Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,61

table yet."

Abruptly breaking away from his own thoughts, Chris sat down at the table where Libby was noisily arranging silverware and plates.

"I'll do that," he offered with authority. "You go finish dinner. I may be a bachelor, but I do know my way around the kitchen." Throwing her a teasing smile, Chris acted as though their earlier conversation was entirely forgotten.

Libby brought over a plate of steaming flour tortillas. "Actually I was surprised that 'Mr. Modern' could produce a gourmet meal from Harte's Desire's ancient kitchen!"

"'Mr. Modern?' You mean me?" Chris rejoined with feigned indignation.

"Yes, you. You actually did quite well with the antique stove at Harte’s Desire."

Chris gave a hearty laugh. "Only because I had no choice!"

Having brought the rest of the dinner to the table, Libby motioned for him to sit back down.

"More wine?" she asked, noticing his half-empty glass.

"Sure."

As hard as she tried, Libby was failing to fight the attraction she felt for him, that pull she’d tried to ignore ever since they met. His presence in her kitchen was too homey, too comforting. His keen observations were hitting too close and, heaven help her, she was enjoying his company entirely too much.

She refilled both glasses and sat down across from him.

Dinner passed with casual bantering between them as Libby carefully guided their conversation toward such innocent topics as baseball and Borden's Landing gossip.

To her surprise, Chris helped clean up afterwards, clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. Libby made a pot of coffee and put some home-made chocolate chip cookies on a plate.

Filling two mugs with the hot brew, she suggested they have dessert on the front porch where they could enjoy some fresh air while he reviewed the report.

Choosing the isolated safety of a wicker chair rather than the matching sofa, Libby sat down on its overstuffed cushion and handed the report to Chris who chose to sit opposite her in another wicker chair.

As he began to read, Libby propped her feet up on a nearby ottoman and relaxed with a sigh. She'd drunk a little more wine than usual tonight, and mellow relaxation spiraled downward. She sipped the steaming coffee slowly, savoring its warmth and hoping it would revitalize her.

As Chris continued to flip through the pages, she watched his face reflect a variety of emotions. Curiosity, interest, surprise, disagreement. Although he had a pencil in one hand, poised to make notes in the margins, he'd not written a thing since he began reading.

Thirty minutes later, after Libby finished her coffee and ate several more cookies than she intended, he placed the pencil and report down and stared at her in frank appraisal.

"You've done an excellent job, Libby. Your report has told me more about Harte's Desire that I can absorb in one reading. It's thorough, well-written, and appears to be well-documented. And, I see you made good use of the original architectural drawings and old photos Edwina found in the attic. I'm sure the state office will be as impressed as I am."

Libby's face fell as she absorbed the full measure of his words. She could see he'd been absorbed in the report by the careful way he read it, but she hoped, in vain now it seemed, that her eloquence about Harte's Desire and its significance would finally convince him to save it. Realizing this was just another exercise in futility, Libby struggled to find a proper response to his comments.

"I'm glad you're satisfied, Chris," she finally managed to utter, her words stilted and lacking true conviction. "It's always nice to know I've got another happy client."

The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. Chris looked at her sharply.

"Come on, Libby," he chided, "surely you weren't hoping I'd have a change of heart after reading this? You knew the ground rules when you accepted this job. You were to document the building, past and present, nothing more. You can't save it because it's not yours to save. And I've already told you, several times in fact, that re-using it just doesn't fit into my scheme for the site."

Libby stared into the distance, only minimally aware of the day’s fading light through the open French doors. Deep down she'd known she couldn't change his mind. He held all the cards. Ever the optimist, though, she had hoped. Hoped he would finally see how important Harte's Desire was. Hoped he would realize how very dear the mansion was to her.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at her foolish idealism. To think she could