grin curving crookedly across his face. “Because the last couple of days you seemed to have a different impression.”
Sophie’s cheeks flushed again. Good Lord, but she’d blushed more in the past couple of minutes than in the past year. This man definitely made her act out of character. “Is that your way of asking for another apology?”
“Just making sure you don’t forget the true nature of our relationship.”
“Which is?”
“At the moment, barely civil neighbors, although I suppose now that we’ve buried the hatchet, we could drop the barely.”
He strode a little closer, until the space between them wasn’t more than a few feet. Without thinking, her eyes dropped to the V of his shirt and the patch of smooth skin peering out of the gap. His skin smelled faintly of beer and peppermint. Its aroma lingered in the basement air like a masculine perfume. Wonder if his skin tasted as good as it smelled.
What on earth…? Since when did she think such kinds of things, about relative strangers no less. For goodness’ sake, she didn’t even know the man’s full…
“Name!”
In the quiet basement, the word came out louder than necessary, causing them both to jump. “I mean, I don’t know your name,” she quickly corrected. “Only your first initial. From the mailbox.”
“Grant.”
“Grant,” she repeated. That was better. Knowing his name made it better. That is, made him less of a stranger. She still had no business thinking about his skin. Extending her hand, she pushed all inappropriate thoughts out of her head. “What do you say we start fresh? I’m Sophie Messina.”
“Nice to meet you, Sophie Messina.”
His handshake was firm and strong, not the soft grip so many men adapted when greeting a woman. Sophie could feel the calluses pressing rough against her palm. They were hardworking hands. The sensation conjured up images of work-hewn muscles rippling under exertion.
Lifting her eyes, she caught the spark of… something… as it passed across his caramel-colored eyes, bright enough to light them up despite the shadows, and briefly she insisted their gaze dropped to her lips. Sophie’s mouth ran dry at the thought. He cleared his throat, alerting her to the fact she still held his hand. Quickly she released his grip, and they stood there, awkwardly looking at one another.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
No, not a bell. A buzzer. Once. Twice. Then nothing.
“Dammit, I forgot…”
She stumbled slightly as Grant rushed past her. “Forgot what? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy taking the steps two at a time.
“Wait!” she heard him call to someone from the top of the stairs. It took her a second to catch up, but when she did, she found him standing in the foyer, front door open, staring at the traffic passing in the street. A missed date?
He glared at her from over his shoulder. “You owe me a dinner.”
For the second time that evening, Sophie heard herself saying, “I beg your pardon?”
“That,” he said, nodding toward the front door, “was my dinner. I missed the delivery because I was downstairs showing you the broken meter.”
In other unspoken words, he blamed her.
“I’m sure if you call, he’ll turn right around.”
Another glare, this one accompanied by him jamming his fingers through his hair and mussing it. If only disheveled looked that good on her. “It was pizza from Chezzerones.”
“Oh.” Sophie was beginning to understand. Chezzerones had the best pizza in the area, as well as a very strict delivery policy. Fail to answer the door and your number got put on the “bad” list. Something to do with drunken university students and too many wasted calls. Sophie made the mistake of inquiring and had gotten a very detailed explanation from Chezzerone himself one night. It looked like, by helping her, Grant had gotten himself stuck on the bad list.
Darn it all, she did owe him a dinner.
CHAPTER THREE
LAST thing Sophie wanted was to have a debt hanging over her head. “All right, come with me,” she said.
This time Grant was the one who scowled. “Why?”
“For dinner. You said I owed you a dinner. I’m paying you back. Now come with me.”
As she fished her keys from her pocket to unlock her door, she once again felt him standing close, his peppermint scent finding a way to tease her from behind. A flash of heat found its way to the base of her spine.
What was with her? Lord, you’d think she’d had never crossed paths with a good-looking man before.
She so needed a shower and good night’s sleep.
Of all the co-op residences in the building, Sophie’s was the largest. U-shaped, the apartment reached around the back stairway onto the other side, where the master bedroom was located. The main living area was really two rooms, a parlor turned living room and a dining area. Both rooms featured the same heavy black woodwork as the foyer and contained beautifully scrolled wood and marble fireplaces. The kitchen was located in the rear, on the other side of the dining room. Having let them in, Sophie headed in that direction only to find Grant hadn’t followed. Turning, she found him studying the framework dividing the two spaces.
“You kept the doors,” he noted, tracing a finger along the molding.
He meant the pocket doors, which could be drawn to divide the space. Obviously he’d been in the space before. “For now. I’ve only been here a month. I figured I should live with the place awhile before making any major changes.”
He nodded, and without asking, gave the door a tug. There was a soft scraping sound as the heavy panel moved outward. “Did the Realtor tell you that these are original?” he asked, brushing the dusty wood.
“He mentioned something.”
“Etta—Mrs. Feldman, the owner, insisted on keeping a lot of the original fixtures. Most of the other units are far more modernized.”
“The Realtor told me that, too.” Apologized, really, over the fact that Sophie’s hadn’t been one of the redesigned spaces.
“My…” She found herself stumbling for a word to describe David. Companion was most correct but the word felt awkward on her tongue. Then again, she was finding talking difficult in general watching Grant caress the paneled door with the tenderness of a long-lost lover. “My… friend suggested I remove them and paint all the woodwork white.”
“God, I hope not.” She swore he winced at the suggestion. Better not to tell him David’s full suggestion—that she gut the place. “This is black walnut.”
“So?”
“So—”
