Page 88 of Sharing Shane

“They very much do.”

“Well, the things you learn.” She stepped back. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” He stepped over the threshold, his arm brushing against hers as he moved past her into the room. “I like your place.”

“Thanks.” She closed the door behind him and tried to breathe normally. “Make yourself at home.”

“You like books.”

She looked at the living room, every wall lined with shelves, and laughed. “Yeah. I like books.”

“Me, too. I outfitted part of my basement as a library.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Took me months to get the shelves done, working on them in between projects.”

“I just went to Ikea,” she confessed and stifled a smile when he stared at her in mock horror.

“I don’t think I should share my calzone with you anymore.”

“You can’t withhold food just because I like cheap Swedish furniture,” she began, then her eyes lit on the foil-wrapped package in his hand. It was the size of a whole large pizza. “Wait, that’s one calzone?”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” He smiled. “I can usually make lunch for a week out of one of these.”

“No kidding.” She turned for the kitchen. “I’ll get some plates.”

“Mind if I look at your books?” he asked, his voice trailing her into the tiny space even.

“Go ahead,” she called back. She pulled two plates from the dishwasher she still hadn’t bothered to empty, then dug knives and forks out of the drawer.

When she walked back into the living room, he was reading the back of a book he’d pulled off the shelf, still holding the calzone.

“Do you mind eating in here?” she asked, nodding toward the only slightly cluttered coffee table. “My dining table has been taken over by work stuff.”

“No problem.” He slid the book he held back into place and stepped over to set the calzone on the coffee table. He took the plates from her. “Do you have napkins?”

“I’ll get them. What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Wine?”

“Sure.”

She dug some napkins out of her things-that-came-with-takeout-food-that-might-someday-be-useful drawer and grabbed the half a bottle of red wine from the counter. She found two wine glasses in the dishwasher and carried everything to the living room.

He was peeling the aluminum foil off the calzone, and fragrant steam filled the air.

She took a deep, appreciative sniff. “That smells amazing.”

“Wait until you taste it,” he replied and picked up a knife. She settled cross-legged on the floor and uncorked the wine, pouring them each a glass while he worked. When he’d slid a sizeable chunk onto each place, he lowered himself to the floor beside her. “Dig in.”

She picked up her knife and fork, cut a piece, and popped it into her mouth. “Oh, yum.”

“Right?” He ignored the utensils and picked up his section with his fingers, biting in with obvious relish.

“That’s good.” Veronica picked up her wine for a sip, then went back to her food. “Where did you get this again?”

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