I looked at her guilty expression. “You don’t have to feel bad. I don’t drink because I didn’t like how it made me behave. It was hard to stop once I got started, and I made really bad decisions when I was drunk. But I don’t miss it.”
“You’re sure it’s OK?”
“Yes. Promise.”
I got all eight doors coated by the time the food arrived, and Claire did the facing in the kitchen. While I washed out the brushes in the basement, she set the kitchen table with dishes from a box in one corner of the room.
“So what’s next after the cabinets?” I asked her as she filled two bowls with salad.
“The floors, I think. I want tile, but I haven’t picked it out yet. Know any good tile places?”
“Actually, I do.” I sat down and opened the pizza box, placing a slice on Claire’s plate and then on mine before closing it up again. “I’ll write the name down for you. Or I could take you there.”
“Really?” She went completely still, salad bowl in her hand.
“Um. Yeah.” It had sort of just slipped out, but it was the kind of thing I enjoyed—helping out someone who needed it. Josie and the girls had Aaron to take care of things at their house now, but Claire was all alone. Just like I was.
Still, I needed to rein myself in. She was going to get confused if I kept sharing things about myself and offering to help her.
“Wow, thanks. That would be great.” She set the bowl down in front of me. “What can I get you to drink? Water? Vernor’s? Cranberry juice?”
“Vernor’s sounds good.”
She plunked a few ice cubes in a glass and poured me some ginger ale, then sat across from me and lifted her wine glass. “Cheers to a second date—I haven’t had many of those lately.”
“Me either.” Or first dates. Not real ones, anyway.
Claire set down her glass and picked up her fork. “By the way, I still want to pay you for your time last night—at least the time you spent at the wedding. It’s only fair.”
I stuck a tomato in my mouth and gave her a look. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want your money. In fact, I need to give you your hundred bucks back.”
“But it’s your job.” She picked up her wine again and took a quick swallow. “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t a complete lie. More of a half-truth. “I also have a carpentry business.” Another not-lie.
Her face lit up like I’d given her a gift. “You do?”
“Yes. I’ve never really been able to make much of it, but I like the work.”
“And you’re good with your hands.” She gave me one of those smiles that chipped away at my rules.
“Thanks.”
“I could definitely use your help around here. I have lots of projects.”
“I’d be glad to help you.” I added quickly, “But I might not be in town too long.”
“That’s right. You move around a lot. It’s one of the only things I know about you.”
I cocked a brow. “I’d say you know a few other things about me.”
Her eyes met mine. “I know how you taste.”
Fuck. I swallowed with difficulty. “Yes. You do.”
She focused on her food. “I’d like to know more, but you’re such a private person.”
“So ask me something,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to lie. Part of me wanted to open up a little, but it didn’t come naturally to me.
“What’s your last name?”
Crap. Of course she’d want to know that, but it made me searchable. My conviction was public record. But Claire was so trusting, I didn’t think she’d race to do a background check. “MacLeod.”
She smiled radiantly, as if I’d just given her an amazing gift. “MacLeod. So you’re Scottish?”
I shrugged. “No idea, actually.”
She took another bite of her salad. “I did a family tree when I was in school. I got back eight generations on both sides.”
“Yeah? What’d you find?”
“I’m English, French, Irish, Dutch, and a little German.”
“A mutt.” I cocked my head. “Suits you.”
She kicked me under the table. “Jerk.”
After that, she was quiet for a moment, but I could see her struggling with something. Finally she asked, “So are you not a pilot, then? I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just…trying to get to know you.”
I thought about it for a second and decided to answer honestly. “I have a recreational pilot certificate. I don’t use it much, though. I wish I did.”
“What made you get one of those?”
“Just always wanted to learn to fly.”
“But you didn’t want a career as a pilot?”
I hesitated before lying. “No. I don’t like strict schedules. It wouldn’t have suited me. But I do love flying.”
“I hate it.” She shuddered.
“Why?”
“It’s terrifying. I don’t understand how something that heavy can even get off the ground, let alone stay up there.”
I laughed. “You don’t have to understand something to enjoy it, do you? I don’t know how to make pizza but I enjoy the hell out of a good slice.”
“I’m telling you, just the thought of being on an airplane gives me a panic attack.” Her eyes were wide and serious. “My mother is the same way.”