Smitten by Janet Evanovich

ever breaking stride, and disappeared down the street.
    â€œYup,” Matt said wistfully. “It was a bakery bag.”
    Elsie narrowed her eyes. “I could have used a doughnut this morning. Were there any Boston creams?”
    â€œYup. Fresh from the oven.”
    â€œI don’t mind that dog sinking his teeth into an old football,” Elsie said, “but when he starts swiping my doughnuts, he’s gone too far.”
    â€œHe’s just a puppy,” Lizabeth said. “He had a traumatic infanthood. He was abandoned on the side of the road.”
    Matt thought the people who abandoned Ferguson knew what they were doing. He looked like a cross between a schnauzer and a Great Dane, and he had the personality of Attila the Hun. The dog obviously had an eating disorder, and what had he been doing when the potbellied degenerate was parading around in his birthday suit? The damn dog probably hadn’t given out a single woof.
    â€œSo he’s a puppy, huh? He’s pretty big for a puppy.”
    â€œOf course he’s big,” Elsie said. “Worthless dog eats everything in the house. He’d eat a table leg if you put gravy on it.”
    Â 
    Lizabeth sat on the closed seat of the toilet and watched Matt run his thumb over a bead of caulking compound at the base of the tub. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, cupping her chin in her hands. She was close enough to feel the warmth from his body, close enough to see that he had freckles under the fine blond hair on his forearm.
    It was nice like this, she thought. Even nicer than working together at the construction site. The employer-employee relationship had been replaced by something that was much morerelaxed, more intimate, almost conjugal. He was an interesting man, she decided. Sometimes he fit her stereotype of a macho carpenter, and sometimes he surprised her with his intelligence and sensitivity.
    â€œSo what do you like to do when you’re not building or repairing houses?”
    He stood, wiped his hands on his khaki shorts, and thought about it. “I watch television. I go to hockey games in Philly. I ride my bike around.”
    â€œI saw a hockey game once,” Lizabeth said. “I thought the men looked cute in those short pants, but it was horribly violent. They kept beating on each other. I don’t understand what men find so fascinating about fighting.”
    Matt felt his mind go blank. It was a good thing he didn’t tell her about his short-lived career in amateur boxing. Or his front-row season tickets for the Flyers. Or the time he met Hulk Hogan and almost passed out from excitement.
    â€œHow about you?” Matt finally said. “What do you do?”
    â€œI used to bake cookies. Does that sound dumb?”
    â€œNo. It sounds nice. Very domestic.” Hethought she looked displeased at that, so he amended his answer. “Very creative.”
    â€œMmmm. Well, I’m not sure what I do now. I still bake cookies, but it’s not nearly as satisfying. I suppose I’m at a crossroads.”
    He sat on the edge of the tub and studied her. “What about childhood dreams? Did you want to be a doctor? Or an astronomer? Did you want to grow up to be a fire chief?”
    Lizabeth examined the tube of caulking compound and squeezed out a glob that artlessly landed on her foot. “I was never that realistic about my future. I wanted to be a fairy.”
    â€œAnd did you succeed?”
    She laughed. “Not entirely. I’m still working on it. I’m having a hard time with the wings.”
    â€œSo what are your adult dreams? What do you aspire to now?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t seem to have any aspirations. I suppose I have little goals. Paying my bills on time. Making a home for myself and my children. Learning how to caulk a bathtub.”
    Disappointment prickled in his chest. All her aspirations were of independence. And she