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school.
    Determined to escape his spell, she pretended to be engrossed by a butterfly that landed on his foot. She noticed that the dock shoes he was wearing were slightly scuffed. Today she didn’t feel so self-conscious next to him in her paint-stained clothes.
    Her gaze wandered up to his shirt. The short sleeves revealed a pair of well-proportioned arms.
    She forced her focus back to his face and rewound to what he was saying. He recognized that he’d been overbearing yesterday. She suspected that she hadn’t been entirely reasonable either--not that she was going to admit it. But it might be better not to burn her bridges with the historical society yet, in case she came up with another plan for the studio that they would find palatable.
    “Okay,” she said. “I mean, apology accepted.”
    He looked surprised, then his grin deepened. “I was hoping you’d say that. In fact, if you have a minute, I have a little token of friendship I’d like to give you. It’s right out in the car. I’ll get it.”
    “That’s not necess–” she started, but he was already running down the front steps and out to the street.
    As he went around to the far side of the car, she stepped onto the porch and let the screen door close behind her. When he came up the walk again he held a large briefcase, stuffed to capacity. He climbed to the porch, looking downward. Finally he opened the briefcase and pulled out a large-format book. “I brought you a copy of my latest.”
    “Oh...I couldn’t.” Almost against her will, her gaze slid to the cover photo, a shot of a gorgeous gingerbread Victorian house. “Thank you, but I can get my own copy. I intended to already.”
    “ This is your copy. See?” He opened to the title page, where she glimpsed her name scrawled in a masculine hand. Before she could read any further, he snapped the book shut. “Now you have to accept it.”
    She didn’t know whether to feel pleased or bribed. “I...I’m not sure what to say. You shouldn’t have.”
    He shrugged. “It’s nothing. But I hope some of the houses in it will appeal to your artistic sense. After you’ve had a look, I’d like to hear your impressions.”
    “Well, okay. Thank you.” She broke down and smiled. Taking the book from him, she resisted the urge to open it back up and read the inscription. “Would you like to come in? I could make some coffee.”
    “I don’t often turn down coffee in the morning.”
    She held the door open for him. “This will give you a chance to see a little more of the house--not that the kitchen is much to look at. I’d better warn you that it was remodeled in the nineteen-fifties and remains in that decade to this day.”
    Leading him through the main hall, she purposely hurried past the studio. He lagged behind a little, taking in the decor, but when she stopped at the kitchen door to wait for him he quickened his pace and caught up.
    “Have a seat.” She nodded toward the dinette set, a metal-rimmed relic she’d picked up at a yard sale. While he sat down, she set his book on the table, which, luckily, was clean this morning. Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out a container of ground coffee. “Maybe you and I can agree on this room. Pretty hideous, isn’t it?”
    He glanced over the straight white rows of cabinets and the worn linoleum floor. Focusing on two large windows on the outside wall, he said, “There’s plenty of space and light.”
    “True.” She pressed a filter into the coffee maker. “It has all the warmth of an emergency room.”
    “I wonder what’s under the linoleum.” He tapped his foot. “The construction is really solid. Even if the material’s in bad shape, it might be an improvement over this.”
    She paused between scoops of coffee to look down. “You might have something there. I’ll rip it up this afternoon.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Whatever’s underneath can’t look worse than this. I’d start the job right now, but my matte knife is