The Very Thought of You by Carolann Camillo Page B

eyebrows in a way that said she couldn’t believe he was so dense. “What else?”
    â€œA lot of people who live alone don’t require anything bigger than a single.” He wondered about his tenants’ sleeping accommodations. Only six out of the thirteen were married.
    â€œGet serious. Only kids sleep in singles.”
    â€œSome grownups do, too.”
    She shook her head in denial. “No.”
    He nodded in assent. “Yes.”
    â€œWhat makes you so certain?”
    He shrugged. “I’m as certain as a thinking man can be. Lots of people live in studios, share apartments. It’s a space issue.”
    She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Do you?”
    â€œDo I what?”
    â€œSleep in a single.”
    That brought him around so fast he almost fell over her. She lowered her heels and gazed up at him. He tried to find something suggestive in her eyes. Instead, they were wide open and clear, without any hint of guile.
    What the hell? She started it. “No, I don’t sleep in a single.”
    â€œThat’s what I imagined.”
    He backed her up a couple of steps. Had she thought about him? Or more to the point, had she thought about his bed and imagined him in it? Could such a thought have credibility? Maybe she wondered if he slept in pajamas or au natural .
    â€œWhy do you want to know?”
    â€œWhy do you think I want to know?” She barely mouthed the words.
    He could maybe detect a little seduction in her tone. If he wanted to stretch it. If circumstances were different, if she weren’t the woman he couldn’t risk offending, he’d ask her if she’d like to come home with him and see firsthand what his sleeping accommodations were. Maybe even try them out.
    He opted for caution. “I haven’t a clue. Would you like to tell me?”
    She gave him a wilted smile. “Sure. I just believe whatever is good enough for you should serve as the norm for your tenants.”
    â€œHey, folks, why don’t you talk it over while I go next door for a couple of minutes? Woman needs a new washer in the kitchen faucet.” The landlord headed for the front door. “Take your time. I’m not in any rush.”
    As soon as he vacated the apartment, Molly planted her hands on her hips. “Ha, I’ll just bet he isn’t. Wouldn’t that guy love to rent this dump? I wouldn’t offer him more than five hundred a month. I’d make him toss in a new stove, as well.”
    Nick supposed that signaled the end of bedroom talk. It was back to stoves and carpet and the kind of serious money required to rent an adequate apartment.
    â€œI think it has potential. At least now you know something is available in the low seven hundreds.”
    â€œWho’s Sonja?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThere’s an ode to her in the elevator. The cretin who wrote it must live here. That’s the kind of person who inhabits a dump like this.”
    â€œWhat does it matter? Your fan club isn’t moving in. We just ran a test. It passed as far as I’m concerned. Case closed.”
    â€œIt’s a rat hole.”
    At least that had a better ring than hellhole. Although it was a rat hole, it seemed like one with possibilities. He might still find a way to bring her around.
    â€œLook, I’m not into interior decorating or whatever, but I’m sure some fresh paint and a major clean-up in the kitchen would more than satisfy anyone looking for a bargain.”
    â€œThe whole place should be gutted and turned into a studio. At least then a tenant wouldn’t feel like it was impossible to take more than five steps in any direction.”
    â€œYou’re exaggerating. You just don’t want to admit you’re wrong.”
    Molly made a slow three-hundred-sixty degree turn. “If Martha Stewart were to take a gander at this place, she would probably instruct one of her minions to toss in a