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He nodded towards the socks. ‘Those look cosy.’
She gave him the smallest of smiles, but at least it felt real. ‘My feet get cold.’
‘May I come in?’
She nodded, and he sensed the lack of artifice from her. Liked it. Who is Aurelie Schmidt? Maybe he’d find out.
But did he really want to?
She moved aside and he came in with the bag of groceries. ‘Do you mind if I make myself comfortable in your kitchen?’
She hesitated, and he could almost imagine her suggestive response. You go ahead and make yourself comfortable anywhere, Luke. He could practically write the script for her, because he was pretty sure now that was all it was: a script. Lines. This time she didn’t give them to him; she just shrugged. ‘Sure.’
He nodded and headed towards the back of the house.
Fifteen minutes later he had the steaks brushed with olive oil and in the oven, the potatoes sliced into wedges and frying on the stove, and he was tossing a salad. Aurelie perched on a stool, her fuzzy feet hooked around the rungs, and watched him.
‘Do you like to cook?’
‘Sometimes. I’m not a gourmet, by any means. Not like my brother Chase.’
‘He’s good?’
Luke shrugged. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Chase, or anything to do with his family. He preferred not to dredge those dark memories up; he’d determinedly pushed them way, way down. Yet something about this woman—her fragility, perhaps—brought them swimming up again. ‘He’s good at most things,’ he replied with a shrug. He reached for some vinaigrette. ‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’
‘No.’ From the flat way she spoke Luke guessed she was as reluctant to talk about her family as he was to talk about his. Fine with him.
He finished tossing the salad. ‘Everything should be ready in a few minutes.’
Aurelie slid off her stool to get the plates. ‘It smells pretty good.’
He glanced up, smiling wryly. ‘Are we actually having a civil conversation?’
‘Sounds like it.’ She didn’t smile back, just took a deep breath, the plates held to her chest. ‘Look, if you came here on some kind of mercy mission, just forget it. I don’t need your pity.’
He stilled. ‘I don’t pity you.’
‘If not pity, then what?’
A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘What are you saying?’
She lifted her chin. ‘I find it hard to believe you came all the way to Vermont to ask me to sing. You hadn’t even heard that song. It could have sucked. Maybe it does.’
‘I admit, it was a risk.’
‘So why did you come? What’s the real reason?’ Suspicion sharpened her voice, twisted inside him like a knife. Did she actually think he’d come here to get her into bed?
Had he?
No, damn it, this was about business. About helping the store and helping Aurelie. The ultimate reinvention. Luke laid his hands flat on the counter. ‘I don’t have some sexual agenda, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
She cocked her head. ‘You’re sure about that?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘What kind of men have you known?’
‘Lots. And they’re all the same.’
‘I’m different.’ And he’d prove it to her. He took the plates from her, his gaze steady on her own stormy one. ‘Let’s eat.’
Luke dished out the meal and carried it over to the table in the alcove of the kitchen. Twilight was settling softly outside, the sky awash in violet. Used to the frantic sounds of the city, he felt the silence all around him, just like he felt Aurelie’s loneliness and suspicion. ‘Do you live here most of the time?’ he asked.
‘I do now.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’d be a pretty sad life if I didn’t.’
He sat opposite her and picked up his fork and knife. ‘You’re not much of a one for straight answers, are you?’
She met his gaze squarely, gave a small nod of acknowledgement. ‘I guess not.’
‘All right. Business.’ Luke forced himself to focus on the one thing he’d always focused on, and was now finding so bizarrely hard. He wanted to ask her questions about the house, her life, how she’d got to where she was. He wanted to go back in the hallway and look at the photographs on the walls, he wanted to hear her play that song, he wanted—
