Penn crossed his arms. "I'm the outdoors type, so I guess you could say I can spot my kind of people."
"And, I'm not it?" My sharp tone rose from the hurt I felt.
"I'm not saying I don't like you," he said. "I just don't see you hiking and camping for weeks on end. Have you ever gone more than fifteen minutes without checking your phone?"
I jammed my phone back in my purse and pointed a finger at his chest. "You don't know anything about me," I snapped. "I used to go hunting with my father and cousins. I've done the camping thing and the canoeing thing, and I've been to almost every national park between here and the Mississippi."
Penn held up both hands and laughed. "All right, I get it. Maybe I pre-judged you a little based on your looks. Wait, why the Mississippi? Are you from the Midwest?"
"What do you care?" I marched past him and up some curving stone steps. "Is this the way to the garage? I'm pretty tired, and I'd like to see where I'm supposed to stay."
I was out of breath by the time I ascended the steep stone steps, but I wasn't going to let Penn catch me panting. I marched straight across the driveway and pointed to another set of stairs.
"That's it, up there," Penn said. He followed me without another word.
I stopped suddenly on the steps to the apartment and glanced down at him. Penn jolted, and I flushed with heat. He'd been staring at my backside the whole time. The realization that he might want me as much as I wanted him had a dizzying effect. Along with the fast pace I had chosen and then forced myself to keep up, I almost fainted there on the steps.
Instead, I took a long breath and noticed the view. "Wow. I guess living above the garage can't be so bad when you're sharing that view," I said.
Penn continued up until he was only one step away and we were again eye to eye. "Yeah, it's not a bad spot if you're content with just a view."
I laughed. "How can you sound so nonchalant? Are you telling me that, great outdoorsman that you are, you can't appreciate a good view?"
His dark eyes trailed out over the San Francisco Bay and kept going until he seemed very far away. "My boss is happy seeing all of this through glass, but I prefer to be out in it," he said.
I studied him for a moment as he watched the far, fog-covered edges of the bay. "Oh, wait, now it makes sense."
Penn's dark brown eyes swung back to me. "What makes sense?"
I chuckled that he seemed so worried. "Oh, come on, now I get why you have open access to all of this. I even get why you talk about your boss the way you do."
Penn's hand flexed on the railing. "Please, tell me all about myself," he challenged.
"You're the groundskeeper," I declared.
"I'm the, wait, what am I?"
I pushed his shoulder. "Just admit it. You're the groundskeeper."
"And, what if I was?" Penn asked. He watched my face with careful attention. "Would that bother you? Are you disappointed that you wasted the night with a lowly groundskeeper?"
"The night's not over yet." The quip was so unexpected and full of such innuendo that I turned around and practically ran the rest of the way up the stairs.
A smile played around Penn's wide lips as he caught up to me and unlocked the apartment above the garage. "I'll leave the lights off for a moment if you want to check out the view again," he said.
The apartment was a surprisingly large and airy loft. The tall ceilings stretched to a steep peak and framed the view in a high A-frame. I didn't bother to muffle my envious sigh. "I think I could be happy living somewhere like this."
"Over a garage? You?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" I crossed my arms and turned to face him, the view forgotten.
Penn flipped on a lamp next to a comfortably worn couch. "I just got the sense that you are determined to make it to a big house like that one. I didn't think you'd settle for the apartment above the garage."
"I don't know. Maybe I haven't decided yet," I gulped.
"Well, let me give you a little advice," Penn said. He moved closer and caught my hand. "Don't think about practicalities or settling. Just do what you love."
I shied away from him and feigned interest in an old oil painting. It was a tumultuous depiction of a sailboat in open water, and somehow the bright white of the hull comforted me in the midst of all the foaming, dark-blue waters. Steady and bright and able to sail through the storm.