you want to get ahead, you've gotta give a hundred percent."
"Sure, but you don't have a hundred percent to give if you never stop to refuel." She shifted her gaze toward the kitchen. "Me, I'm gonna heat up some pot roast. Real food," she added teasingly.
"Wow, pot roast. I haven't had anything that good in ages." He winced inwardly as soon as he'd spoken, though—he hadn't meant to sound as if he was hinting for an invitation.
Penny's reply affirmed his fears. "I have plenty. I made dinner for my parents and sister yesterday, but I'll never be able to eat all the leftovers myself."
He shook his head. "Thanks, but no. I'm really anxious to get to work on this. I want to have some fresh screens to show you before we meet tomorrow afternoon." And I also want to make sure we keep this just business. The afternoon had gone surprisingly well and Ryan hated to risk screwing it up now by changing it into something social.
"I really don't mind. I can heat it up in the microwave and bake a couple of potatoes while I'm at it. It'll take fifteen minutes. And it's the least I can do, considering all the overtime you're planning to put in on this job. Unless…" she added, cringing slightly, "you think eating together would be too…"
"No," he said. "It's not that." Which was a lie, of course. He definitely thought it would be too awkward—maybe even tempting?—but he certainly couldn't admit it. Besides, maybe Penny was right; maybe he needed a little downtime if he was going to keep doing worthwhile work. He'd kept his professional wits about him all afternoon, so surely he could handle another hour in her presence. "Okay," he finally conceded, summoning a smile. "I'd love some real food."
When he offered to help, Penny assigned him the job of setting the small table in the breakfast nook that jutted off from the old-fashioned white-on-white kitchen. "Very retro," he said appreciatively of the white Formica table.
"Very garage sale." She laughed as she dug in the refrigerator, which also looked as though it had a few miles on it. "I like old things," she added, turning toward him, a large bowl covered with plastic wrap cradled in her arms. "I love these old hardwood floors and the old wooden cabinets. I bought this house with the idea of remodeling it, but by the time the restaurant was doing well enough that I could afford it, I'd grown attached to it all, just the way it is."
He found himself looking at her face then, seeing her features more clearly than ever before, concentrating on her perky nose, her easy smile. He smiled back, but then he stopped, because it was the smart thing to do.
He set out the aqua Fiestaware plates she'd handed to him, then rummaged in her drawers until he found silverware. Before, he'd only been vaguely aware of the vintage qualities of everything in her house, but now that it had been drawn to his attention, he concentrated on it, and he thought it was very Penny—simple, no-nonsense, yet full of an unnamable appeal.
Then, of course, he remembered that she wasn't as simple as he'd originally assumed. But outwardly, the Penny most of the world knew, and the Penny he was supposed to see, indeed fit with the home she'd chosen. He couldn't deny feeling comfortable there.
A few minutes later, they sat down together at the table. "This is great," he said, savoring each bite of pot roast he put in his mouth. "I don't think I've had this since I lived at home."
"Really?" Her eyes widened. "I don't think I could live without home-cooking. It's hard to cook for just myself, but I try to as much as possible."
"Is that why you opened a restaurant?"
She shrugged. "Partly. But I'll admit Patti and I were also thinking of money. We chose the pub atmosphere and downtown location with that in mind, and it's paid off. And our menu doesn't have much home-cooking on it—mostly sandwiches and a few soups—but I'm fond of food in general, I suppose. I like making it, and I like eating it."
Ryan laughed,
"Sure, but you don't have a hundred percent to give if you never stop to refuel." She shifted her gaze toward the kitchen. "Me, I'm gonna heat up some pot roast. Real food," she added teasingly.
"Wow, pot roast. I haven't had anything that good in ages." He winced inwardly as soon as he'd spoken, though—he hadn't meant to sound as if he was hinting for an invitation.
Penny's reply affirmed his fears. "I have plenty. I made dinner for my parents and sister yesterday, but I'll never be able to eat all the leftovers myself."
He shook his head. "Thanks, but no. I'm really anxious to get to work on this. I want to have some fresh screens to show you before we meet tomorrow afternoon." And I also want to make sure we keep this just business. The afternoon had gone surprisingly well and Ryan hated to risk screwing it up now by changing it into something social.
"I really don't mind. I can heat it up in the microwave and bake a couple of potatoes while I'm at it. It'll take fifteen minutes. And it's the least I can do, considering all the overtime you're planning to put in on this job. Unless…" she added, cringing slightly, "you think eating together would be too…"
"No," he said. "It's not that." Which was a lie, of course. He definitely thought it would be too awkward—maybe even tempting?—but he certainly couldn't admit it. Besides, maybe Penny was right; maybe he needed a little downtime if he was going to keep doing worthwhile work. He'd kept his professional wits about him all afternoon, so surely he could handle another hour in her presence. "Okay," he finally conceded, summoning a smile. "I'd love some real food."
When he offered to help, Penny assigned him the job of setting the small table in the breakfast nook that jutted off from the old-fashioned white-on-white kitchen. "Very retro," he said appreciatively of the white Formica table.
"Very garage sale." She laughed as she dug in the refrigerator, which also looked as though it had a few miles on it. "I like old things," she added, turning toward him, a large bowl covered with plastic wrap cradled in her arms. "I love these old hardwood floors and the old wooden cabinets. I bought this house with the idea of remodeling it, but by the time the restaurant was doing well enough that I could afford it, I'd grown attached to it all, just the way it is."
He found himself looking at her face then, seeing her features more clearly than ever before, concentrating on her perky nose, her easy smile. He smiled back, but then he stopped, because it was the smart thing to do.
He set out the aqua Fiestaware plates she'd handed to him, then rummaged in her drawers until he found silverware. Before, he'd only been vaguely aware of the vintage qualities of everything in her house, but now that it had been drawn to his attention, he concentrated on it, and he thought it was very Penny—simple, no-nonsense, yet full of an unnamable appeal.
Then, of course, he remembered that she wasn't as simple as he'd originally assumed. But outwardly, the Penny most of the world knew, and the Penny he was supposed to see, indeed fit with the home she'd chosen. He couldn't deny feeling comfortable there.
A few minutes later, they sat down together at the table. "This is great," he said, savoring each bite of pot roast he put in his mouth. "I don't think I've had this since I lived at home."
"Really?" Her eyes widened. "I don't think I could live without home-cooking. It's hard to cook for just myself, but I try to as much as possible."
"Is that why you opened a restaurant?"
She shrugged. "Partly. But I'll admit Patti and I were also thinking of money. We chose the pub atmosphere and downtown location with that in mind, and it's paid off. And our menu doesn't have much home-cooking on it—mostly sandwiches and a few soups—but I'm fond of food in general, I suppose. I like making it, and I like eating it."
Ryan laughed,
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