Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(47)

“We have class tomorrow night,” she said. She felt a pleasant sense of anticipation about seeing him again.

“Oh, yes, class. Have you done your homework yet?” Their weekly assignment was to f inish the current section of the sampler scarf so they’d be ready for the next lesson.

“Yes. What about you?”

“I’m knitting furiously as we speak.”

Phoebe laughed. She seemed to do that a lot with Hutch.

“How would you feel…I mean, I know it’d be early, unless you wanted to wait until after. Would that be too late?” He paused as if expecting a response.

“Are you asking me to meet you for dinner?” she speculated.

“If so, the answer is yes.”

Again that short pause. “Really?” he said. “Great!”

Hearing the pleasure in his voice made her smile.

“Why did you sound so shocked when I agreed?”

“Did I? Tell me, what woman in her right mind would turn down an invitation from Lance Armstrong?”

“Not me, that’s for sure, especially when he’s sent me roses.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“What time?”

“I guess that depends on you. Would you rather eat early or late?”

“Early.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Any particular reason you prefer an early meal?” she asked.

“That way I won’t have to wait so long to see you again.”

Coming from anyone else, that would have sounded phony. But when Hutch said it, she knew he meant every word.

“That’s very romantic,” she murmured. She could practically see him blush.

“What about…” He stumbled on the question. “Are you busy, um, tonight?”

Phoebe wondered why that hadn’t occurred to her. “No, as a matter of fact I’m not.”

“Would you like to meet this evening instead? No, not instead because I’d be disappointed if you didn’t show up for class tomorrow night, but—”

“I’ll be at class.”

“Good. At dinner with me tonight, too?”

“Of course.”

“Really? I mean, that’s terrif ic.” His voice was exuberant, like that of a child who’d been granted an unexpected gift.

“No, I was just saying that,” she teased. “Hutch, I’d love to meet you tonight. I hated the thought of rushing through our dinner and hurrying to class and afterward… Well, we both have to work in the morning, right?”

“Right. This is much better.” They set a time, then Phoebe ended the conversation; she had a client at three-f ifteen. “Bye, Hutch,” she said quickly. “See you at six.”

“Goodbye, Phoebe, and thanks.”

She wasn’t sure why he was thanking her. She felt she was the one who owed him thanks—for the weekend, the roses, tonight. And for making her laugh.

As she hung up the phone, it occurred to Phoebe that she didn’t even know what Hutch’s business was. Their conversations had been interesting but not personal. She hadn’t spoken much about her job, either—or her ex-f iancé. The f iancé Hutch believed was dead….

She supposed it didn’t really matter what his family’s company manufactured or what service they provided, as long as it wasn’t immoral or unethical. Which it couldn’t possibly be, knowing Hutch. She amused herself by guessing—shoelaces? Tractor parts?

Toilets? The subject hadn’t really arisen, but it wasn’t as if he’d deliberately hidden anything from her. The number he’d given her was a direct line and his assistant had answered the phone,

“Bryan Hutchinson’s off ice.” Nevertheless it was slightly mysterious. She’d ask him over dinner. Phoebe dressed carefully that evening because she wanted to look attractive, not because she was worried about impressing Hutch with her wardrobe or sense of style. He was a comfortable person, conscious of others’ needs. While biking he’d stopped to help a couple who’d been lost and needed directions. Later he’d purchased a sandwich and a coffee for a homeless man. He hadn’t done it for show; he was a genuinely caring person. Hutch arrived a few minutes early as she was still brushing her hair. Phoebe thought she heard someone outside her condo door and when she went to look through the peephole, she saw him pacing the hallway, checking his watch.

“Hutch,” she said, opening the door. “Why didn’t you knock?”

He shrugged, his expression embarrassed, as he stepped inside her apartment. “The book said I wasn’t supposed to appear too eager.”

“What book?”

He came in, sat down on her sofa and exhaled noisily. Right away, Princess, her cat, jumped onto his lap. Phoebe stared in wonder. Princess had detested Clark and hissed at him the very f irst time he entered her condo. After that Princess had consistently avoided him. Apparently her cat was a better judge of character than she was.

Hutch gently stroked Princess, who purred contentedly. “In case you hadn’t guessed, I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while.” He grinned wryly. “I got a book about dating. It said I shouldn’t arrive too early or I’d seem overeager and that, according to the book, is something women f ind off-putting.”