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    But she was going on a date.
    She was looking for someone.
    How could she go out with someone else when he slept down the hall? He thought about asking her, but he’d sound desperate. Needy and shallow.
    He wasn’t any of those things, so he kept his trap shut.
    Rachael had dinner ready at five o’clock, like she said she would. His plate was on the counter, but his hostess was nowhere to be seen. He slurped spaghetti by his lonesome in the big, empty dining room and stared out over the back lawn.
    He hadn’t had this type of quiet in years—the hustle and bustle of the business didn’t give him that luxury—so he fought the urge to surf the internet on his phone and stared out over the back lawn instead. The sun had set, casting slanting shadows across the grass. An unfinished building sat to the right of the inn, and Cole wondered if Rachael owned that lot, too. It was larger than the inn, from the looks of it, and had the same cream-colored paint job.
    When the clock ticked over to six, Cole had enough of solitude: it reeked of loneliness. He rinsed his plate off in the sink and strode through the dining room, stopping in his tracks when he spotted Rachael putting on her lipstick in the entryway mirror.
    She looked great from behind, in black jeans and a dark gray sweater. Her blonde hair was curled at the bottom and long enough to brush the sexy dip in her waist. She wore tall black boots with thick gray socks peeking out the top.
    She could easily create a new fashion trend in Hollywood: Country Chic.
    As she caught him staring at her in the mirror, she spun around. “Hey,” she said, smoothing her hands down her sweater. “I didn’t see you there. How was dinner?”
    “You look great,” he said, ignoring her question. “Where’s this guy taking you?”
    This guy. He chastised himself for sounding jealous. Which he wasn’t.
    She thrust her arms into a knee-length pea coat and grabbed a small purse from a dresser near the entry. “We’re going to Angie’s. It’s a really swanky restaurant on Main Street. Well,” she corrected, “swanky for Blue Lake. I’m sure it’s a hole in the wall where you come from, but the food’s good.”
    “Where are you headed after Angie’s?”
    Her lips quirked. “What makes you think there’ll be something after?”
    “If you were my date, I wouldn’t let you leave my side until dawn.”
    She seemed to soften, her lips parting slightly. “Well I’m not your date.”
    “No,” he said. A spark of sadness nailed him in the gut. “You’re not.”
    She averted her gaze to the door. “Help yourself to any food or drinks in the fridge and leave your dishes or glasses in the sink. I’ll wash them when I get back. I started a fire, so that should keep the place warm for a few hours. There are satellite stations, including Showtime and HBO, if the television is on channel three and—”
    “I don’t watch TV,” he interrupted. “And I know how to light a fire if I get cold.”
    She stared. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel incompetent, it’s more me than you.”
    He felt his brows pinch in confusion.
    “I’ve never left at night when there’s someone staying at the inn. I’ve always been here or sent out for something if I need it.”
    It was clear that Rachael had gotten accustomed to taking care of people, of being the homemaker, the chef, the hostess, etcetera, etcetera. It was a funny, but people buzzed around Cole all day, telling him to do this and that, say this and not that…but they didn’t actually seem to worry about his well-being. He’d never felt more nurtured than he had the last two days. And she hadn’t even done anything for him. She’d cleaned up, cooked a few meals, and lit a couple fires.
    It wasn’t what she was doing, he realized. It was the details. Her concerns over his comfort while she went out, and the quality of the fire and his dinner. She seemed to genuinely care about him…not him , specifically of