“Sure.”
Neither one of them talked for the next few minutes. When the song finished, Harper finally spoke. “I’m sorry I pulled you away from work.”
“You didn’t. The garage closed over an hour before you arrived.”
“But you were still working on a car.”
He grinned. “That’s my car.”
“Really? What is it?”
“A 1967 GTO convertible. Been fixin’ her up for about a year now.”
“Ah. Does it run?”
“Not yet. There’s still plenty of engine work to finish. Once that’s done, I’ll tow it to a body shop in Hot Springs, and they’ll work on the exterior and give her a paint job. While she’s there, I’ll have the seats reupholstered, and then when she comes back from the body shop, I’ll finish up the interior.” He paused and glanced at her. “Sorry. Don’t mean to bore you with car talk.”
“Not boring at all. I don’t know anything about cars, obviously. What color are you going to paint it? Or her.”
“Haven’t decided. Probably blue or gold.”
“I’d go with red.”
He laughed. “Of course you would.”
They’d listened to two more songs and a commercial by the time he pulled into her driveway. He put the truck into Park and said, “Here ya go. I’ll let you know about the Merc on Monday.”
“Okay.” She looked at him. “Thanks for the ride, Rusty.”
“No problem.”
She opened the door and reached for her purse and briefcase. Then she paused and faced him again. “Have you had supper yet?”
“No.”
“Me either.” After another pause she added, “I could fix us something.”
Rusty shook his head. “I don’t want you to go to no trouble on my account.”
“Hey, you brought me home. The least I can do is feed you. Unless you have plans for supper already.”
“Just a leftover meat loaf sandwich waitin’ for me at home.”
“I can do better than that.” She stepped out of the truck and shut the door, then waved him in to follow her.
Well, he was hungry. And what he didn’t tell her was that the meat loaf was on its third day, and he wasn’t the one who’d made it. Bea Farnsworth had brought it over when she’d picked up her twenty-seven-year-old Lincoln Continental Tuesday afternoon. Bea was an excellent cook, and the meat loaf was delicious, but after three days in a row he was eager for something else.
He shut off the engine and followed Harper inside. The interior of her house was as he expected it to be—a large front room connected to an open kitchen, all in shades of white and gray. Everything was spotless and looked brand new. The exact opposite of his old house.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, dropping her keys into a crystal bowl on a small glass table near the front door. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable.”
As she disappeared down the hallway off the kitchen, he glanced around at the white leather furniture, then at his jeans, craning his neck around so he could see if he had any stains on his backside. Not wanting to risk it, he sat down on one of the wooden barstools surrounding a large marble island in the kitchen. Not the most comfortable seating, but better than possibly leaving a butt-shaped grease stain on her upholstery.
His palms grew damp again, and this time he couldn’t blame alcohol like he had at the Castillo wedding. Why was he reacting like this? He and Harper were having a meal together, that’s all. Probably a frozen one, or maybe even ordering in. She didn’t seem the type to cook, and hecouldn’t imagine her cutting onions or peeling potatoes in expensive clothes and high heels.
“There. That’ssomuch better.”
Rusty spun around on the barstool. When he saw Harper, his mouth dropped open.
