“But even the replacement molding is older than...we are. It might as well be original.”
“Well, no, it might as well not be, because if it were, it would match. It gets accolades for age but I’m still replacing it.”
“So you’re going to put this cheap-ass stuff in there?”
“It is not cheap-ass! Look at how much of my budget is devoted to this and you will see just how not cheap-ass it is. It’s very nice, actually. And if all you’re going to do is insult my molding, then...get off my porch.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the railing. “I don’t think I will. It’s my porch. You’re just leasing it.”
“I have rights!”
“It’s a bed-and-breakfast. What if I want to make a reservation?”
“It’s not open yet.”
“It could open faster if you didn’t want to replace perfectly good molding.”
She sputtered, her comebacks all jumbled around because...biceps. And forearms. And things. Why was he so distracting even while he was annoying? Why did it seem like the annoying only made it all more interesting?
She had no idea what was wrong with her. She needed some wine. A bottle of wine. And for him to go away. She was done with her thrills. She was on thrill overload. She was clearly giddy with the thrills and had crossed over into crazy town.
“What else do you have in the bag?” he asked.
“Things,” she said.
His dark eyes narrowed. “What kinds of things?”
“Things of a home-improvement nature. Which I will use to improve this home.”
“What the hell does it need improving for?”
She huffed and stalked to the front door, fishing the key out of her purse before pushing the door open. “Come in and see for yourself.”
She walked in ahead of him, trying not to be overly conscious of just how big and masculine and there he was.
“Look,” she said. “And by that I mean really look, like someone who’s never seen this place before, and not like someone who loves it because it’s sentimental.”
“Who said it was sentimental?”
“Obviously it’s sentimental. You’re attached to molding.”
“I just don’t like change,” he said, the words coming out stilted.
“Oh, really?”
“There’s an order to things,” he muttered. “It’s easier to keep track of them that way.”
She waved a hand. “Well, I love change. It’s what makes life interesting.”
“Which begs the question why you’re back here. Committed to five long years...”
“Because there’s no place like home. I’ve been all over the country and I’ve never been anywhere that felt like Copper Ridge.”
He paused, studying her far too intently for her liking. “How long did it take you to get that response down so perfectly?”
Anger sparked through her. Because he had her number. “Are you saying my response seems rehearsed?”
“Yes. Very. Why are you really here?”
Oh, damn him. “Because. It was time. Because...I was tired of feeling like I was running away.”
“From?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Things.”
“Same things you got in that bag?”
“Yep. Nuts, bolts and other assorted crap.”
Toby chose that moment to come padding down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“You have a cat,” he said, “in the house.”
“Yes,” she said. “Where else am I going to keep my cat?”
“The barn.”
“You don’t keep a friend in the barn. Well, maybe you keep your friends in the barn. That could be why you don’t have any friends.”
