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“I suppose that makes sense,” Lucy said cautiously. “But wouldn’t you rather be home than stuck here with me?”
“You don’t want guests?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Of course, I do.” He had no idea how much she needed them right now.
“Then you’ve got one.” He nodded. “Is it okay if I get my stuff from my truck while you sort out a room for me?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded like she was in a trance. Caleb Erickson was staying in her house. Voluntarily? And he was even willing to pay for the privilege?
“Great.” He drained his mug.
She froze as he walked over and paused to look down at her. He leaned in so close she could smell the coffee on his breath and flicked her nose.
“You’ve got cookie dough on your cheek.”
“Thanks.” “I’ll get going before the snow buries my truck.” He nodded at the back door. “I’ll come in this way, so you don’t have to leave those cookies again.”
A minute later he was gone, leaving Lucy gawping at the door like a fool.
The timer pinged, making her jump, and she checked the cookies, and reset it. If she hurried, she could get Caleb’s room prepared and be back down to take the cookies out. With that thought she ran up the wide staircase and stood on the landing. Where to put him? She turned toward the rear of the house and selected door number three. There was a king-sized bed, and a walk-in shower big enough to accommodate his tall frame.
She considered him naked in that shower and almost tripped over her own feet.
“Be professional, Lucy,” she admonished herself as she made sure the gas fire worked, that there were warm towels on the heated rack, and that all the potions and lotions for the bathroom were present and correct. She’d aired the bed on the previous day and just had to turn down the covers.
Even as she smoothed a hand over the sheets where Caleb would soon lay his head, the timer went off in the kitchen and she hurriedly descended the stairs. A blast of cold air from the opening back door heralded Caleb’s return. She turned to smile at him as he set his bags on the tiled floor.
“Perfect timing.”
“It’s really snowing out there.” Caleb took off his hat and gloves. “I’d forgotten how bad it can get.”
“You don’t come back very often,” Lucy remarked as she transferred the cookies to a wire cooling rack.
“Maybe I don’t consider it home anymore.”
She looked up, saw the bleakness of his expression, and decided not to say a word.
“Seattle might be wet, but it’s not so remote.” He moved restlessly around the kitchen, his gaze everywhere. “The gingerbread smells like the kind my mom used to make.”
“Help yourself,” Lucy offered. “I’m making enough to feed a nonexistent army of guests.”
He took a piece, bit into it, and chewed slowly. “This is good.”
“My gran’s recipe.” Lucy smiled at him. “Have you eaten tonight?”
“Nope.”
“I know it says bed and breakfast on the door, but I do offer dinner, and I haven’t had mine yet.” Lucy paused to check his expression, which didn’t help much because he’d always been hard to read. “It’s a chicken casserole with dumplings.”
“I could go for that.”
“Great!” She turned off the oven. “It’s been sitting on the bottom shelf cooking away all afternoon while I baked the cookies. I checked it just before you arrived and it’s ready to go.” She paused. “Would you rather eat by yourself in the guest dining room, or here with me?”
He frowned. “Here.”
“That makes life much easier.” She found plates and silverware and put them out on the pine table along with the casserole.
“Can I help?”
