“Impressive,” he added, finishing his turning circle close enough that she could smell the rain on his clothes. Feel the heat of his skin pressing in on her even more than the fire at her back. He smiled down at her, as if oblivious to the effect he was having. “A woman who can change a lightbulb all on her own.”
When, under the effect of all that nearness, the ground felt as if it was tipping under her feet, Saskia blurted, “I can’t cook to save my life.”
Nate laughed, the sound filling the room. “Good to know.”
She led him to the third bedroom, where she’d set up the office. It was cooler in there, and her skin thanked her for the respite from the stuffiness of the rest of the small house.
The desk—a reclaimed wood dining table covered in paint splotches and pen marks and nicks and notches sat in the centre of the room, her chair and computer on one side, which was covered in teetering piles of notes on yellow legal pad paper, with colour-coded notes stuck all over them. To anyone else it probably looked like a disaster waiting to happen, but Saskia knew where every single scrap of paper was. Lissy’s computer and chair were on the other side of the huge table, which, incongruously, considering the person who used it, was clean as a whistle.
The rest of the room was all cream paint and raw furnishings. Built-in shelves were filled with rattan baskets found at flea markets; soft-furnished guest chairs held cushions and throws. Sprays of stripped willow in an array of huge vases filled up the far corner. A dog-eared copy of Catch-22 nestled amongst her other favourite books.
“Great room,” Nate said, his eyes skimming too quickly to settle on any one thing. “Love the lighting.”
“The original fixtures were hideous—straight out a horror movie. I do believe you’re actually interested in my renovations. I’d be a little worried if I didn’t know better.”
Nate’s eyes slid back to hers, laughing, vibrant, lit with something she hadn’t seen there since she’d known him. “The BonAventure offices were refurbed a couple of years back,” he said. “The same decorator did my apartment, and I was so busy at the time I let him go nuts—which is why I live in what looks like the home of a sixty-year-old big game hunter. I worked more closely with him at the office.”
“Nate the interior decorator? I’m shocked.”
“Gave Gabe a laugh.”
“Maybe because he’s more manly than you?”
“No argument there,” Nate said, which only made him seem manlier still.
Ruffled, rumpled, even a little rugged, she thought, staring at the scuff on his boots, then at the loose thread on the collar of his T-shirt.
A skitter of something new and sweet and just a little frightening trickled down her spine. Shaking it off, she waved a hand at a guest chair which was nudged up against the short end of the table. “Work first, food after?”
“Sounds fair—work?”
“The dossier. You’ve come to the party on my end of the deal, right?”
He looked at the folder in her hand, then at the guest chair as if it might bite, before lowering his length into it.
Saskia sat in her soft pink bouncy office chair, one foot sliding to rest next to her backside. She twisted back and forth and stuck a pen in her mouth. The mixed feelings that came with having Nate so close edged away as she slid into work mode.
Popping her vintage glasses onto the end of her nose, she grabbed the dossier and opened it to the first page. But she’d already filled that out.
“What are you wearing?” Nate asked.
Saskia went cross-eyed as she looked at the incongruously big glasses perched on her fine nose. “They’re for reading.”
“They look like you nicked them from your grandfather.”
“Never met either. And they’re vintage.” She went to turn the next page when Nate interrupted again, “What’s that?”
Sighing, she took off her glasses and glanced at her monitor and a big hot pink rectangle with Electric Dreams: Finding Love in the Digital Age scrawled across the top in curly girly font that Lissy had started fiddling with. “The infographic. The carcass at least.”
“Does it have to be pink?” Nate asked, looking as pained as if she’d handed him a set of knitting needles and asked him to make her a pair of bootees.
“Pink’s romantic. And hot-pink’s...well, hot.”
Nate muttered something that sounded along the lines of, This can’t possibly be worth it.
“I’ve got some great stuff to work with so far: one in five singles have tried online dating. Less than one percent believes a movie is a good idea for a first date. More than half of women think dinner is a good first date, and that the guy should pay—”