Page 18 of The Perfect Catch

Juggling the still-warm pie into one hand so she could knock on the front door, it opened before her knuckles met the hardwood.

Cal filled the doorframe with the broad chest she’d been thinking about just moments ago. He had a gray T-shirt on this time, which was probably just as well given how distracting he could be without it. A leather tool belt hung low on his hips over a pair of faded jeans.

“Oh.” She lowered her hand, nearly forgetting why she’d come over in the first place. “Hi.”

He leaned into the doorframe, blocking her path, but apparently not in a hurry to move, either.

“Is this your way of apologizing for not feeding me the other night?” he asked, in a voice that had circled around her dreams the past few nights.

“Um.” She got a bit lost in his eyes. They were greener than she remembered from the last time she’d seen him up close. But he probably wasn’t asking her about his eyes. “What was that again?”

“The pie.” He pointed to the dish in her hands. “Is this a peace offering over the way you dismissed all attempts at a shared meal?”

Belatedly, she remembered the way they’d parted. With her convinced he was playing games.

“Charming men are a bit of a hot button for me right now,” she admitted, shifting her feet on the welcome mat. “And technically the pie was for Everett.”

“I’ll be as uncharming as possible then.” Cal straightened, reaching for the warm pie plate. “And since Everett’s not here, I’ll just leave this in the kitchen for him.”

She kept her hold on it. “It’s for Everett and me toshare,” she clarified, trying to peer past him into the darkened interior. “I wanted to check on him.”

“My father picked him up an hour ago to take Gramp to see another neurology specialist in Houston.” He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll trade you a slice for an update on him.”

Her gaze snagged on a ceiling fan perched precariously on a ladder in the middle of the living room, wires spilling out from the ceiling.

“Looks like you could use a hand in here more than you need a slice of pie.” She refocused on Cal and realized there was a voltmeter stuffed in the breast pocket of his tee.

It was amazing the details she could overlook when pheromones attacked. If Tom Belvedere had looked like this man, she would have signed over more than her life savings. She probably would have thrown in her soul, to boot.

“I’ve got the project in hand,” he assured her. “And you’re making me lose the last bit of air conditioning by standing in the doorway.”

“Only because you haven’t invited me in.” She was curious what he was doing. And she wanted to hear about Everett. Maybe she wanted to make amends with Cal too, in case she had overreacted the other night. “I’ve decided to take your trade after all. A slice for us both while you give me an update.”

Cal stepped aside and waved her in. “In that case, welcome to the original Virgil Ramsey homestead, pride of Rough Hollow since 1856.” He closed the front door behind her. “But I’ll warn you, it’s hot in here while I’ve got the main power shut off.”

The air was still inside the home, but she guessed it wasn’t as hot as some places might be in heat like this. The thick stone walls must do a good job of insulating. Wide-planked hardwood floors and high ceilings with exposed wooden rafters looked original to the house, as did the stone fireplace and hearth. There was detailed scrollwork on the wooden banister leading upstairs, the dark wainscoting giving the home an elegant and prosperous air.

“This is beautiful,” she remarked as she edged past the ladder with the sideways ceiling fan. She followed Cal through the living area into the kitchen that had clearly been remodeled. The hardwood floors remained, and the painted cabinets appeared original, but the gray quartz countertops looked new, along with the pendant lamps over a breakfast bar.

“My grandmother loved this house,” Cal told her, pulling open a drawer in the island and retrieving a pie lift. “She remodeled the kitchen a few years before she died.”

Josie set the pie on the bar, admiring the view out the kitchen windows.

“It’s nice how she blended the old and the new.” Josie ran a hand over a barely visible seam in the countertop, recalling jobs she’d hired out at the apartment complex where so-called contractors botched the most basic counter installations. It didn’t help that her mother’s budget to fix anything always ranged between minuscule and nonexistent. “I’ll bet she’d be glad to see all the work you’re doing around here this week. You did a great job painting.”

“Thanks.” He took down two plates from the open shelving on the far wall. “It feels good to contribute something to the upkeep of the place. An unforeseen bright spot in an otherwise crappy spring.”

She assumed he meant because of baseball and being released from his team, but she didn’t ask since she clung to the hope that if she didn’t pry further into his life, he wouldn’t dig into hers. Instead, she focused on cutting two slices of pie.

“What does Everett think of the new paint job?” She carefully balanced the first piece on the lift and then settled it on the white stoneware plate.

Cal set two forks on the counter before sliding into one of the gray leather barstools. His elbow brushed her forearm and she redoubled her efforts to focus on the scent of peaches and not the appeal of clean male sweat.

“He’s seemed sort of down the last few days. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s not feeling well or…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Worried about something.”

She wished his grandfather had been home so she could have spoken to him directly, possibly seen some other hint of what was bothering him. And, selfishly, she really had wanted to see if his farming operation needed any extra help later in the summer.

Now she watched Cal as he lifted the first bite to his mouth, crossing her fingers the pie was edible.

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