‘Hello to you too.’ He held up the wine. ‘I come bearing gifts.’
‘I was meditating and you interrupted me.’ She barely glanced at the wine. ‘And I’d like to get back to it.’
‘There’s more.’ Undeterred by her bristly response, he pulled the chocolate blocks out of his pocket and brandished them. ‘Maybe I can tempt you with these?’
A spark of interest lit her eyes and when her foot wedged in the door moved a little, he pressed home his momentary advantage. ‘I just want to chill, Karly. No ulterior motive. I thought it’d be good to unwind with a glass of wine and some chocolate. Besides, there’s no TV in the granny flat.’
‘You could always stream something on your laptop or phone,’ she said, but there was no malice to her words, and after a brief pause she opened the door wider. ‘You’re lucky I have a sweet tooth.’
‘Me too.’ He smiled as he stepped into her house, and she closed the door. ‘There’s nothing a big block of chocolate can’t solve.’
‘You got that right.’ She pointed to the living room. ‘Make yourself at home. I need to blow out the candle in the back room, be back in a sec.’
So that explained the lack of lighting in her house. She had been meditating. He hadn’t picked her as the type. Then again, what did he really know about her? He never pre-judged anyone. He’d had enough of that himself when kids and teachers learned he was living out of his mum’s car, and he’d hated it. So why was he presuming to know anything about this woman?
She intrigued him, that’s why. He wanted to know everything about her, and not just for business purposes to pave the way to a smooth deal. He’d been lying to himself, using that as a flimsy excuse to front up here tonight, because the real reason was simple. He had a beautiful, intelligent woman who captivated him living next door for a few days and he’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to get to know her better.
He glanced around the living room, liking the uncluttered cleanness. No family photos, bar one clearly taken years ago of her and Jeremiah at the beach, laughing at each other, propped on a glass and chrome side table. No knick-knacks lying around, no magazines or books on the sleek modern coffee table, and while the modular suede suite he sat on was comfortable, it had the appearance of rarely being used.
He didn’t know what to expect, but by the mud-brick exterior he’d imagined something more rustic. Then again, her ultramodern kitchen should’ve alerted him to her liking for clean lines. He had a similar interior design at his place in Wheelers Hill, because that’s another thing he’d hated about living out of a car: the confined mess, with his belongings shoved into giant black garbage bags, the few personal belongings he’d been allowed to keep in a cardboard box and some books in a backpack. He’d taken over the backseat, his mum the front, and every inch of that car had been stuffed to overflowing.
‘Wine first, with a chocolate chaser?’
She stood in the doorway with two wine glasses in her hands and he took a moment to study her. He liked that she hadn’t changed out of her black leggings and loose blue T-shirt—a woman comfortable in her own skin.
‘Sounds good to me.’ He patted the cushion next to him, which of course ensured she took a seat opposite him in an armchair. He laughed and she joined in, the simple action alleviating the tension that creased her brow whenever he was around. ‘I almost brought cab sav, as that’s what you were drinking during our momentous first meeting, but I prefer a white with chocolate—it’s lighter.’
Her eyebrows rose as she placed the glasses on the coffee table between them and reached for the wine. ‘You remember what I was drinking the first time we met at that bar?’
Saying he remembered everything about her would sound like a line, so he brandished the chocolate blocks instead. ‘Milk or dark?’
‘Milk please.’ Her nose screwed up. ‘Not a fan of dark.’
‘It’s supposed to be better for you.’
‘So is getting eight hours of sleep a night and sticking to one cup of coffee a day, but I don’t do either of those, so eight tiny squares of milk chocolate isn’t going to make a huge difference.’
‘Just eight?’ He snapped off the required amount and handed it to her.
‘Everything in moderation, right?’
She arched a brow in a silent challenge he had no hope of interpreting. She wasn’t flirting, he’d know it, so what was she referring to?
‘Moderation?’ he prompted, as he broke off a line of four squares for himself and placed the block on the table between them.
‘Yeah, moderation,’ she said, unscrewing the wine and pouring a small amount in each glass before handing him one. ‘See? It’s a work night, so we need to be moderate.’
He had the distinct feeling she was talking about something else but for the life of him he had no clue what.
‘Just like we need to be moderate in our business expectations. In what we hope to achieve. That kind of thing.’ She smirked as she raised her glass to him and he bit back a laugh. He’d walked straight into that one.
‘That may be so,’ he said, raising his glass too. ‘But at times it can be more exciting and fulfilling to forget about moderation and go for broke.’
He clinked his glass to hers, and as they locked gazes, he could’ve sworn a sizzle of something arced in the air between them.
‘Why didn’t you say you were the presenter I accused of being a hotshot know-it-all when we first met?’
He’d wondered how long it would take her to ask him that. ‘Because we were virtual strangers and you’re entitled to your opinion.’