“So you’ve never been in love?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

“So you have been in a relationship before, with just one woman?”

“Of course, but as I said, once my life became what it is today—the constant traveling—it’s hard to stay in love with that kind of guy. At least that’s what my ex told me when she started dating some accountant. You know, wears a suit, carries a briefcase, home every night by six—it’s what women seem to want.” He sighed, setting his coffee down and relaxing further into the couch. His words said he was okay with all this, but the wistful look on his face said otherwise.

“It’s not what all women want,” I countered.

“Correction, it’s what the women I have dated all wanted. At least until now. That’s why what I have works great for me. These women I spend my time with when I’m home? They’re great. They’re happy, I’m happy—why would I rock the boat?”

“Well, you’re already down to two now, and I think you’d feel differently if the right woman came along. The right woman for you wouldn’t want you to change anything about your life. She wouldn’t rock your boat, she’d jump right in and sail it with you.”

“You’re a romantic, aren’t you?” He leaned in, bumping my shoulder.

“I’m a practical romantic. I can actually see some appeal in having a guy who travels a lot, because, frankly? I like my space. I also take up the entire bed, so it’s difficult for me to sleep with anyone.” I shook my head ruefully, remembering how quickly I used to kick my one-nighters to the curb. Some of my past wasn’t all that different from Simon’s. He just had his sexcapades tied up in a much neater package.

“A practical romantic. Interesting. So what about you? Dating anyone?” he asked.

“Nope, and I’m okay with that.”

“Really?”

“Is it so hard to believe a hot, sexy woman with a great career doesn’t need a man to be happy?”

“First of all, bully for you for calling yourself hot and sexy—because it’s true. It’s nice to see a woman give herself a compliment instead of fishing for one. And second, I’m not talking about getting married here, I’m talking about dating. You know, hanging out? Casually?”

“Are you asking me if I’m f**king anyone right now?” I shot at him, and he spluttered into his coffee.

“Definitely the strangest conversation I’ve ever had with a woman,” he muttered.

“A hot and sexy woman,” I reminded him.

“That’s for damn sure. So, how about you? Ever been in love?”

“This feels like an ABC mini-series, with all the coffee and the love talk,” I said. I might have been stalling.

“Come on, let’s celebrate this moment in our lives.” He snorted, gesturing with his coffee mug.

“Have I ever been in love? Yes. Yes, I have.”

“And?”

“And nothing. It didn’t end in a very good way, but what ending is ever good? He changed, I changed, so I got out. That’s all.”

“You got out, like…”

“Nothing dramatic. He just wasn’t who I thought he was going to be,” I explained, setting my coffee down and playing with my hair.

“So what happened?”

“Oh, you know how it goes. We were together when I was a senior at Berkley, and he was finishing up law school. It started out great, and then it wasn’t, and so I left. He did teach me how to rock climb, so I’m grateful for that.”

“A lawyer, huh?”

“Yep, and he wanted a little lawyer wife. I should have caught on when he referred to my future career plans as a ‘little decorating business.’ He really just wanted someone who looked good and picked up his shirts from the cleaners on time. Not for me.”

“I don’t know you that well yet, but I can’t really see you in the suburbs somewhere.”

“Ugh, me either. Nothing wrong with the ’burbs, just not for me.”

“You can’t move to the ’burbs. Who would bake for me?”

“Pfft, you just want to see me in my apron.”

“You have no idea,” he said, winking.

“It’s hard to get everything you need from one person. You know what I mean? Wait, of course you do. What was I thinking?” I laughed, gesturing to him.

We both jumped at the knocking on my door across the hall. The maintenance guy had finally arrived.

“Thanks for the coffee, and the shower, and the pipe rescue,” I said, stretching as I walked toward the door. I nodded at the guy in the hallway and held up one finger to let him know I’d be right there.

“No problem. It wasn’t the nicest way to wake up, but I suppose I deserved that one.”

“Indeed. But thank you anyway.”

“You’re welcome, and thanks for the bread. It was great. And if another loaf happens to make its way over here, that would be okay.”

“I’ll see what I can do. And hey, where’s my sweater?”

“Do you know how expensive those are?”

“Pffft, I want my sweater!” I cried, slapping him in the chest.

“Well, as it happens, I did bring you something—a sort of thanks-for-kicking-my-door present.”

“I knew it. You can drop it off later.” I walked across the hall to let the guy in. I directed him toward the kitchen and turned back to Simon. “Friends, huh?”

“Looks that way.”

“I can live with that.” I smiled and closed the door.

As the maintenance guy went about fixing the problem, I wandered to my bedroom to check on Clive. Just as I entered, my phone buzzed. A text from Simon already? I grinned and flopped down on the bed, snuggling a still-freaked-out kitty to my side. He began to purr instantly.

You never answered my question…

I felt my skin heat up as I realized what he was referring to. I was suddenly warm and a little tingly, like when your foot falls asleep, but all over. And in a good way. Damn, he gave great text.

About whether I’m f**king anyone?

Jesus, you’re crass. But yes, friends can ask that, can’t they?

Yes they can.

So?

You’re kind of a pain in the ass. You know this, right?

Tell me. Don’t get shy on me now.

As it happens, no. I’m not.

I heard a thud from next door, and then a slight but constant banging on the wall.

What the hell are you doing? Is that your head?

You’re killing me, Nightie Girl.

As soon as I finished reading, the banging resumed. I laughed out loud as he thumped his head against the wall. I placed my hand on the wall over my bed where the thumping was concentrated and chuckled again. What a strange morning…

Chapter Ten

I SAT IN MY OFFICE, gazing out the window. I had a list of things to do in front of me—and it wasn’t a small list either. I needed to run by the Nicholson house. The renovation was almost complete. The bedroom and bathroom were finished, and just a few details remained. I needed to get some new sample books from the design center. I had a meeting with a new client Mimi had referred to me, and on top of all that, I had a folder full of invoices to go through.

But still, I gazed out the window. I might have had Simon on the brain. And for good reason. Between the pipe explosions, the head banging, and the constant texting all day Sunday asking for more zucchini bread, my brain simply could not expunge him. And then last night, he brought out the big guns: he Glenn Miller-ed me. He even knocked on the wall to make sure I was listening.

I put my head down on the desk and banged it a few times to see if it helped. It had seemed to help Simon…

That night I went straight to yoga after work and was climbing the stairs to my apartment when I heard a door open from above.

“Caroline?” he called down to me.

I grinned and continued up the stairs. “Yes, Simon?” I called up.

“You’re home late.”

“What, are you watching my door now?” I laughed, rounding the last landing and staring up at him. He was hanging over the railing, hair in his face.

“Yep. I’m here for the bread. Zucchini me, woman!”

“You’re insane. You know this, right?” I climbed the last stair and stood in front of him.

“I’ve been told. You smell nice,” he said, leaning in.

“Did you just sniff me?” I asked incredulously as I opened the door.

“Mmm-hmm, very nice. Just get back from a workout?” he asked, walking in behind me and closing the door.

“Yoga, why?”

“You smell great when you’re all worked up,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me like the devil.

“Seriously, you pick women up with lines like that?” I turned away from him to take off my jacket and squeeze my thighs together maniacally.

“It’s not a line. You do smell great,” I heard him say, and I closed my eyes to block out the Simon Voodoo currently making Lower Caroline curl in on herself.

Clive came bounding out of the bedroom when he heard my voice and stopped short when he saw Simon. Unfortunately, he had little traction on the hardwood floor and skidded rather ungracefully under the dining room table. Trying to regain his dignity, he executed a difficult four-foot leap from a standing position onto the bookshelf and waved me over with his paw. He wanted me to come to him—typical male.

I dropped my gym bag and sauntered over. “Hi, sweet boy. How was your day? Hmm? Did you play? Did you get a good nap? Hmm?” I scratched behind his ear, and he purred loudly. He gave me his dreamy cat eyes and then turned his gaze to Simon. I swear he cat-smirked at him.

“Zucchini bread, huh? You want some more, I take it?” I asked, throwing my jacket on the back of a chair.

“I know you have more. Simon says gimme it,” he deadpanned, making his finger into a gun.

“You’re oddly into your baked goods, aren’t you? Support group for that?” I asked, walking into the kitchen to locate the last loaf. I might have been saving it for him.

“Yes, I’m in BA. Bakers Anonymous. We meet over at the bakery on Pine,” he replied, sitting down on the stool at the kitchen counter.

“Good group?”

“Pretty good. There’s a better one over on Market, but I can’t go to that one anymore,” he said sadly, shaking his head.

“Get kicked out?” I asked, leaning on the counter in front of him.

“I did, actually,” he said, and then curled his finger to get me to lean in closer.

“I got in trouble for fondling buns,” he whispered.

I giggled and gave his cheek a light pinch. “Fondling buns,” I snorted as he pushed my hand away.

“Just fork over the bread, see, and no one gets hurt,” he warned.

I waved my hands in surrender and grabbed a wine glass from the cupboard over his head. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he nodded.

I handed him a bottle of Merlot and the opener, then grabbed a bunch of grapes from the colander in the fridge. He poured, we clinked, and without another word, I started making us dinner.

The rest of the evening happened naturally, without me even realizing it. One minute we were discussing the new wine glasses I’d purchased from Williams Sonoma, and thirty minutes later we were sitting at the dining room table with pasta in front of us. I was still wearing my workout clothes, and Simon was in jeans and a T-shirt and his stocking feet. He’d taken off his Stanford sweatshirt before draining the pasta, something I didn’t even have to ask him to do. He’d simply wandered into the kitchen behind me, and had it drained and back in the pot just as I finished the sauce.

We’d talked about the city, his work, my work, and the upcoming trip to Tahoe, and now we headed over to the couch with coffee.

I leaned back against the pillows with my legs curled underneath me. Simon was telling me about a trip he’d taken to Vietnam a few years before.

“It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen—the mountain villages, the gorgeous beaches, the food! Oh, Caroline, the food.” He sighed, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. I smiled and tried not to notice the butterflies when he said my name that way: with the word Oh right in front of it…Oh me, oh my.

“Sounds wonderful, but I hate Vietnamese food. Can’t stand it. Can I bring peanut butter?”

“I know this guy—makes the best noodles ever, right on a houseboat in the middle of Ha Long Bay. One slurp and you’ll throw your peanut butter right over the side.”

“God, I wish I could travel like you do. Do you ever get sick of it?” I asked.

“Hmmm, yes and no. It’s always great to come home. I love San Francisco. But if I’m home too long I get the itch to get back out on the road. And no comments about the itch—I’m starting to get to know your mind there, Nightie Girl.” He patted my arm affectionately.

I tried to feign offense, but the truth was I had been about to make a joke. I noticed he still had his hand on my arm, absentmindedly tracing tiny circles with his fingertips. Had it really been so long since I’d let a man touch me that fingertip circles sent me into a mental tizzy? Or was it that this man was doing it? Oh, God, the fingertips. Either way, it was doing things to me. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine O waving at me—still far away, but not as far as she’d been before.

I glanced at Simon and saw that he was watching his hand, as if curious about his fingers on my skin. I breathed in quickly, and my intake of breath drew his eyes to mine. We watched each other. Lower Caroline was, of course, responding, but now Heart began to beat a little wildly as well.