Anything for Her(6)
“There’s room for fancy quilting in these larger squares—” she touched the fabric the way he touched stone “—but my inclination is to keep it simple. Diagonal lines. Unless you wanted something different?” She lifted those green eyes to his.
“I trust you to do the right thing.”
She smiled, making her more than pretty. Beautiful. He couldn’t look away.
“Thank you,” she said. “Oh! I’d better get your phone number, so I can let you know when I’m done.”
He wanted her phone number. He cast a desperate look toward the new customer, who had her back turned and seemed engrossed in a row of calicos in various shades of blue.
“Allie...maybe you’re married or, uh, involved with someone....”
The prettiest pink he’d ever seen infused her cheeks. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Then...is there any chance you’d have dinner with me?”
Her eyes widened. “Tonight?”
He’d have liked nothing better, but he thought he’d better prepare Sean. “Maybe not tonight,” he said reluctantly. “Sean—my foster son—will come home expecting me to feed him. Does it have to be a weekend, or would tomorrow night work?”
“Tomorrow night would be lovely. Of course you can’t abandon your son without warning.”
He half expected her to want to meet him at the restaurant, but instead she readily offered her address, which he thought was in Old Town.
“It’s the carriage house,” Allie said, as if reading his mind. “The owners converted it into an apartment. I was lucky to get it.”
He nodded. “Six?”
“Perfect. I’ll look forward to it. But now I’d better go help that poor woman.”
Feeling big and clumsy, Nolan said, “Sorry. I’ll, uh, get out of your way.”
Allie laid her hand on his arm. Only for an instant, lightly, but he felt the touch down to the soles of his feet. “I’m glad you came. Glad you brought Sean’s quilt top. And really glad you invited me to dinner. You’re definitely not in my way.”
His shoulders let go of some of the tension. “Tomorrow, then.”
If no one else had been in the store, he might have succumbed to temptation and kissed her. As it was, he couldn’t. He only nodded and left, trying real hard to think about the Baltic brown granite countertop he was finishing for the Olsens’ kitchen and not about the color of Allie’s eyes.
* * *
“YOU SOUND like you’ve had a good week,” Allie’s mother commented. “Milk? Juice?”
Allie understood the segue, since Mom had the refrigerator door open. “Milk, please. Shall I drain the noodles?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A minute later, they were seated at the table in the dining room in Mom’s house. She was renting, too—they’d never owned a home since everything changed—but the rambler was newish and at least double the size of Allie’s one-bedroom, second-story apartment. Mom seemed content with it. She always insisted she wanted to have an extra bedroom available should Allie ever need it.
Allie waited until they’d dished up the stroganoff and green beans before commenting on her week.
“Receipts have been really good,” she said. “Saturday a group of ten women came in. They were from south King County, and they said they make regular expeditions from quilt shop to quilt shop looking for different fabrics. Every single one of them bought something, and two bought enough to piece big quilts. They all promised to come back.”
“That’s fabulous.”
“And, um, I met an interesting man.”
Mom looked up in surprise, her fork halfway to her mouth. “A man?”
“I think I’m insulted.” Allie tried to keep her tone light. “Yes, a man. Is it that unlikely a guy would be interested in me?”
“Where on earth would you meet one?” her mother asked simply.
Allie wrinkled her nose. “Okay, I’ll concede that you don’t get a lot of single men in a quilt shop. As it happens, this one did come into the store.”
Of course she had to explain. “I’ve already picked out fabric to back this boy’s quilt. It’s going to be stunning, Mom! I suspect it’s even older than we first guessed. Late nineteenth century, I think.”
Her mother laughed. “So the man is interesting because he brought you an intriguing quilt. I should have realized.”