invitation.
“Have you lived in Angel Ridge all your life?” She took a sip of her wine.
Blake gave her what could only be described as “a look.” He walked to the refrigerator and removed a bowl of salad. “I'm noticing a pattern with you.” He set the bowl on the island.
She was noticing some things as well, like how nicely he filled out those skin-tight jeans. But she lifted her eyebrows, questioning.
“You're good at changing the subject when you don't want to answer a question.”
“Fair is fair. You've asked me all kinds of personal questions, but I haven't gotten to ask many of my own.”
Blake set a plate in front of her and served salad. “Ask away, but the invitation stands.”
He dished up salad. Janice ignored the invitation. Again. She decided to see if she could throw him off-balance. “Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“Really?” She had expected him to say he was divorced. He was an intelligent, charming, sinfully sexy man. She imagined he didn't lack in dating opportunities.
“Really.”
He turned the burner under the sauce off and put the lid on the pot. When he joined her at the bar, he said, “No and nothing are the answers to your next two questions.”
Janice stopped eating, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What questions would that be?”
“Are you gay? And what's wrong with you?”
Janice laughed into her napkin.
“Come on. I know you were thinking it. I've heard it often enough. A guy who's forty and never been married must either be gay or have something wrong with him.” He leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “I have a sister. She tells me these things.”
“I see. Well, since you're not gay and there's nothing wrong with you, that leaves only one other explanation.”
“I can't wait to hear this.” He sat and poured a generous portion of creamy ranch dressing onto his salad. His thigh brushed hers and she nearly lost the thread of the conversation.
Ignoring the fat content he was about to ingest, she focused on her own salad before saying, “You must have impossible standards no woman can meet.”
“What's wrong with having standards? Don't you have them?”
“I thought I was asking the questions.”
“Right. Fire away.”
While he chewed, she considered what she would say. “So, you admit that you have standards.”
“Absolutely.” He wiped his mouth. “I think that if more people had standards and waited until they found the person compatible with those standards, there would be fewer broken homes.” He forked up more salad.
Skeptical, Janice crossed her arms on the island and said, “Tell me.”
When he'd swallowed, he said, “First, she has to be someone admirable. Someone people look up to.”
“A spotless reputation,” Janice supplied.
He shook his head. “No one is perfect.”
“I'm glad you acknowledge that.”
“Ready for the pasta?”
She looked at his clean plate and nodded, ignoring her own half eaten salad. “What else?”
Blake took their salad plates and busied himself filling two large bowls with pasta then smothered it with aromatic sauce. “Someone who appreciates quality rather than quantity.”
“As it pertains to what?”
“Lots of things.” He set her food in front of her and took his place on the stool beside hers. “Take this house, for instance. I could easily build a new home in one of the affluent subdivisions I've developed, use the best materials, fill it with top of the line everything, but the fact is, today's materials and building standards can't begin to replicate the work and craftsmanship put into building this place. The history and character of this house can't be reproduced. That comes with time, patience, and caring for something.”
Janice twirled noodles around her fork, staring at him, but not eating. “So you're talking about material things. Quality as opposed to quantity.”
“That principle applies to many things.”
“What
“Have you lived in Angel Ridge all your life?” She took a sip of her wine.
Blake gave her what could only be described as “a look.” He walked to the refrigerator and removed a bowl of salad. “I'm noticing a pattern with you.” He set the bowl on the island.
She was noticing some things as well, like how nicely he filled out those skin-tight jeans. But she lifted her eyebrows, questioning.
“You're good at changing the subject when you don't want to answer a question.”
“Fair is fair. You've asked me all kinds of personal questions, but I haven't gotten to ask many of my own.”
Blake set a plate in front of her and served salad. “Ask away, but the invitation stands.”
He dished up salad. Janice ignored the invitation. Again. She decided to see if she could throw him off-balance. “Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“Really?” She had expected him to say he was divorced. He was an intelligent, charming, sinfully sexy man. She imagined he didn't lack in dating opportunities.
“Really.”
He turned the burner under the sauce off and put the lid on the pot. When he joined her at the bar, he said, “No and nothing are the answers to your next two questions.”
Janice stopped eating, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What questions would that be?”
“Are you gay? And what's wrong with you?”
Janice laughed into her napkin.
“Come on. I know you were thinking it. I've heard it often enough. A guy who's forty and never been married must either be gay or have something wrong with him.” He leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “I have a sister. She tells me these things.”
“I see. Well, since you're not gay and there's nothing wrong with you, that leaves only one other explanation.”
“I can't wait to hear this.” He sat and poured a generous portion of creamy ranch dressing onto his salad. His thigh brushed hers and she nearly lost the thread of the conversation.
Ignoring the fat content he was about to ingest, she focused on her own salad before saying, “You must have impossible standards no woman can meet.”
“What's wrong with having standards? Don't you have them?”
“I thought I was asking the questions.”
“Right. Fire away.”
While he chewed, she considered what she would say. “So, you admit that you have standards.”
“Absolutely.” He wiped his mouth. “I think that if more people had standards and waited until they found the person compatible with those standards, there would be fewer broken homes.” He forked up more salad.
Skeptical, Janice crossed her arms on the island and said, “Tell me.”
When he'd swallowed, he said, “First, she has to be someone admirable. Someone people look up to.”
“A spotless reputation,” Janice supplied.
He shook his head. “No one is perfect.”
“I'm glad you acknowledge that.”
“Ready for the pasta?”
She looked at his clean plate and nodded, ignoring her own half eaten salad. “What else?”
Blake took their salad plates and busied himself filling two large bowls with pasta then smothered it with aromatic sauce. “Someone who appreciates quality rather than quantity.”
“As it pertains to what?”
“Lots of things.” He set her food in front of her and took his place on the stool beside hers. “Take this house, for instance. I could easily build a new home in one of the affluent subdivisions I've developed, use the best materials, fill it with top of the line everything, but the fact is, today's materials and building standards can't begin to replicate the work and craftsmanship put into building this place. The history and character of this house can't be reproduced. That comes with time, patience, and caring for something.”
Janice twirled noodles around her fork, staring at him, but not eating. “So you're talking about material things. Quality as opposed to quantity.”
“That principle applies to many things.”
“What
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