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His last statement made her stiffen. “No, I don’t want you to go,” she told him, then wondered if she sounded too desperate or eager.
Why did relationships always get so complicated? Truth was, she liked having Jim around, but she didn’t want anything more complicated than what they had.
“I can handle friendship,” she said, allowing herself to briefly get lost in his gaze. “But nothing more.” Heat flared on her cheeks, and she forced herself to continue. “Ever since things fell apart with Diane’s father, I’ve sworn off men. I’m not looking for a relationship.”
Jim gave her fingers a quick squeeze, then released her with a dismissive gesture. “You’ll stay single for a while, but don’t expect it to last. You’re young and beautiful, and some guy is certain to come along and sweep you off your feet before you know what hit you. But if what you’re trying to say is you wouldn’t be comfortable taking our relationship to something more than friendship, that’s fine with me.”
She couldn’t get past the “beautiful” part to deal with the rest of his statement. Did he really think she was beautiful? She still had a puffy stomach and was too pale and too skinny everywhere else. Her hair needed cutting and she wasn’t getting enough sleep or wearing enough makeup. Even so, his words sent a thrill of pleasure through her.
“I’m serious,” she said, trying to keep her tone stern. “I’m not looking for love.”
“Me neither. But I would like to be friends with both you and your daughter. She’s stolen my heart.”
“Mine, too,” Heather admitted.
“Any other questions?” Jim asked.
She had dozens. Like why wasn’t he off dating the supermodel of his choice? She sighed. Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe she should just accept this gift horse and be grateful he’d shown up in her life.
“No questions,” she said. “I, too, would very much like us to be friends.”
He picked up his fork and stabbed a big bite of cake and ice cream. “We already are.”
* * *
Three weeks later, Heather dumped the basket of dry, clean laundry onto the sofa. Jim reached for the top item—a tiny undershirt. He smoothed it out and set it on the coffee table before grabbing another miniature garment.
Heather tried not to notice how careful he was with the scraps of clothing that weren’t much bigger than his hand. She tried not to notice the lean lines of his body or the way he sprawled so comfortably on her sofa, as if he’d always belonged there.
“I’ve had two more phone calls from businesses wanting me to give bids on their bookkeeping services,” she said as she folded a T-shirt of her own.
“That’s nice.” Jim didn’t even look at her.
“I know what you’re doing,” she told him. “I’ve only known you for a month, but I’m completely on to you.”
His expression was innocence itself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do, and I want you to stop it.”
“Why? I know business owners who are interested in someone to take over their books. I also happen to know a bookkeeper who does great work. I’ll admit I’ve made a couple of calls and given them your name, but what happens after that is up to them and you.”
He made it sound so darn logical that she didn’t know whether or not to smack him or thank him. “How do you know I’m good at what I do? Maybe I’m a lousy bookkeeper.”
“Are you?”
“No, but you don’t know that.”
“Yeah, actually I do, Heather. You’re just that kind of person. You’re thorough and loyal. Did I mention dedicated? You’re going to do a great job for them and probably for less than they’re paying now. I haven’t imposed on them or their relationship with me. If anything, I’ve done them a favor.”
He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt, rolled up to the elbows. His boots were scuffed but had obviously been expensive. She suspected the complicated-looking watch on his wrist had cost more than she’d made in the past quarter. He had a thriving business and who knows what kind of life, but he showed up nearly every day, called to check on her twice a day and couldn’t seem to do enough for her.
“Why do you have to be so damned perfect?” she muttered.
Jim stared at her. “Heather Fitzpatrick, are you swearing? I’m shocked. And in front of your child, too.”
“If you’re shocked, then I’m secretly a mountain goat and I’m not swearing in front of my child. Diane is asleep in the other room, thank you very much.”
He grinned, then picked up another tiny shirt. “Is she sleeping better?”
