. Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate it. And it’s not complicated. Just a few basic rules.”
“Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do my best to give you exactly what you need.”
He had that mischievous look in his eye again, and Kit felt it warm parts of her body that should know better. She blinked, snapping out of her minifantasy.
“Um, here, let me give you copies of the delivery sheets just in case, and you can get the rest from Walt. He’ll be at Ike’s Garage. You know where that is?”
“I do.”
Kit busied herself getting the materials together for Hank, and then called Walt to let him know about the change.
“Okay, he’s on his way to Ike’s now. You can meet him there.”
“Will do.”
Hank headed for the door.
“Hank,” she called, stopping him. “Thank you. I owe you for this.”
The look in his eye set her day right again.
“I’ll keep that in mind, honey. See you later.”
* * *
ERIN HAD EVERY intention of driving home. Instead, she found herself at the home improvement store a few miles from her house, where she was spending too much money and fiercely concentrating on paint colors and new bathroom tile. It kept her from going crazy thinking about Bo.
Two days.
It had been two days since he’d had sex with her and then left her hanging. Maybe he’d gotten everything that he wanted. Maybe she’d not been what he wanted or—her secret fear—maybe she hadn’t been any good. His response to her seemed to contradict that, but maybe he’d even been lying about going to a fire. Maybe he’d needed to get out. Maybe he’d just wanted to have sex with her one more time before he left her, evening out the score.
The last part, she knew, was her imagination throwing darts at her. Bo wasn’t like that—she didn’t think so anyway.
But he hadn’t come back and he hadn’t called.
She had too much pride to chase him, so instead, she discussed the combination of earth tones and brighter colors for her first-floor rooms, the lighting, and how it would all work together.
Then she carted it all home, spread drop cloths everywhere and started to work. There seemed to be so few things she could control in her life, but the color of her walls was one that she could.
Thankfully, since she’d never really hung anything on the walls, they didn’t need any fixing or repair, and they were already painted the dull beige, so she didn’t need to prime. She was good to go, and the tension that had been dogging her began to ease as she rolled on a nice cinnamon-brown that reminded her of Bo’s eyes.
Cursing, she wrenched the roller away from the wall and ended up splattering paint down the front of herself, including on her face.
Safety glasses hadn’t seemed necessary for painting, but good thing she’d worn them anyway.
Sighing, she sat down on the plastic-covered floor, using a rag to wipe some of the splatter off. As she looked at the huge array of paint cans she’d brought home among the other various supplies, her head dropped into her hands.
What had she done?
She wasn’t sure the question was about the paint binge—not completely.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and she popped to her feet, peering out the window before she opened it. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Bo.
She seriously considered not answering the door, but he’d seen her look from the window and offered a short wave.
Pulling open the door, she stood in the open space rather than inviting him in.
“Hi.” His smile was warm. Sexy.
Sure it was.
“Hi.”
Long. Awkward. Pause.
“Um, can I come in?
“Sure.”
He stepped inside, moving past her. Normally, a guy might kiss his girl hello when he showed up at her house, but they weren’t like that, were they?
“Painting?”
He took in the supplies and drop cloths with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah. I thought it was time to personalize the place a bit.”
He checked out her face and her clothes, visually tracing the
