Colt tried not to laugh as he followed Chloe into her house. She was just so dang cute. He loved to watch her blush. Heck, he loved to watch her do just about anything.
He held the door for her as she fumbled with the lock. Were her hands shaking? Maybe he made her as nervous as she made him. He doubted it. Something about Chloe Bishop had him feeling like an adolescent teen with a crush on the prettiest girl in school. Whenever he was around her, his heart started racing and his palms began to sweat.
They stamped their feet on the rug, and she took their coats, hanging them both up neatly in the closet.
“Should I take my boots off?” he asked, glancing at the fresh vacuum tracks on the carpet of the living room.
She waved his concern away as she tugged her own boots off. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. This carpet is so old, it’s seen much worse than your boots.” She gestured to the living room. “Have a seat. I need just a second to check on Agatha.” She padded quickly down the hall in her stocking feet.
He wiped his boots one more time, then wandered around the immaculately kept living room. An overstuffed blue sofa sat on one side of a heavy coffee table, and a large rocking recliner sat on the other. A purple tote bag brimming with multicolored skeins of yarn and knitting needles sat on the floor next to the recliner, and a paperback with a brooding cowboy on the cover perched on the corner of the end table.
A neat row of three pictures lined the oak mantel above a small fireplace, and Colt leaned in to study them. The first was a faded old photograph of a handsome, dark-haired man laughing as he held a chubby toddler high in his arms. The second was of Chloe in her college graduation cap and gown, smiling as she held her diploma, one arm wrapped around a tiny white-haired woman he assumed was her grandmother. And the third was a recent picture of Chloe sitting cross-legged on the floor of her classroom, laughing as she read a book to a group of students.
“Your nephew gave me that for Christmas last year,” Chloe said as she stepped back into the living room. “I think it’s the only picture I have of me teaching. I guess Quinn took it one day when she was volunteering in the classroom and had it framed for me.”
He spotted Max in the circle of kids around her, his gaze rapt with attention at either the teacher or the story she was reading. Knowing Max, it could have been either, or both. “It’s a great picture. You have a pretty smile.”
She ducked her head, a pink blush rising to her cheeks. “It’s one of my favorite gifts. But don’t tell my other students.”
He nodded toward the hallway. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“So do you live here with your grandmother?”
“My grandmother?” She tilted her head. “I don’t think so. Not unless she’s a ghost. Then I guess, maybe.”
“Oh, sorry. You said you were checking on Agatha, and I saw the…” He looked down to the bag of knitting supplies.
Chloe mimed a dagger to her chest. “Ouch. Agatha is my cat, named after my favorite author, Agatha Christie, and that mess of knitting and too much yarn is mine. And plenty of young—or youngish, in my case—women knit as a hobby.” An embarrassed grin creased her face. “Although talking about my cat and my yarn obsession in the same sentence is not making me feel any younger at the present moment.”
Oh shit. Good going, Colt. Open mouth, insert foot. “It’s not making me feel so great either. If you’ll excuse me while I try to unwedge the size thirteen boot I just stuck into my mouth. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I’m just teasing you. And my grandmother is the one who taught me to knit when I was little. I probably haven’t gotten much better since then, but I love the patterns, the colors, and the process of turning skeins of yarn into something beautiful. I guess I’m kind of old-fashioned.”
Colt shrugged. “Me too. My grandfather taught me to play the harmonica and to whittle, both skills a bit on the antiquated side, but I still enjoy them. And I think knitting is cool. My great-aunt Sassy knits, and she’s one of the coolest chicks I know.”
“I’ve never actually met her, but I’ve seen your great-aunt at a couple of Max’s school functions, and I would have to agree.”
He held up the romance novel and offered her a teasing grin. “Good reading?”
She snatched the book from his hands and pushed it between the cushions of the sofa. “I wouldn’t know. That one belongs to the cat.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Does your cat have a thing for handsome cowboys?”
“We’ll know in a minute. She just waltzed into the room.” Chloe nodded to the black-and-gray tabby meandering its way toward him. The cat jumped to the corner of the sofa next to him and tilted her head up as if assessing him with her cool gaze.
He reached out his hand and let her sniff him before offering her a scratch under the chin. She purred loudly and rubbed her head against his palm.
Chloe shook her head. “Apparently she does.”
“And apparently you just put me in the handsome cowboy category.”
A grin tugged at the corner of her lips, and a surge of heat shot down his spine. Dang, but she had a cute grin.
“How about that warm drink? You want tea or coffee?”
“Tea sounds good. Got any Earl Grey?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an Earl Grey hot tea kind of guy.”
“I’m quite the man of mystery, you know.” He laughed at her eye roll, then followed her into the kitchen. “Before you start to think I’m too cultured, when I come in from the cold after doing chores, I’ll drink about anything hot that someone hands me in a cup. Really, it’s just my mom’s favorite kind, so it’s the only tea that I know the name of, and I was trying to impress you. But I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
She grabbed a light-blue kettle from the stove and poured water into it as he studied the rest of the room. The kitchen was big with a long center island. A white farm table with four chairs was tucked into a windowed breakfast nook. The cabinets gleamed a glossy white, and a row of robin’s-egg blue canisters shaped like mason jars lined the soft-gray counters. A KitchenAid mixer in the same shade of blue sat in the corner next to the sink, a chocolate cake mix and tub of frosting next to it. Everything coordinated to the decor of white and the same light blue.
“Nice kitchen.”
“Thanks.” She ran a hand over the countertop. “I love it too. I like to cook, and it just makes me feel happy to be in here. Now.”
“Now?”
“It didn’t always. I lived here with my dad, and this kitchen didn’t always hold the best memories. He died a few years ago and left me this house and a little money. I toyed with the idea of selling the house, but instead I used the money to do a couple of little remodeling projects, including the kitchen, and I’m slowly making it all mine. It’s amazing how a little paint, a lot of Pine-Sol, and some sandpaper can change the look and feel of a place.”
“You did all this yourself?”
“Most of it. I hired out some of the big stuff, but I refinished and painted the cabinets myself and put in the wood flooring. I’m pretty handy with a screw gun.”
“I’m impressed.”
“It’s amazing what you can learn from the internet and watching do-it-yourself videos. And Pinterest.”
It was amazing how much he was starting to really like her.
“I like all the blue stuff.”
“It’s aqua. And it’s one of my favorite colors. I couldn’t believe how much stuff they make in this color. I guess it’s kind of the ‘in’ color right now. Not that I care about that stuff. I just love the shade. It’s a happy color.” She took a box of tea and two matching aqua mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter.
The kettle whistled, and he watched her as she prepared the cups and poured hot water over the tea bags. He studied her, trying to figure out what was so special about this woman. Her movements were concise and controlled, and she kept things tidy as she worked.
She was average height and average weight, but somehow Colt felt there was really nothing average about Chloe Bishop.
“One Earl Grey for the cultured mysterious cowboy.” She grinned as she handed him the cup, then gave a soft inhale of breath as his fingers brushed hers.
He noticed how close she was now standing. He could feel the heat of her, smell the scent coming off her skin. She smelled like vanilla and honeysuckle and something else flowery. His body leaned closer, almost as if they were connected by a fishing line and he was being reeled in toward her.
She pursed her lips to blow on the hot beverage, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth. She had great lips, kissable lips.
Dude. Step back. He did not need to get involved with this woman—with any woman. And there was no reason to think Chloe was even interested in him. She’d made a point of introducing him to her coworker as her friend, so maybe she was just interested in being friends.
He took a swallow of his drink and regarded her over the top of his cup. “So what’s the deal with you and Huge?”
She choked on the sip of tea she’d just taken. “There’s no deal at all. We just work together.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I guess he’s asked me to go out with him a few times, but I always say no.”
“How come?”
She shrugged. “He’s not really my type.”
“What is your type?” He leaned in, just the slightest, the fishing line drawing him closer.
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide. Her lips parted as she inhaled another soft breath, and he imagined how her mouth would taste, how her body would feel if he pulled her against him and crushed her lips with his.
His eyes were drawn to her slender neck as he watched her swallow.
Before she could answer, an urgent banging sounded at the back door, startling them both. A small face peered into the kitchen through the glass in the top half of the door.
Chloe pulled away, practically dropping her mug on the counter as she hurried to open the door. “Maddie, are you okay? Where’s your coat?”
The girl barreled into the kitchen, her cheeks red and her eyes wide with fear. The bottom half of her pants and her sneakers were soaked from running through the snow. She grabbed Chloe’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Miss Bishop, come quick! Charlie started the house on fire!”