Home for the Holidays by Debbie Macomber Page A

after him as he approached the burly foreman. She watched Joe remove a blueprint from a long, narrow tube and roll it open so two other men could study it. There seemed to be some discussion, then the foreman nodded and Joe left, without so much as glancing in Cait’s direction.
    That stung.
    At least he could have waved hello. But if he wanted to ignore her, well, fine. She’d do the same.
    The market closed on the up side, the Dow Jones industrial average at 2600 points after brisk trading. The day’s work was over.
    As Cait had predicted, Lindy sought her out almost immediately.
    â€œSo how’d your dinner date go?”
    â€œIt was fun.”
    â€œWhere’d he take you? Sam’s Bar and Grill as you thought?”
    â€œActually, no,” she said, clearing her throat, feeling more than a little foolish for having suggested such a thing. “He took me to Henry’s.” She announced it louder than necessary, since Paul was strolling into the office just then. But for all the notice he gave her, she might as well have been fresh paint drying on the office wall.
    â€œHenry’s,” Lindy echoed. “He took you to Henry’s?Why, that’s one of the best restaurants in town. It must have cost him a small fortune.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. My menu didn’t list any prices.”
    â€œYou’re joking. No one’s ever taken me anyplace so fancy. What did you order?”
    â€œGrilled salmon.” She continued to study Paul for some clue that he was listening in on her and Lindy’s conversation. He was seated at his desk, reading a report on short-term partnerships as a tax advantage. Cait had read it earlier in the week and had recommended it to him.
    â€œWas it wonderful?” Lindy pressed.
    It took Cait a moment to realize her friend was quizzing her about the dinner. “Excellent. The best fish I’ve had in years.”
    â€œWhat did you do afterward?”
    Cait looked back at her friend. “What makes you think we did anything? We had dinner, talked, and then he drove me home. Nothing more happened. Understand? Nothing.”
    â€œIf you say so,” Lindy said, eyeing her suspiciously. “But you’re certainly defensive about it.”
    â€œI just want you to know that nothing happened. Joseph Rockwell is an old friend. That’s all.”
    Paul glanced up from the report, but his gaze connected with Lindy’s before slowly progressing to Cait.
    â€œHello, Paul,” Cait greeted him cheerfully. “Are Lindy and I disturbing you? We’d be happy to go into the hallway if you’d like.”
    â€œNo, no, you’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” He looked past them to the doorway and got to his feet. “Hello, Rockwell.”
    â€œAm I interrupting a meeting?” Joe asked, stepping intothe office as if it didn’t really matter whether he was or not. His hard hat was back in place, along with the dusty jeans and the tool pouch. And yet Cait had no difficulty remembering last night’s sophisticated dinner companion when she looked at him.
    â€œNo, no,” Paul answered, “we were just chatting. Come on in. Problems?”
    â€œNot really. But there’s something I’d like you to take a look at in the other room.”
    â€œI’ll be right there.”
    Joe threw Cait a cool smile as he strolled past. “Hello, Cait.”
    â€œJoe.” Her heart was pounding hard, and that was ridiculous. It must have been due to embarrassment, she told herself. Joe was a friend, a boy from the old neighborhood; just because she’d allowed him to kiss her didn’t mean there was—or ever would be—anything romantic between them. The sooner she made him understand this, the better.
    â€œJoe and Cait went out to dinner last night,” Lindy said pointedly to Paul. “He took her to Henry’s.”
    â€œHow nice,” Paul commented,