jumped, banging the dolly still caught in the door.
“Sorry.” Trevor steadied the sculpture. “You shouldn’t come out without looking.”
She pressed a hand to her heart. Two weeks with neither an accidental nor intentional encounter, now twice in twenty-four hours? “What are you doing here?”
“The manager said you’d be delivering local sales. I thought I’d pick up my painting, save you the trip.”
“Oh.” She brought the dolly around. “It’s inside. I’ll get it in a minute. And thank you, Trevor. That sale meant the world to Fleur.”
“Her painting made the sale. Can I give you a hand?”
“I can manage.” She pushed the dolly toward her vehicle.
“We could use the company van. Take everything at once. It’s not glamorous, but it can haul.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You’ll be surprised how inaccessible Pine Crest properties can be.”
“How do you know I’m delivering to Pine Crest?”
His spread hands explained the obvious. That’s where the money was.
She gripped the nape of her neck. “I really don’t—”
“Need help. I know. But an extra pair of hands …”
“I have the dolly.”
“Trust me. That dolly won’t go everywhere.”
So he was offering assistance once again, which might be the way he liked things.
He said, “I have a sculpture and painting I want to coordinate, but I’m not sure where to put them. You have the eye for it, so after we deliver the rest, can you take a look?”
“You mean go to your house and arrange things?”
He shrugged. “We did yours. And seriously, Nattie—Natalie—”
“Nattie’s fine.” She was that to family and old, close friends, and for some reason she liked it from him.
“There’s no way you’re getting these crates delivered alone.”
With no excuse to refuse except her own tender feelings, she let him into the studio where her private sculptures were draped and out of sight. They set out with a full van, and on the very first delivery, Trevor proved invaluable. The quarried stone steps rose at a heart-pumping pitch. She hated to think how embarrassing it would have been to ask Sim Lemmons to help haul his purchase.
With the last item delivered, she told Trevor, “Sorry to drag you through that.”
“Do you see drag marks?”
“Nothing bloody,” she admitted, staring out the window as he drove to a swank new condominium complex in Pine Crest. He scanned an ID key that allowed the van through the gate. He might be more the guy in the suit than she’d thought. On the top floor, he swiped and opened the door.
“I don’t know why I expected a climbing wall and tent.”
His smile warmed her as she studied the loft’s interior. Her sculpture fit his minimal clean-line furniture. It sat on the hammered copper, C-shaped table between his couch and fireplace. “How committed are you to the furniture arrangement?”
“Not.”
They shuffled his room around, lamps, tables, even the art on his walls. The wolf mountain ended up beneath a recessed ceiling spot on a black rectangular pillar that had previously held a lamp. Fleur’s painting made a dramatic complement.
“You should offer this service to your customers, or is it just guys like me who need it?”
“Guys like you?”
“You know, tent dwellers.”
She shrugged. “Seriously. You’re Mr. Extreme Sports, but no trophy heads.”
“I don’t hunt.”
“No canoe paddles, snowshoes, or barn wood.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t going for rustic.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “This is sophisticated.”
“What I do isn’t all I am. Any more than what you do is you.”
She’d have to disagree there, but kept it to herself.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
His offer brought a clear memory of Kirstin with her champagne. “I should apologize for my catty remark to your girlfriend last night. I certainly don’t expect everyone to love my work.”
He expelled a breath. “Kirstin doesn’t reflect my views and
“Sorry.” Trevor steadied the sculpture. “You shouldn’t come out without looking.”
She pressed a hand to her heart. Two weeks with neither an accidental nor intentional encounter, now twice in twenty-four hours? “What are you doing here?”
“The manager said you’d be delivering local sales. I thought I’d pick up my painting, save you the trip.”
“Oh.” She brought the dolly around. “It’s inside. I’ll get it in a minute. And thank you, Trevor. That sale meant the world to Fleur.”
“Her painting made the sale. Can I give you a hand?”
“I can manage.” She pushed the dolly toward her vehicle.
“We could use the company van. Take everything at once. It’s not glamorous, but it can haul.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You’ll be surprised how inaccessible Pine Crest properties can be.”
“How do you know I’m delivering to Pine Crest?”
His spread hands explained the obvious. That’s where the money was.
She gripped the nape of her neck. “I really don’t—”
“Need help. I know. But an extra pair of hands …”
“I have the dolly.”
“Trust me. That dolly won’t go everywhere.”
So he was offering assistance once again, which might be the way he liked things.
He said, “I have a sculpture and painting I want to coordinate, but I’m not sure where to put them. You have the eye for it, so after we deliver the rest, can you take a look?”
“You mean go to your house and arrange things?”
He shrugged. “We did yours. And seriously, Nattie—Natalie—”
“Nattie’s fine.” She was that to family and old, close friends, and for some reason she liked it from him.
“There’s no way you’re getting these crates delivered alone.”
With no excuse to refuse except her own tender feelings, she let him into the studio where her private sculptures were draped and out of sight. They set out with a full van, and on the very first delivery, Trevor proved invaluable. The quarried stone steps rose at a heart-pumping pitch. She hated to think how embarrassing it would have been to ask Sim Lemmons to help haul his purchase.
With the last item delivered, she told Trevor, “Sorry to drag you through that.”
“Do you see drag marks?”
“Nothing bloody,” she admitted, staring out the window as he drove to a swank new condominium complex in Pine Crest. He scanned an ID key that allowed the van through the gate. He might be more the guy in the suit than she’d thought. On the top floor, he swiped and opened the door.
“I don’t know why I expected a climbing wall and tent.”
His smile warmed her as she studied the loft’s interior. Her sculpture fit his minimal clean-line furniture. It sat on the hammered copper, C-shaped table between his couch and fireplace. “How committed are you to the furniture arrangement?”
“Not.”
They shuffled his room around, lamps, tables, even the art on his walls. The wolf mountain ended up beneath a recessed ceiling spot on a black rectangular pillar that had previously held a lamp. Fleur’s painting made a dramatic complement.
“You should offer this service to your customers, or is it just guys like me who need it?”
“Guys like you?”
“You know, tent dwellers.”
She shrugged. “Seriously. You’re Mr. Extreme Sports, but no trophy heads.”
“I don’t hunt.”
“No canoe paddles, snowshoes, or barn wood.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t going for rustic.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “This is sophisticated.”
“What I do isn’t all I am. Any more than what you do is you.”
She’d have to disagree there, but kept it to herself.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
His offer brought a clear memory of Kirstin with her champagne. “I should apologize for my catty remark to your girlfriend last night. I certainly don’t expect everyone to love my work.”
He expelled a breath. “Kirstin doesn’t reflect my views and
Similar Books
