“I do have a bedroom and full bathroom, so it’s not too bad for now. And you can’t beat the commute, you know, until I’m ready to buy a place of my own.”
She laughed. “I’m kind of jealous. No dolls in your chairs or crackers crushed on the floor. It’s peaceful in here.” She sounded sincere, and he really didn’t pick up any judgment in her expression. Was there anything about her that wasn’t sweet?
“Yeah, it is. I like turning on my music and just zoning out. No interruptions.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Well, come on, I’ll show you the Mustang.”
She followed him down the short hall and out into the garage bays. It was strange bringing a woman into his work space. Just as he’d told her, he spent a lot of time in here doing what he did best, turning rusted-out clunkers into works of art. They were always diamonds in the rough, and he took great pride into restoring them not only to their former beauty … but even better. And he did it alone, only subcontracting out for a few specialized things like paint, glasswork, and more extensive interior work. Between his father and some trade school auto classes he’d learned what he needed to know.
Anne ran her thin fingers along the hood of a Nova that was in primer. Then she spotted the Mustang, a small smile forming on her lips. He was impressed that she’d obviously known which one it was.
His father had loved old vehicles, from the classics to the muscle cars, and he’d shared that passion with Mike growing up. They loved nothing more than finding a neglected treasure in some field or the paper and spending hours trying to get it running. He had fond memories of working with his dad and he liked to think his father would be proud of what he’d accomplished, but sadly he would never know. Chuck Everett, his only living parent, died suddenly of a massive heart attack when Mike was a senior in high school.
What should have been Mike’s saving grace was the fact that he’d been over eighteen and not sent through the system, but instead he took his life into his own hands. And as a grieving teenager, his first decision was to drop out of high school and find a new hobby, which ended up being getting-trashed-by-whatever-means-necessary. His sister had been in college, not really equipped to support him, so he’d assured Erin—who was grieving herself—everything was cool when he moved in with a few friends. The wrong friends, of course, but no one could have convinced him differently at the time.
Amazingly he finally found his way out of trouble. Part of his eventual healing had been returning to what he loved, restoring cars. The tattoos on his arm and back were the only link to that dark time in his life, a small price to pay for making it out alive. It was another reminder of how different he was from this beautiful woman standing in his space.
He met Anne beside the Mustang. Seeing it now—ugly green, spotted with Bondo where he’d tried to smooth some of the minor body work—he realized how much work was ahead of him.
“Doesn’t really look like something a teenage girl would like,” she said.
He chuckled. “No, not right now, but it’s early yet. This is the original paint. I’ll finish up the bodywork, prime it, get it painted with white rally stripes, drop in a restored 351 Windsor V-8, make sure all the trim is re-chromed, and then it will be amazing. Despite the hot-pink color request.”
“I heard about that pink. Wow, hard to imagine looking at this. Sure you can do it?” She grinned, teasing him.
He held his hand up to his chest as if in pain. “Anne, your lack of faith in me is breaking my heart. I didn’t question your use of canning jars for drinking glasses.”
She rolled her eyes, groaned, and then laughed quietly. “Those glasses are awesome, mister. And very trendy right now, I’ll have you know.”
The sound of her happiness and teasing rippled through his entire body all the way to his dick. Maybe having her in here was a mistake, because he didn’t want her to leave before he put his hands on her. She walked to another car, and he watched the slide of her hand roam across the hood of the ’70 Chevelle. Her nails were still manicured in her party polish, the colors striking against the shiny black paint of the car. It was a huge turn-on.
“I really like this one.” She smiled over her shoulder, her beauty standing out amid the grittiness of the shop. Her little sweater and navy skirt were nowhere near improper, but that only added to the sexiness. He stepped in her direction; the breeze coming in from the open garage doors lifted the little hairs off her neck.
“It’s a Chevelle Super Sport. Rare, and one of my favorites, too. It’s the client’s third, which seems like such a waste since he rarely drives them.”
“Why would someone have something so special and not use it?”
He shrugged, good question. He understood the desire to keep something safe and precious, but then again, “You can’t take it with ya,” as his father used to say. “I guess some people enjoy the feeling of possession more than the thrill of the ride.”
A grin teased at her lips. Perfect Little Anne didn’t miss a beat.
“And which one of those are you?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He stalked a little closer, his eyes never leaving hers. When he was just a foot away his gaze traveled down, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath she took. He could feel and almost see their attraction sparking. And now he wanted to taste it.
“Possession can be a turn-on, I guess, but there’s nothing better than a good ride.” His voice was low and he didn’t miss the way her jaw went slack and waist dipped in, like she’d just literally lost her breath. She was so responsive, it was heady. He leaned closer and rested his right hand on her hip, his thumb stroking just below the hem of her top. Jesus, she was soft. And warm, and her perfume, floral and sweet same as the day of the party, was filling the air around them, making him dizzy.
He resisted grabbing her from both sides and crushing her against him. For one, while he wanted Anne ferociously, there was an expensive car behind her that he didn’t want both of their weight leaning onto. Even in times like these he still had to think about his babies. And two, her eyes were so wide he was afraid she might panic, but he knew there was desire in there, too. He let his gaze sweep down to her amazingly full lips and then tilted his head just a little …
“Mike!” a singsongy voice called from the office.
“Shit.” He pulled away from Anne instantly, dropping his hands.
“Oh my God,” Anne said in a pained whisper. She turned and faced the open garage door as Katie strolled into the shop.
“Oh hey, sorry, I didn’t know you had a customer,” Katie said, coming to a sudden halt when she laid eyes on Anne. Although her words were fine, there was no mistaking the slight bitterness in her tone.
Damn, this was shitty timing. Anne wasn’t a customer; she’d brought him cinnamon rolls and a note. She called him Uncle Mike. But he didn’t correct Katie, because there was nothing technically between them. Anne had turned around and was now intently staring at the Chevelle, unable to look him or Katie in the eye.
“Just let me wrap this up, okay, Katie? I’ll be back there in a minute.”
Katie looked between them for a moment and then slipped back into the office, closing the door behind her. He wished she’d just keep going and head home. Their Saturday evening had ended with him declining her offer of taking it back to her place. He’d even surprised himself by saying no, but extremely hot Katie had gotten sorority-girl-level wasted when they’d ended up back at the bar next door at the end of the night. The chasm between her and the sexy single mother in a pink party dress floating in his mind had shredded the last of his once well-planned Saturday night.
“Well, I really hope you enjoy the cinnamon rolls, I had one this morning and really shouldn’t have.”
The change in Anne’s voice was like a punch to the gut. Just like at her house, things got awkward and she was trying to fix it, act like nothing happened between them. He also didn’t like how she put herself down when she was embarrassed. He wou
ld’ve liked to see her eat the cinnamon roll, and then taste the frosting from her lips. But right now her heels were clicking as she headed for the open garage door, avoiding the office and Katie at all costs. He couldn’t blame her.
“Anne, don’t go.”
She turned to face him, her expression carefully void of any emotion. She cocked her head to the side, as if she was trying to figure him out. “Why?”
He didn’t know what to say. Could she not see that he’d been close to kissing her? That he wanted to still? She stood there in her cute little outfit, golden hair lit from the light of the open door, with a confident and unaffected mask firmly in place. A moment ago she looked like she could have melted into his arms, and now she was running. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets, still quiet. Katie was waiting, and he certainly didn’t want her to come back out and upset Anne more.
“Never mind, thanks for the rolls.”
Her eyes searched the pavement in front of her for a second before she glanced up at him. “You’re very welcome. Thanks again, Mike.”
And she walked away, around the side of the building toward the alley where her car was parked. For a split second he wanted to go after her. Apologize for the interruption and beg her to let them rewind back to five minutes ago. He’d wanted to kiss her more than anything, and he was pretty damn sure she’d wanted it, too. Twice now he’d let her walk away uncomfortable after getting close to him.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
When he heard her engine start up and gravel popping beneath tires he went back into the office to find Katie sitting on his desk. Her legs rested in the chair and her sheer black bra was completely exposed, her T-shirt tossed over the computer monitor. Shit.
Why wasn’t he turned on? He was still a man, and she had a beautiful body. But this wasn’t the time, and she wasn’t the woman he wanted to be with. She opened her mouth before he could tell her that.
“I’m a little embarrassed about Saturday. I’ve never gotten that drunk before.”
He highly doubted that. She’d thrown back rum and Diet Cokes like a champ, but giving her the benefit of the doubt was the gentlemanly thing to do. “No big deal, we’ve all been there.”
She crooked a finger at him and leaned back a little. “But we didn’t get to have any fun.”
No, they didn’t, and at this point he wasn’t interested. A shame really, he didn’t find half-naked women in his office every day. Okay, he never found half-naked women in his office, so he wasn’t sure how to gently tell one that she wasn’t wanted. He feared there was no good way to go about it.
“Katie, listen—”
Her mouth dropped open and she set up. “Are you fucking kidding me, Mike Everett?” I’m sitting here on your desk like this, and you start with ‘Katie, listen’?”
She stood up and grabbed her shirt, making him feel like the biggest asshole. He also felt responsible for letting down the male race everywhere for denying such an easy offering. But he honestly couldn’t explain it. No, that wasn’t really true; it definitely had something to do with the box of cinnamon rolls that had been a foot away from Katie’s ass on his desk.
“I’m not stupid, Mike. You should have just said you weren’t interested before Saturday, although I don’t get what happened. You asked me out. We’ve been flirting for weeks.”
She was right, they had been. But something had recently changed. He wished like hell it hadn’t, things would have been a lot easier. “Katie…”
“Oh no, don’t you dare.” She pulled her shirt over her head and picked up her purse. “I thought you were a nice guy. I liked you a lot. I really thought this was … something.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression showing his obvious bewilderment, he really thought they’d been on the same page about things being just for fun. Shit. The rage in her eyes neared hysteric proportions.
“You’re a total asshole,” she growled before slamming the door behind her.
He closed his eyes and dropped into his chair. How the hell had this day gone so wrong? Two women had shown up and both had left in anger. That had to be a real talent. Thinking of Anne’s gift reminded him of the card.
He leaned forward and snatched it up before lifting it to his nose. A little bit of her floral scent clung to the paper. He flipped it over to look at her handwriting again. Uncle Mike. He smiled. Who would have thought it could be so sexy? He definitely didn’t think of Bailey when Anne used the endearment.
Inside the envelope was a small note card covered with yellow polka dots. In the bottom corner was a swirly A monogram. Women. He opened it up and read.
Mike,
You may have regretted staying at a little girl party, but I’m very glad you did. Thanks so much for the referral. It means a lot that you thought of me.
Anne
Anne couldn’t possibly know all the ways he’d thought of her, many of which he probably shouldn’t have. The thing he was thinking now was equally dangerous, and that was how much he’d hated letting her go.
Six
Fridays were by far the busiest day at Callie’s Confections, so Anne had started coming in to help in the mornings. She did it without pay because Callie Daniels was one of her best friends, and it was nice to get out of the house. Plus, the bakery was good business for the blog and vice versa.
She’d met Callie two years ago—right after she’d moved to Preston—at the local Saturday-morning market. Anne had sampled some of Callie’s blueberry scones and nearly died on the spot, they were so good. The next two Saturdays she had bought something different, and everything was amazing. On the fourth week Anne convinced Callie to do a guest blog post. It had been on how to make those to-die-for blueberry scones. Of course the post was a huge hit, as she’d known it would be, and the followers had fallen in love with Callie’s witty personality and her yummy food. The next step had been making Callie a permanent part of MPLL and Anne’s life. Now she and Callie were close friends, spending a lot of time together working on the blog along with Lindsey, and also occasionally collaborating on parties. Callie was one of the hardest workers Anne had ever known. Plus, the woman was gorgeous, yet Anne had never seen her date since they’d been friends.
Despite the hard work and all of their various sacrifices, it was nice to have two other people whom you clicked with. While Anne and Callie covered the party and food side, Lindsey was their expert Junker and had been gone for the past two weeks on a trip to the East Coast to antique. Anne envied the ability to just up and leave, but she knew her friend loved it and would accumulate some great project pieces for her thriving business and for the blog. The accomplishments of Anne’s friends never ceased to amaze her, and their blog readers benefited from their many talents. She was especially proud of the bakery and was happy to know that the blog had helped make Callie’s dream come true.
This morning Anne had already made three types of coffee, frosted some cupcakes, and was icing cinnamon rolls when Eric rolled in, designer sunglasses on his tan, chiseled face. Behind her Anne heard Callie sigh loudly.
“Do you realize that if you were on time the sun wouldn’t even be up yet? The very act of putting those glasses on your face means you have taken the risk of walking into a very annoyed boss, Eric.” Callie washed her hands in the prep sink and headed for the walk-in fridge.
Anne was surprised when Eric remained silent and didn’t take the bait and engage in the banter he and Callie were so fond of. Callie obviously noticed it, too, because she peeked out of the walk-in and caught Anne’s eyes. She nodded at Eric, and Anne shrugged. Eric was folding pastry boxes, a mindless, uncreative task, one that did not meet his very specific idea of his job description since he considered himself a creative genius.
Callie walked over to her friend and squeezed his arm. “What’s goin’ on, E?”
He replied with a sniffle. Callie looked at the ceiling and bit back a groan. Anne knew that Callie adored Eric, they both did, and he was a huge part
of what made Callie’s bakery a success. But he was twenty-six and liked to imagine that every guy he dated, or spent the night with, was the one. Anne and Callie both thought that at one time his naive romantic notions were adorable; now they were just part of their routine.
Anne and Callie had both told him repeatedly that finding the right guy was nearly impossible, no matter gay or straight. Men mostly had one thing on their mind, and it wasn’t how they could make one person happy for the rest of their lives. Ironically Eric was also one of those men, but his relationship motto seemed to be Do as I wish, not as I do.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Callie said. She rubbed circles onto Eric’s back. “Did you and David break up?”
Anne looked over her shoulder. He shook his head but continued folding pink-striped pastry boxes. The logo on them matched the logo on Eric’s pink work T-shirt, the same shirt that squeezed at the muscles across his back and shoulders. He was a beautiful man, toned and broad. It was such a shame for the women in Preston that he didn’t have a little more swagger and a lot less Lady Gaga in his life. Not that it stopped women from flirting with him daily. Lucky for Callie he realized that turning on the charm with the female customers was good for business.
Callie dropped her hand, rolled her eyes at Anne, and then turned him around to face her. “Well then, what happened?”
“I broke up with him,” he said quietly.
Callie sighed dramatically. “Why in the world did you do that? He was gorgeous, and very into you if your constant desire to overshare is any indication.”
“That he was.” Eric looked up with a wistful expression on his face before turning back to folding boxes. “But he wanted too much too fast, and it was making me feel suffocated.”
“Eric!” Anne and Callie said at the same time.
Callie held up her hands. “What the hell do you really want out of life? You know what, hold that thought because I’m afraid the answer could be multifaceted. Are you gonna be okay? Because it’s Friday and we’re about to be swamped.”
Start Me Up Page 5
