“Do you have any hobbies?”
“I spend a bit of time outdoors. And I guess I fancy myself bein’ okay at buildin’ things.”
“Are you working on anything in particular?”
“My place is all done. I go back and forward thinkin’ about whether I want an entertainin’ space downstairs.”
“You have a lot of people over?”
He shrugs. “Some weekends. If a game’s on. I’ve been keepin’ myself busy workin’ with Cain on his fence in the meantime.” His eyes drift around the apartment. “He owes me a couple of favors…”
“Milk?”
“And a sugar.” Sawyer’s tall frame wilts as if he almost wants to die inside. “Please. Sorry, I’m not used to bein’ around a…” He waves away the rest of the sentence.
Grinning, I scoop a teaspoon of sugar into the cup and give it a stir. “Not many women on your boat?”
“There are plenty of women everywhere. You’re alady.”
I pass him the coffee. “Is there a difference?”
He lifts the dainty cup to his lips and winks at me before taking a sip.
Oh.
Does he think I’m fussy? Or pretentious? But he winked at me. He’s teasing me again, isn’t he? “The cups were my grandmother’s, too. They’re part of a set.” I wince. Well, itwasa set.
“There’s a story there,” Sawyer guesses.
“That look you spotted was twenty-five years of guilt.”
A bushy eyebrow pops up.
“When I was little, I accidentally dropped the sugar bowl,” I explain. “Grandma’s gone now, but I still hunt antique stores hoping to finally replace it.”
“It means a lot to you to complete the set?”
I nod. “Grandma only used it when special guests visited. Her grandmother gave it to her on her wedding day.” And she passed it down to me on mine, but I leave that part out. “It’s one of the few things I took when… I…” I force a smile, but I can’t share anymore right now. Therewillbe tears.
“Here to start over, huh?” Sawyer finishes for me.
“Yes. Minus a sugar bowl.”
He smiles. “So, uh…” He clears his throat. “You know anythin’ about antiques?”
“I’m not an expert…”
He slides a look to the pile of books on the countertop. “Seems like a polite way of admittin’ youarean expert.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“I’d never laugh at you, Elsie Hoskins.”
His gravelly voice is so sincere, but I still have to muster up some courage. “My job… Before I moved here… I was a historian. Well, officially, I was a research assistant, but by education, I like to think I’m a historian.”
“I thought old men wearin’ coats with patches on the elbows were historians.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “I happen to have one of those coats hanging in my closet.”
