Carolina Moon

number.
    She’d bought a desk, again sturdy and practical. A computer and a phone were already on it as was a neatly stacked pile of paperwork.
    In ten days, she’d organized considerably. Not once had she asked for, or accepted, his help. He wished it didn’t irk him.
    She was wearing black shorts, a gray T-shirt, and gray sneakers. He wished they didn’t appeal to him.
    He turned back as she came down the ladder, took hold of it to fold up just as she did. “I’ll put it away for you.”
    “I can do it.”
    He tugged, so did she. “Goddamn it, Tory.”
    The sudden hiss of temper, the dangerous flash in his eyes, had her stepping back, clasping her hands. He slapped the ladder together, shoved it into a small closet.
    When he just stood there, his back to her, she felt a pang of guilt, and of sympathy. It was odd to realize she didn’t feel fear or trepidation as she usually did around angry men. “Sit down, Cade.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you look like you need to.” She walked over to where she’d hauled in a minifridge, found a bottle of Coke, twisted the top. “Here, cool off.”
    “Thanks.” He dropped down on the chair at her desk, took a long swig from the bottle.
    “Bad day?”
    “I’ve had a score of better ones.”
    Saying nothing, she opened her purse and found the cloisonné pillbox where she kept aspirin. When she offered him two, he lifted his brows.
    She felt heat rise fast and dark to her cheeks. “I didn’t … It just shows, that’s all.”
    “Appreciate it.” He popped the aspirin, sighed, rolled his shoulders. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to make it some better by coming over here and sitting on my lap.”
    “No, I wouldn’t.”
    “Had to ask. How about dinner and a movie? No, don’t say no without even thinking about it,” he said before she could speak. “Just dinner and a movie. Hell, a pizza, a burger, something friendly. I promise not to ask you to marry me.”
    “That’s a relief, but not much of an incentive.”
    “Just think about it for five minutes.” He set the bottle on her desk, then rose. “Come on outside. I got something for you.”
    “I haven’t finished in here.”
    “Woman, do you have to argue about every damn thing? It wears me out.” To solve the problem, he took her hand, pulled her to the door and through.
    She might have taken a stand, just on principle. But there were two carpenters in the shop, which meant two sets of eyes and ears. There would be less for them to talk about if she calmly stepped outside with Cade.
    “I liked the look of these,” he began, gesturing toward the pots while he continued to pull her down the sidewalk to his truck. “If you don’t you can exchange them at Clampett’s. Same goes for these, I suppose.”
    He stopped, took one flat out of the truck bed. “But I think they suit well enough.”
    “Suit what?”
    “You, your place. Consider them a kind of good luck gift, even though you have to pot them yourself.” He pushed the first flat into her hand, took out the second and the bag of soil.
    She stood there, baffled and touched. She’d wanted flowers, she remembered, flowers in pots for the front of the shop. She’d thought of petunias, but these were prettier and every bit as friendly.
    “This was kind of you. And thoughtful. Thank you.”
    “Could you look at me?” He waited until she shifted her gaze, met his eyes. “You’re welcome. Where do you want them?”
    “We’ll just set them out front. I’ll pot them.”
    As they started up the sidewalk together, she gave him one sidelong glance. “Oh hell. You could come by around six. I wouldn’t mind the pizza. If we get through that all right, we can talk about the movie.”
    “Fine.” He set the flowers and soil down in front of her display window. “I’ll be back.”
    “Yes, I know,” she murmured when he strolled off.

8
    M aybe people didn’t actually die of boredom, Faith decided, but she didn’t know how the hell they lived with it, either.
    When she’d been a child and complained she had nothing to do, the words had fallen on unsympathetic adult ears, and chores had been assigned. She’d hated chores nearly as much as she’d hated boredom. But some lessons are hard-learned.
    “There’s nothing to do around here.” Faith lounged at the kitchen table, picking at a breakfast biscuit. It was after eleven, but she hadn’t bothered to dress. She wore the silk robe she’d bought on a trip to Savannah in