Gwynneth Ever After (6 page)

Actually, she suspected she’d been functioning on pure adrenaline all day, because after Gareth had said goodnight to her on her front porch – in a moment tense with unexplored potential - she’d barely slept at all. But she didn’t see the need to admit so.

“What about you? Were you tired?”

“Only because Sean woke me up when he got in at six from work. He wanted to hear about my date.”

She tried not to ask, but her voice seemed beyond her control. “What did you tell him?”

“That it was none of his business.”

“Funny, I was just telling Sandy pretty much the same thing.”

“You know what would drive them really nuts, don’t you?”

“What?”

“A second date.”

Now her voice simply disappeared.

After a moment, Gareth asked, “Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” she croaked.

“I want to see you again, Gwyn.”

How did he do that? How did his voice reach through the phone line and make her feel as though he’d just picked up where he’d left off on her porch last night, when his lips had brushed the back of her hand in a gesture of gallantry she’d never experienced? As though her world had gone fuzzy for a moment, then come back into focus in a place she’d never been before?

“I know it’s a school night,” Gareth continued, “and that you probably have work to do, but– ”
 

She interrupted before her nerve failed – and before her better sense kicked in. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner, if you’d like.”

Silence met her invitation. She swallowed hard and put a hand to her hot face. Dear Lord, what was she thinking? You didn’t invite a man like Gareth Connor over to share a tossed-together weekday dinner with three kids and their frazzled, hopelessly gauche –

“I’d love to.”

He would?

Innate honesty prompted her to warn, “It’s nothing fancy.”

“Will you have any cookies left?”

She smiled. “I’ll try to keep some away from Sandy.”

“What time?”

“We eat early. Five o’clock.”

“Can I bring anything? Dessert?”

“If you’d like.”

“I’ll see you at five.”

Gwyn stared at the receiver in her hand for a long moment after it went dead, then she replaced it in its cradle and turned to Sandy. Her friend stared at her across the kitchen island, slack-jawed.

“Excuse me, but did I just hear you right?” Sandy squeaked. “Did you just invite a man into your home for dinner with you and the kids? You, Gwynneth Jacobs? With the iron-clad rule about never involving your children with your dates – what ridiculously few you’ve had?”

She ignored the jab. “The kids like him.”

“They’ve already
met
him?” Sandy’s mouth flapped a few times before she pulled herself together. “Gwyn, in the last four years, I can count on no hands the number of times you’ve introduced your kids to a new man in your life. Hell, I can count on no hands the number of times you’ve introduced them to any man in your life who isn’t permanently attached to another woman.”

“This is different.”

“I can see that.”

“Ga — “ Gwyn caught back the rest of Gareth’s name, recovered from her near slip, and said, “He’s only in Canada for a couple of weeks. It’s not like anything will happen.”

Both of Sandy’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under her bangs. “I have news for you, my friend. If you’ve let him cross your threshold, something already has.”

Chapter 7

“Sleep well, sweetie,” Gwyn said softly, closing Katie’s door behind her. She paused for a moment in the hallway, fighting the temptation to stop off in her bathroom and repair the ravages of the day before she went back downstairs to join Gareth.

And have him think you’re coming on to him? Do you really want to do that?

Well...honestly?

She pulled a face at herself in the hall mirror. No makeup, she told herself. No special efforts. He’s good company...

And incredibly attractive.

...and there might be a tiny spark of something there...

Understatement of the millennium, Gwynneth – you saw how he looked at you over dinner.

...but no way did she want it to go further.

Hah!

She gripped the handrail so tightly her fingers ached. This was getting her nowhere. She was a big girl – lord, she was a grown woman, the single mother of three, a successful architect...she could handle this. So she’d broken a rule or two, bringing Gareth into her home and her kids’ lives. It didn’t mean anything, regardless of what Sandy said. It just happened to work out that way.

She took a deep breath and through sheer force of will, set her foot on the first step of the descent.

She’d go downstairs, offer him a coffee, and go about her usual routine. By the time she’d tidied the kitchen and made Katie’s lunch for tomorrow, he’d be ready to leave. It was simple. Really.

There was nothing to it.

She stepped off the stairs into the main floor hallway and made her way to the kitchen at the back of the house. Gareth turned at her arrival, his denim shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Wiping his hands dry on a tea towel, he smiled.

“All tucked in?” he asked.

Gwyn nodded. She stared at her kitchen. “You shouldn’t have done this,” she said, waving a hand to encompass the room. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“You made the dinner,” he pointed out. “The least I could do was clean up. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? Common sense said that she shouldn’t, of course. After all, the kitchen surrounding him gleamed. Dishes had disappeared from the counters, and pots and pans had been washed, dried, and put away, all in the same night. That never happened.

And now – she twisted her hands together - now she had nothing left to keep her busy. Nothing to put between her and the man standing a scant few feet away, looking far more at ease in her home than she herself felt at the moment. She dug her fingernails into her palms.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Gareth threaded the tea towel he held through the fridge door handle. What would Gwyn do if she knew the real reason he’d cleaned her kitchen for her? If she knew he would have mucked out a barn if he’d had to, just to keep himself busy? Just to keep from dwelling on the tantalizing knowledge that when she came downstairs, they would be alone. The two of them. No kids. No interruptions. No distractions.

He watched her slender, ringless fingers pluck at her long navy skirt. She cleared her throat.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

The slight tremor in her voice told him that she, too, had felt the tension kick up a notch between them.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He should leave. He’d decided he would, while he’d been submerged up to his elbows in soapy water, listening to her steps overhead. Decided that his cousin, in spite of being nosey, had been right. He had too much at stake right now to risk an involvement, and involvement with Gwyn Jacobs would be all too easy. Something about her – her ease, her naturalness -

He brought his thoughts up short. The silence between them grew uncomfortable.
Just say it, Connor. Say thanks for dinner, but I really should be going. Say it’s been nice meeting you, but –

 
He nodded towards the dining room, separated from the kitchen by French doors. “Is that where you work? May I see?”

Gwyn looked surprised at the sudden request, but not as surprised as Gareth felt. That wasn’t anything near what he’d intended to say. Still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a quick look around - for the sake of politeness, of course - before he left.

He followed her to the French doors. Opening them, she stood aside. He stepped past her and paused in the doorway, hands tucked into jeans pockets, surveying the room.
 

Books were stacked across nearly every surface, rolls of papers sat in the corners and filled boxes underneath tables, and he couldn’t see so much as a square inch of either desk or tabletop under the clutter strewn across them. Given the order he’d seen in the rest of her house and the obvious routine of her family, the utter chaos startled him.

He looked down at her, making no effort to hide his grin. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that this is organized,” he said.

“Of course it is.”

A roll of papers, unbalanced by the draft from the open door, slid off the long worktable along one wall and dropped to the floor with a hollow thud.

Gwyn’s lips twitched. “Sort of,” she added. “I know where most things are, anyway.”

Gareth crossed the room, stooped, and picked up the roll. “May I?” he asked, holding it up. She shrugged and he set the papers on the table as he unrolled them. “Is this something you’re working on right now?”

“Just finished, actually. It’s a house for a client in Montreal.”

He twisted his head one way and then the other, studying the top blueprint. “It looks like it’s written in a foreign language,” he said at last. “You actually know what all this stuff is?”

She nodded.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Almost ten years. I worked for a firm in Ottawa before I had Katie, and I’ve worked from home ever since.”

“Is it all computerized?” He flipped through the sheets one by one.

“Most of it, yes. I still do my preliminary sketches by hand because I think more creatively with a pencil than I do with a mouse, but CAD lets me take on a lot more work than I could otherwise.”

“CAD?”

“Computer-aided design.”

“So you do the designs and then have someone print it for you?”

Gwyn shook her head. “I have my own plotter.” She pointed across the room at a machine sitting on a table of its own. “It’s a kind of specialized printer.”

Gareth re-rolled the house plans, set them back where they’d started out, and strolled across to examine the plotter. “It looks expensive.”

“Think second mortgage,” Gwyn said dryly. “I bought it three years ago and it cost me a fortune, but it’s nearly paid for itself already.”

Gareth straightened. “Aren’t you afraid your kids will total it?” he asked over his shoulder.

“This room is strictly off limits, on pain of lifetime exile to a bedroom. No one is allowed to so much as sneeze in here.” Gwyn wandered over to join him as he studied the paper taped to the table. “That’s a veterinary clinic I’m working on for a client in Buckingham, about a half-hour from here.”

“You don’t specialize, then?”

“In houses, yes. But I designed Dr. Maurier’s house for him a couple of years ago, and he asked me to take this on, too. Normally I’d say no to a commercial building, but Jean-Paul can be very charming when he wants something.”

Gareth ignored a little twist in his gut at the thought of her finding another man charming.
Be polite,
he reminded himself.
And then leave.
He re-rolled the papers.

“How many projects do you have going at once?”

“As many as I can juggle without dropping too many balls. I don’t like to take on more than three or four at a time, but a lot depends on the deadlines. And I don’t like to take on just one at a time, because the income is too staggered that way.”

Gwyn reached past him for a sketchbook. Her hair brushed against his shoulder and a strand remained clinging to the denim of his shirtsleeve. Gareth clenched his jaw.

“Right now I have this clinic,” she nodded at the partial drawing on the board, “plus a town-home infill project and this.” She flipped open the book and handed it to him.

He studied it, admiring the detail and the obvious complexity. She really was very good. “It’s huge. What is it, an apartment building?”

“A single family dwelling, believe it or not. Thirteen thousand square feet. Anyone who builds something that big has way too much money, in my opinion, but – ” She stopped suddenly and wrinkled her nose. “Please tell me I didn’t just insult you.”

Gareth set the pad on the work table. “Three-bedroom flat in London,” he said. “Big, but not nearly that big.”

“Thank heaven – ”

“Some of my best friends would fall into the too-much category, however,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.

“Oh.”

He decided that the tinge of color in her cheeks suited her. And that he ought to find something else to think about. He pointed to a framed sketch hanging over the desk. “What’s that?”

“It’s the addition on this place. The sitting room off the kitchen.”

He stepped forward to have a closer look at the sketch. “I’ll be damned. So it is.” He studied it for a long moment, eyes narrowed and head tilted to one side. Then he grinned at her. “Now I need to have a proper look at the room itself.”

And then he’d leave.

Really.

Chapter 8

He’d noticed the room during dinner, of course. Only a few feet from the kitchen table and elegantly designed even to his untrained eye, it would have been hard to miss. Until he stepped down into it, however, he hadn’t even begun to appreciate it.