Page 25 of Dream Lake

“I’ll take care of it.” He sounded so assured and matter-of-fact that she couldn’t help but believe him. His face was so close that she could see the shadow of whisker-grain heralding a dark five o’clock shadow. “The only way spiders can get in,” Alex continued, “is through cracks and places that aren’t sealed. So I’m going to install door sweeps and weather stripping, caulk around all the windows and doors, and put wire mesh over every vent. Trust me, this is going to be the most pestproof house on the island.”

“Thank you.”

A moment later, it occurred to Zoë that she was still glued to him as tightly as a barnacle on a harbor piling. And her heart was still in overdrive. Standing as close as they were, it was impossible not to notice that he was becoming aroused, the pressure of his body hard and delicious. She couldn’t seem to move, only leaned against him in a dry-mouthed paralysis of pleasure.

Alex eased her apart from him, and turned away with a wordless sound.

Zoë still felt the vital imprint of his body everywhere they had touched, a throbbing awareness lingering right beneath her skin.

Desperately trying to think of a way to break the silence, she cast her mind back to what he’d said about pest-proofing. She blurted out, “Will I have to give up the cat door?”

A scratchy sound came from him, as if he were clearing his throat, and she realized he was struggling to hold back a laugh. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes bright with amusement. “Yes,” he said.

***

After Zoë stepped out of his arms, Alex became businesslike again. While Zoë cautiously investigated the rest of the small house, he continued to take measurements for a rough floor plan. He tried to focus on anything other than Zoë.

He wanted to take her somewhere, to some dark quiet room, and undress her, and screw her nine ways from Sunday. But she possessed a fragile dignity that, for some reason, he didn’t want to undermine. He liked the way she’d stood up to him when they’d argued about the butcher-block countertops. He liked the little smiles that danced out from beneath her shyness. He liked far too many things about her, and God knew no good could come of it. So he was going to do them both a favor and stay away from her.

While Alex peeled off sticky notes and adhered them in a line across the old chrome table, Zoë went to the side door that opened to the carport. “Alex,” she said while looking through the dirt-striped window. “Is it difficult to turn a carport into a garage?”

“No. Structurally it’s built about the same as a garage. I’d just have to add sides, insulation, and a door.”

“Would you include that in the quote, then?”

“Sure.”

Their gazes caught, and an electric awareness crackled between them. With effort, Alex refocused on the pad of sticky notes. “You can go now,” he said. “I’m going to be here for a while, getting some measurements and taking pictures. I’ll lock up when I leave and have a new key made for you.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated. “Do you need me to stay and help with anything?”

Alex shook his head. “You’d only get in the way.”

The ghost approached the table. “All that charm,” he said to Alex in a marveling tone. “Is it natural, or do you have to work on it?”

Zoë approached the table and waited until Alex brought his gaze to meet hers. “I want to… well, thank you,” she said, her face pink.

“It was nothing,” Alex muttered.

“You were very kind,” she persisted. “Maybe to return the favor… I could make dinner for you sometime.”

“Not necessary.”

The ghost looked disgusted. “What’s wrong with letting her make you dinner?”

“It would be no trouble,” Zoë persisted. “And I’m… not a bad cook. You should try me.”

“You should try her,” the ghost repeated emphatically.

Alex ignored him and looked at Zoë. “My schedule’s pretty tight.”

The ghost spoke to Zoë as well, even though she couldn’t hear him. “He means he’d rather sit somewhere alone and drink like an attention-deficit camel.”

Zoë’s gaze dropped in response to Alex’s refusal.

“In a couple of days,” Alex said, “I’ll drop by the inn with some drawings. We’ll go over them and make changes if necessary. After that, I’ll work up a quote.”

“Come by any day after breakfast. It ends at ten on the weekdays, eleven-thirty on the weekends. Or… come a little earlier and have some breakfast.” Zoë touched the surface of the chrome table with a neatly filed fingertip. Her hands were small but capable, the nails clear-varnished. “I like this dining set. I wish there was a way to restore it.”

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