He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. Instead he dropped his arm to his side and walked around her. She had a feeling that if he could have run, he would have sprinted from the room.
“Don’t you want to see the real estate listings I’ve put together for you?” She grabbed the papers off the workbench and took a few steps toward him.
“I don’t need to. You know what I’m looking for.” He stopped in the doorway, practically filling it with his broad shoulders. “Set something up and call me.”
“You want me to call you about real estate showings?”
“Yes.” He placed a hand on the white door frame and turned his face to one side. Light and shadow cut across his profile. “You have my cell number. There’s no need for you to wander around looking for me again.”
Her gaze lowere [er d from the back of his dark hair to the indent of his spine. “I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
“But…” She shook her head. “What if you’re just in the next room? Should I still call?”
“Yeah. We don’t need to talk in person.”
What? Had she missed something? How had the conversation gone from her wanting to kiss his face to her wanting to smack him in the head?
And why wasn’t she the least bit surprised?
Chelsea called him five times that day. Mostly just to annoy him.
“Do you have an aversion to maroon carpet?” she asked. “I found a house you might be interested in, but it has maroon carpet.”
“Just set up a showing.” Click.
She waited a half hour, then called again. “Do you need your suit taken to the dry cleaner’s?”
“No.” Click.
At noon she dialed and asked, “How about a sandwich?”
“I can make my own damn sandwich!”
“I know.” She smiled. “I just thought if you were making one for yourself, you could make me one too. I like ham and cheese. Lettuce on the side with a dab—”
Click.
He never appeared with her sandwich, which annoyed her even further when she heard him in the kitchen loudly banging around. She answered more letters on the computer and waited until two to phone him again. “There’s a squirrel in your driveway.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No. I’m looking at it.”
“You’re calling me about a fucking squirrel?”
“Yeah. Sure. Do you want me to get an exterminator to put out some rodent traps? Squirrels have been known to carry rabies, you know.”
He muttered something about her being nuttier than squirrel shit, then—click.
Shortly after that, a shiny red truck pulled into the driveway, and Mark sped away in it. Probably with one of his hockey buddies at the wheel. She called his cell but it went directly to voice mail. Jerk had turned off his phone.
The next morning when she arrived at work, she called to see if he’d turned it back on. This time she did have something important to tell him.
“I’ve set up three house showings for Monday after your dentist’s appointment.”
“I hate the denti