“I’ll do it, so you can stay off that hurt foot.”

Whenever she woke up from a nap, she had cheek creases and bed hair and a crab’s mood until she got going again. He seemed to wake up just as full of hell and awareness as when he’d dropped off. There was no way she could like a man with that kind of personality flaw. Worse yet, he proved himself to be one of those easygoing guys, the kind who rolled with the punches and tended to fit in whatever kind of gathering they walked into. He started her grill before she could-and the barbecue was one that could make her mother swear; it never lit unless you begged it desperately. Then he found her silverware drawer and set the table without asking. Granted, it wasn’t challenging to find anyone’s silverware drawer, but for a man to make himself useful without praising him every thirty seconds? It was spooky.

There had to be a catch.

“What do you usually drink for dinner? Wine, water, what?”

“You can have wine if you want. I know I’ve got a couple open bottles on the second shelf-not fancy quality, but okay. For myself, though, this day has been too much of a blinger to do wine.”

He grinned. The smile transformed his face, whipped off five years and made her think what a hellion he must have been as a little boy. “So you’d like to drink…?”

“Long Island iced tea,” she said primly.

He burst out laughing. “I got it now. Cut straight to the hard stuff.”

“It’s been an exhausting day,” she defended.

“You’re not kidding.”

The phone rang yet again-it was just another call, nothing that affected life or death-so after that she turned down the volume and let the answering machine pick up. She wasn’t ready to fix the sun and the moon, but she was prepared to concentrate on the lavender deal.