Page 7 of Tinsel & Timber
She shrugs. “Idle hands and all.”
I hand her the folder. “This has the official preservation guidelines, the inventory of protected features, and the application you’ll need to fill out if you plan to modify anything structural.”
She accepts it, flipping through the pages. “Wow. This is… comprehensive.”
“I like to be thorough.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
There’s a long pause. She looks up at me, assessingly, and I feel the heat crawl up the back of my neck.
“You drove past to spy on me,” she says bluntly.
“I did not.”
She points at my truck. “You literally parked.”
“I paused.”
She snickers. “Paused to spy.”
“I wasn’t spying,” I insist. “I was ensuring the property remained intact. As per my job.”
“My God,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re adorable.”
My brain shorts out.
Adorable?
I amnotadorable. Puppies are adorable. Babies wearing knitted hats are adorable. I am a respected historian—possibly intimidating at times—but absolutely not adorable.
“I—no. That is not—” I clear my throat. “I’m not adorable.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re a little adorable.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“I’m… professional,” I say finally, because that’s all I have left.
“You can be both,” Mara says lightly. “It’s okay.”
The way she says I can be both makes my heart beat a little faster in my chest.
“You need to fill those out,” I say, gesturing stiffly to the papers.
“I will,” she promises. “Thank you for bringing them.”
Mara says it so sincerely that my shoulders drop an inch.
“I’ll help,” I hear myself say. “If you want. The forms can be confusing.”
She tilts her head. “Are you offering assistance or supervising me?”
“Just help,” I say quickly.
“Then sure,” she says, as if it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Come by tomorrow morning? I’ll make sure to have coffee ready.”
I imagine her kitchen, the smell of coffee, the early light through old windows. Her hair is messy. Her smile is soft. Something in me twists hard.
