she’d picked up at a garage sale for ten dollars looked perfectly at home on the cabinet shelves. She paused to straighten the large serving dish next to a delicate teacup and saucer.
Chloe loved order. No doubt that was a result of the emotionally chaotic circumstances of her childhood. Janis had made it clear to the eight-year-old Chloe that she wasn’t to mess up anything—Janis’s schedule, her austere condo, her plans.
That wasn’t the kind of order that Chloe wanted. She liked the kind that was warm and welcoming, but had a place for everything. Because that kept things from getting out of control. And Chloe had learned early on not to rock the boat, to fly under the radar and not to get wild or out of control.
Thinking about wild naturally led her thoughts to Steve and her reaction to his simplest touch last night. Racing hearts were not in her plans. She’d taken a chance with Brad and look how that had ended up. Not good.
No, it didn’t pay to depend on others for your happiness. A house was a much more reliable thing.
Her thoughts returned to her bungalow. The living room and dining room were completed but now she had to focus on the kitchen. She’d downloaded information from the Internet about proper restoration, replacing fixtures that didn’t match the period or design of the house was a no-no. Someone at work had told her that one of the home-improvement stores had a big sale coming up, so Chloe was eager to check the sale flyers in her Saturday newspaper.
Chloe was thinking about kitchen faucets when she opened her front door to grab her newspaper, as she did every Saturday morning. In some places the newspaper was dropped at the sidewalk near the street, but here it was still delivered to the front porch.
Since she was only wearing her Chicago Bears nightshirt, she let the door provide cover for her while she leaned down to reach…nothing.
She reached farther…and touched warm flesh.
“Ahhh!” Startled, Chloe fell backward, ending up in a heap on her foyer floor.
“Hey, are you okay?” Steve inquired from above her.
She frantically tugged on the hem of her nightshirt, trying to cover what she could. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing down there?”
“Looking for dust bunnies,” she retorted tartly before scrambling to her feet.
“Dust bunnies, huh?” He grinned at her. “Find any?”
She reached behind her for the afghan Wanda had crocheted for her last Christmas, yanking it from the reading chair and wrapping it around herself. “I did not invite you in,” she pointed out.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I was until you grabbed my hand on the front porch.”
Steve shrugged, drawing her attention to the broad shoulders beneath his dark pullover. “I thought you were reaching for me.”
“I was reaching for my newspaper. I didn’t know you were out there. What were you doing out there?”
“Like I said, I came to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About this disguise of yours.”
She blinked at him and lifted her chin before tugging the afghan a little tighter around her shoulders, like Queen Victoria gathering her royal robes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. I want to know why you were dressed the way you were last night.”
“And what way might that be?”
“You know very well what way. Like a frumpy librarian.”
“Isn’t that what you were expecting?”
Steve hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him and put him on the spot. “It doesn’t matter what I was expecting.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the one who was being deceitful.”
“In what way?”
“By making me think you were…”
“Yes,” she prompted him. “Go on.”
He sensed dangerous foot-in-mouth quicksand ahead. “That you were something you’re not.”
“I can assure you, I am a librarian. You saw me at work last night.”
“I also saw you raiding your fridge at midnight. And I’m seeing you right now.”
“So?”
“So you don’t look the same way you did when you came knocking on my grandmother’s door last night. And I want to know why. Why the deception?”
“It wasn’t a deception. I was merely wearing my costume for the library program last night. The whodunit mystery program, remember? You were there.”
“Yes, I was there.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I don’t like being made a fool of.” His voice reflected his irritation.
“If you feel that you acted foolishly, then you accomplished that all by yourself. You didn’t need any help from me.”
“What were you hoping to accomplish by dressing that way?”
“Why do you care?”
“Chalk it up to my natural curiosity. You’re obviously an attractive woman. I can’t help wondering why you tried to disguise that fact last night.”
He thought she was attractive? Her ego soared before she shot it down with the reminder that this was a man accustomed to saying whatever a woman wanted to hear. She was smart enough not to fall for that. Right? She was also smart enough to get more clothes on ASAP. It was difficult to maintain one’s dignity wrapped in an afghan. “I am not having this conversation half-dressed.”
“You look fine to me.”
She glared at him. “And you’re the type of man to judge a woman by her appearance as to whether or not she’s worthy of your attention, aren’t you?”
“Am I?”
“You proved it by the way you reacted when I walked into Wanda’s kitchen yesterday evening. You dismissed me.”
“I had no idea they taught you to read minds in library school.”
“It was obvious.” She lifted her hand to her glasses, adjusting the frames before fixing him with a direct stare that dared him to fib.
“Okay, I admit I may not have been thrilled to see you,” Steve admitted, “but it had nothing to do with you or how you looked.”
“Right,”
