Not in the way he was about to, he thought. Nor she him. He had a sudden wild urge to dash into the little mudroom and rip something off the washing machine and forget the rest.

And since when had a Gallagher been a coward? Especially with a woman? With this lecture playing in his head, he started toward the front door.

She was already coming in, carrying her toolbox. Her jeans had a fresh rip in them, just below the right knee. There was a faint smear of dirt across her cheek.

She closed the front door, took two steps, then saw him. And nearly jumped out of her work boots. “Jesus, Shawn, why not just cosh me over the head as scare the life out of me? What are you doing here this time of day?”

“I’ve the evening off. You parked behind my car, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes, but I figured you’d walked down or gotten a lift.” While she waited for her heart rate to return to normal, she sniffed the air. “Doesn’t smell as though you’ve taken advantage of a free evening. What are you cooking?”

“A sauce for spaghetti. I thought I’d try it out before we gave it a go at the pub. Have you eaten?” he asked, though he already knew.

“I haven’t, no. Ma’s expecting me shortly.”

She wasn’t, as Shawn had called down to tell Mollie he’d give Brenna a meal while she was there. “Have your dinner here instead.” He took her hand, leading her back to the kitchen. “You can judge the sauce for me.”

“I might do that, but let’s have a look at your machine first to see what the matter is.”

“There’s nothing the matter with it.” He took her toolbox, set it out of the way on the floor.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing the matter? Didn’t you call up the hotel and say it wouldn’t run for you at all?”

“I lied. Try this.” He plucked up a stuffed olive and popped it into her mouth.

“Lied?”

“I did, yes. And I’m counting on the sin being worth the penance.”

“But why would you . . .” Realization dawned slowly, and left her feeling awkward and edgy. “I see. So this is the time and the place that suits you.”

“Aye. I told your mother you’d be staying awhile, so you’ve no need to worry about that.”

“Hmm.” She looked around the kitchen, paying more attention. Fragrant sauce simmering, a pretty plate of fancy appetizers, a bottle of wine. “You might have given me a bit of notice. A little time to settle in to the notion.”

“You’ve time now.” He poured wine into the glasses. “I know wine tends to give you a head the next morning, but a glass or two shouldn’t hurt.”

She’d risk the hangover, if the wine managed to cool her throat. “You know you didn’t have to bother with all this fuss for me. I told you from the start I didn’t need it.”