Until now.

“This meal is superb,” she said, dabbing her mouth with the napkin. “I have to admit I doubted you.”

“Thought the meal would be amateur, huh?” he teased.

“Kind of. You just don’t strike me as the cooking sort.”

“More like the takeout type?”

He enjoyed the slight flush to her skin. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Your schedule is like mine, and I’m sure there’s not a lot of time to prepare a meal every night.” She gave a delicate shrug. “Plus, when you’re cooking only for one, it just doesn’t seem worth it.”

“My mother taught all of us to cook for survival. She also said it impressed women, and she didn’t want any of her sons thinking his wife would be a maid.”

Her lips curved. “I think I would’ve loved your mom.”

Cal fought off the ghosts and nodded. “Yeah. I think it would’ve been mutual.”

“I’m sorry she died,” she said softly.

He wavered on telling her the truth of the circumstances but didn’t want to ruin his time with her talking about things that couldn’t be changed or made him sad. “So am I.” She laid down her utensils with precision, and he stood. “How is it going with the Rosenthals?” He began gathering plates and napkins. “Tell me a bit more how it works. Do you check with them at various stages or is this all your show?”

She gave a sigh. “I work differently with each of my clients, and the Rosenthals are quite hands-off. Usually that’s exciting, but I’ve been wrong a few times, and I’m not sure what’s happened.” Frustration curled into her Southern accent. “I Skyped with them and got a few items completely wrong. I’m worried about the furnishings and decor. I loved the Barn, but I don’t have the time to shop like I need. Normally I’d fly to Paris or scour Manhattan for impulse buys, but this schedule is too tight.”

Cal considered her problem. “Hmm. You know, I may be able to help.”

“Gonna hand-deliver me a warehouse to pick from?”

“I’m gonna show you something. A surprise.”

“A surprise, huh?” Was it her imagination or did her gaze sweep downward to his crotch? Yep. A guilty blush bloomed on her cheeks. Kind of hot and adorable at the same time. He kept his grin hidden. “Don’t tell me. It’s in the bedroom.”

He chuckled. “Actually, it’s outside. Think I just wanted to lure you to my lair?”

“No.”

He winked. “Then you’re giving me too much credit. You’d look good in my lair.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and gathered some plates. “The wolf and Little Red Riding Hood, huh? Do you know that fairy tale was specifically instructed to warn young females not to get any big ideas of independence? Veer off the path from what people tell you and get punished. Always pissed me off.”

They walked to the kitchen, and he began loading the dishwasher. “Had no idea fairy tales could be so politically incorrect. But something tells me you’d be the one to kill the wolf—not the woodcutter.”

She tilted her head in thought. “Yeah, I would. No one’s messing with my granny. Or getting my damn cookies.”

He laughed. “Warning taken.” She gave a cheeky grin, and they cleaned up together in comfortable silence. “Come on, guys. We’re going out.” He snagged her hand and led her to the porch while Gandalf and Balin bounded around them with joyful abandon.

The night was balmy and full of nocturnal insects partying. He switched on his iPhone flashlight and led her down the winding path behind the house, heading to the brink of the woods. She stopped short. “Uh, now I kind of feel like Red. I don’t want to go in there. It’s creepy.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “We have the dogs. They won’t let any wolves hurt you. Neither will I.”

As if they sensed her unease, Gandalf and Balin planted themselves on both sides of her like trained guard dogs. Their upturned faces vowed endless protection and love. Morgan patted their heads, then gazed at the shadowy private path that disappeared into a thicket of trees. “Okay, but I’m more worried about Jason or Freddy.”

He pressed his lips together and firmly led her forward. She jumped when some owl-type screech cut through the air, but Gandalf’s warning growl seemed to calm her. Balin led the way, stopping now and then to make sure they were still following, and her hand squeezed his harder. Hell, he was having fun on their outdoor adventure. Cal enjoyed the way she pressed close to his side. He rarely saw her afraid of anything, so knowing the dark spooked her made him want to protect her. Finally the large storage shed came into view.

“We came out here for this?” she squeaked. Her body trembled a bit, and she kept glancing back and forth at each noise. Cal unlocked the rickety double doors and flicked on the light.

“Surprise.”

Morgan gasped. Filled to the rafters, the shed epitomized one motto.

One person’s junk was another one’s treasure.

She moved through the piles of furniture and trinkets stacked in haphazard piles. Cal knew the famous shed rivaled the antique Barn store, but Cal’s family was the only one who knew about it. Since he wasn’t into the restoration like his brothers, he saw the old shed as more of a junkfest but was always amazed at some of the pieces that were revamped from the items here.

Morgan stroked the surfaces of remnants of ebony pearl wood, shuddered over the frame of a pink marble headboard, and gave a sexy moan over a box containing a mishmash of knobs ranging from pure brass to crystal. “How did you get all this?” Her hushed voice reminded him of being in church. He bet Morgan thought the shed was even more holy.