Page 46 of Making Over Maris

“What happened to your apartment?”

“I needed more room.” He shrugged. “Would you like to come in?”

She didn’t answer but shot him a look and marched up the walkway.

He followed, enjoying the sway of her hips and the tight curve of her ass in those slacks.

He hoped to God she’d be out of them soon.

His house had been built in the sixties by a movie star and redone several times. When Jack bought it, he’d redesigned it to his own taste but it had some funky quirks—like the secret room behind a wall in the library—that he’d kept. Because, hey, secret rooms were cool. He lived on the main floor. The bottom floor was where he played.

He opened the door and ushered her in.

She stopped, stock-still, on the threshold. Gaping. “Oh my God. It’s gorgeous.”

“I like it.”

At his urging, she stepped inside, taking everything in. He saw his home through her eyes and pride swelled in his chest.

Thank God he’d tidied up.

She gushed over the flagstone foyer, loving that it was so wide—she put out her arms and twirled around to illustrate how roomy it was. Then she cooed over the great room with its high ceilings and stonework fireplace. It opened into a dining room and spacious kitchen. The bedrooms were off to the left, down the hall. He wanted to guide her there but knew he had to bide his time.

“Are you hungry?” He tossed his keys into a dish by the door.

She shot him a piquant grin. “What are you offering? Those nasty microwave sandwiches?”

“You know I don’t eat those anymore. I could grill some salmon. Make a salad?”

“That sounds good. But not yet. I want to look around. What’s out there?” She waved to the deck.

“Come on. I’ll show you. There’s a nice view.”

As they crossed the great room, Ding rocketed around the corner and twined himself between Jack’s legs.

Sara blinked. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Jack picked up the ball of orange fur and scratched him beneath his chin. A loud purr rumbled. “He showed up on my doorstep a couple weeks ago, all mangy and skinny. I made the mistake of feeding him. Now he won’t leave.”

“Ooh. Such a pretty baby.” Sara stuck out a finger and Ding sniffed her then rubbed his cheek against her.

“He likes you.”

“What’s his name?”

“I call him Ding, short for Schrödinger.”

She snorted a laugh. “You did not name your cat Schrödinger.”

“I did.”

“Jack, that’s the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard a lot.”

He shrugged, biting back a smile. “What can I say? I’m a fan of quantum entanglement. Besides it was a better name than Verschränkung.”

“True.” She scratched the spot behind his ears and Ding began to drool. “Does he like boxes?”

“Indubitably.”