“Alas, my wardrobe is the product of my existence,” he said. “There’s no need for finery when I rarely leave the house.”

“Surely you must go out sometimes,” she persisted. “What do you wear on dates?”

“Nothing.”

A flush of color washed over her, by now a familiar sight. Ford was coming to realize that it was the only sign Lila ever gave that she was the least bit flustered. She held herself prim and polite in almost all situations, but not even she could control the movement of blood through her veins.

“I don’t go on dates, that is,” he supplied with a grin. “I’m not in the habit of sauntering around in the nude.”

“You could have fooled me.”

That response, almost as much as the blush, told Ford that she wasn’t as indifferent as she wanted him to think. It was a much-needed boost to his ego, which had been showing signs of deflation lately. Back in the day, he’d been just as vain as the next relatively good-looking young man with the whole world before him, and he’d done what he could with it.

Unfortunately, it was difficult to puff up with self-importance while doing things like making peanut-butter sandwiches and buying toilet paper in bulk. And, if the email that had crossed his desk last night was any indication, when there was a good chance his employer was no longer going to offer flexible options in working from home.

Hello, Lila. I’m borderline unemployed and unable to cough up a tuxedo to wear to my daughter’s tea party. There’s dog hair on my pants, and I may or may not have remembered to brush my teeth this morning. Have I swept you off your feet yet?

Yeah, his game was definitely lacking these days. If he had to resort to flexing what few muscles he had to get this woman’s attention, then he’d do it. Pride, like suavity, was one of those things he’d long since disposed of.

“Your notes told me to turn the temperature up in the house,” he pointed out. “To help Jeeves acclimate. It’s not my fault I had to strip down. I’m very sensitive to the heat.”

Lila lifted her chin, her tone just as lofty as her posture. “What you wear in your own house is of no concern to me.” Then, bringing her chin down a fraction, “And what do you mean, you don’t go on dates?”

“Exactly that. Dinner, movies, making out in the back seat of my sweet minivan—it’s all off the table. I haven’t been on a date since, oh, let’s see…”