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“Renting her a room is really nice, especially because of the low rent.” Sammie had shared with me what they were charging her for the room, and I’d been flabbergasted. In Seattle, she would have paid eight times as much.
“Do you know anything about what brought her here?” Caspian asked.
“No. She keeps her past to herself.” As often as the two of us had gotten together outside of work, she skillfully changed thesubject if I ever pried into her past, including the story about Chloe’s father. She never mentioned an ex of any kind. However, babies didn’t come from the stork.
“She’s a great roommate, but she doesn’t share much. Not that it’s any of our business—but she does so much to take care of us that it makes me want to know her better.”
A spark of an emotion I couldn’t quite place niggled at me. To hide my confusion, I busied myself cleaning up my station. Was it jealousy? Did he like her? Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Sammie was petite, pretty, and soft-spoken. She probably never scared anyone with her loud laugh the way I often did. Especially small animals.
“Have you ever outright asked her anything about her past?” I managed to say, despite my suddenly dry mouth.
“Not my style.”
“You thinking of asking her out?” I spoke as casually as I could, but there was a squeakiness to my tone that reminded me of the fresh cheese curds I’d made one summer as an intern.
He blinked, then flinched. “Absolutely not. I don’t date employees.”
The apples of my cheeks flamed hot. Was it obvious I liked him? Why had I asked him that? Too nosy for my own good. “But would you, if you didn’t have that rule?” My goodness, my mouth was on a real rampage this morning.
He tilted his head, studying me. “I would not. For one thing, I’m pretty sure Thad has a thing for her. Anyway, she’s not really my type.”
“Whatisyour type?” Again with my mouth. Like Pandora’s box. Once he’d opened up a personal conversation I wasn’t able to stop asking questions.
“Can’t say I have one.” He strolled back to his station and lifted his fresh pasta dough from a metal bowl. Soon, he’d start to cut it by hand into fettuccine noodles. I’d been absolutelyawestruck the first time I saw him wield his knife to cut the pasta into strips. “It would have to be someone unique, given me.”
Given me?What did he mean by that?
“What about you?” Caspian asked. “Do you have a type?”
I continued to clean up the mess from my cake while I thought how to answer. “I don’t think I have one either. I’ve always figured I would know if I met him.”
“So you have hope that you will? I wish I could say that for myself,” Caspian said.
“You don’t have hope of meeting someone eventually?” I turned to face him and raised my eyebrows in surprise.
“I’m not like my brothers.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’m not what anyone would want in a partner. Who would put up with my obsession?”
“You mean cooking?” I asked. “Running the Bunkhouse?”
“The hours are terrible. At least that’s what the last woman I dated told me.”
“Who was that and when?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Are we really talking about this? It’s kind of personal.”
“I mean, I’m game if you are,” I said, shrugging my shoulders to hide how eager I was to hear more.
“Fine, but turnabout’s fair play. Get ready for some questions.”
My stomach fluttered with anticipation. I tossed a few sheets of parchment paper into the trash bin. “I have nothing to hide.”
“A few years back I dated a woman highly unsuitable,” Caspian said lightly.
“Now I’m even more intrigued.” What did he consider unsuitable?
