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The older the better. They-don’t-make-them-like-they-used-to types. Real stone from local quarries. Huge, hand-hewn beams. Hardwood floors instead of sheets of plywood, plaster walls instead of drywall –“
    He paused, giving her a sheepish look, when he realized he was running on. “Sorry.”
    “Don’t be,” she said. “I love old houses. So much so that I even bought one.”
    Another tweak deep inside. Was that genuine and – dare he think it – shared interest? “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. A small stone cottage. Built in the late 1700s, or so they say, replacing the original building destroyed in a fire in the late 1600s. I’m still doing the research on that. Used to be part of a much bigger estate.”
    His eyes grew huge. “Not the gamekeeper’s cottage on the old Penn estate?”
    She nodded. “Yep, that’s the one. You know of it?”
    He laughed. “I do. I was actually hoping no one would buy it for the asking price and I’d pick it up for a song.” He shook his head in disbelief. Any moment now he was going to wake up. “Tell me. What’s it like? The inside, I mean.”
    ***
    W as he really interested, or just being polite, she wondered? She loved her place; Liz often told her that when she talked about it, she got this dreamy look on her face. That was usually when Liz admitted to zoning out. Holly didn’t want to bore the man to distraction, but he might as well know up front what he was dealing with. He’d handled the “I’m a romance writer” thing better than expected, and he had already admitted that he had a penchant for old houses as well.
    Maybe he was asking out of professional rather than personal interest, then? Inwardly, she shook her head. It didn’t matter. He was interested, and she liked being the focus of his interest, motivation be damned.
    “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said. “It’s been upgraded over the years, of course, wired for electricity and fitted for indoor plumbing, but it’s retained its old world charm. Needs a lot of work, though. I’ve been there nearly six months and I’ve barely made a dent.”
    An idea formed in her head. So far, this man had managed to ace every question on her mental male potential quiz, which was a first. Plus she liked him enough to want to see him again. This might be the perfect way to do just that without actually asking him out. Whatever genetic trait predisposed her to sappy, alpha-male type romance novel writing also prevented her from taking the initiative in situations like this.
    “Adam, would you be interested in seeing it? Maybe you could offer some professional advice? I want to keep as much of the original look and feel as possible, and I’m afraid I don’t really have a clue.”
    He didn’t answer right away. A few seconds ticked by in silence, feeling more like minutes, and with each one, Holly’s disappointment grew. Things had been going so well; she should have just kept her big mouth shut. Obviously, she’d misread the situation. The only thing she could do at this point was backtrack and try to regain some of that easy back-and-forth thing they had going on before she ruined it by pushing too hard.
    ***
    S everal things were going through Adam’s mind at that point. The first was that he loved the way she said his name. Her voice was pitched just a bit lower than average, and she tended to speak softly, so every time she did, it sounded like a lover’s address. The second was that she’d bought the old gamekeeper’s cottage, which meant that she had excellent taste and they shared a common interest. And the third, the one that stole the breath from his lungs, was that she was actually inviting him over to her place. It might be purely professional, or it might not. Either way, she had managed to ask so that his inner caveman wasn’t in the least offended.
    “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure you’re very busy and -”
    “I’d love to.”
    She blinked, her eyes snapping back up to his.