by S. A. Wolfe
“Huh, funny. By the way, I think I need a nickname. Nothing too cute, but something fun and cool. You know, something different to motivate me to start a new career. Why don’t you two work on that while I’m gone?”
“Well, that’s random and weird.” Leo makes a fish mouth, making me realize he’s absolutely correct. I need to sit down and take a breather, maybe give Kelly and Samantha more pointers.
“We’ll work on it, baby,” Cooper says. “Taking that one for a test drive.”
“I’ll bet baby works on all those twinkies you bag,” I say, shaking my head.
Leo laughs. “You’re going to let her get away with that one?”
“I don’t like twinkies, Imogene.” Cooper winks at me.
“Don’t do that,” I retort pointedly.
I leave and make my rounds to the other tables with apologies for my absence. I got locked in the walk-in freezer! I’ll say anything at this point.
After I serve decaf coffee to everyone who asked for regular and regular to all those who asked for decaf and give away free ice cream to all the kids whose parents said no sugar!, I return to Cooper’s table with a huge tray and an obnoxious amount of food for two people. The Bonnie Burger is more than half a pound of beef, piled with guacamole, bacon, and sides of truffle waffle fries and regular fries. Watching the big dudes from Carson’s factory scarf these things down every day has sworn me off them forever.
“Don’t worry, I ate seven of the fries off your plate to make sure they are perfect,” I say to Cooper.
“Good girl.”
“Don’t say that,” I demand, wedging the tray under my arm.
“Sit down with us and take a break,” he insists.
“I’ve been on a break all day. I need to make my rounds and at least put some effort into ignoring my customers. Why are people always so hungry and needy?”
A whoop from another table causes me to turn around. Archie is walking into the diner with a rifle propped on his hip.
“Holy crap. Why is he carrying a gun in here?” I ask no one in particular.
“That’s an antique musket. It’s probably older than those vintage lockets you like so much,” Cooper says, rubbing a hand over the blond stubble on his chin.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I think I know weapons. I worked a case where these arms dealers were moving tons of illegal … never mind. That musket looks like it’s more than a hundred years old, and it’s missing the hammer and trigger, so it’s not operational.”
I scoff and storm over to Archie.
“Isn’t this a beauty? I just bought it at the Murphy estate sale. The place is incredible,” Archie says, posing with the relic across his chest. “It’s from the Civil War.”
“I don’t care if it’s from War of the Worlds. Arch, you can’t bring that thing in here; you’re scaring the customers.”
We both look around at the diners who are nonchalantly enjoying their lunch.
“Really? You’re not afraid of a lawyer in a three-piece suit?” I address the crowd. “Not even when he’s holding a gun? You should be scared. He’s a lawyer with a gun!”
The customers laugh and someone says, “It’s a musket.”
I scowl and walk back to the kitchen, catching Cooper watching me with that hideous, disgusting … sexy as all hell grin.
I do the bare minimum of clearing dirty dishes and helping Lauren serve the rest of the lunch crowd, who I had decided are all her customers. After avoiding their booth for a good forty-five minutes, I make it back to Leo and Cooper.
“I hope you’re aware that I had to go re-fill my own Coke,” Leo says, holding up his glass. “I think you’ve lost it, Imogene, and your grandmother is in full agreement with me.”
While Cooper is biting his lip to keep from laughing, I notice he has polished off every morsel on his plate. Even the empty French fry dish and the two pie plates are wiped clean. Where do these guys pack it away? They don’t have an ounce of fat on them.
“Thank you for your highly qualified medical diagnosis, Leo. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“Here, you beautiful ball buster, you.” Cooper hands me their bill and a wad of rolled cash.
“Nope. That’s not going to work as a nickname.” I take their dishes and Cooper’s money, walking back to the kitchen where I dump the plates at the dishwasher station. Then I sit at the employee break table to make change for Cooper’s bill.
I pull out the trucker’s wallet from my apron. Cooper and Leo’s lunch ticket is less than forty dollars, but when I unroll the money Cooper gave me, I count three one-hundred dollar bills. This guy is too much. I walk back out to the dining area, prepared to give him his exact change back, all two hundred sixty-seven dollars and thirty-eight cents of it.
The booth is empty.
“Be back in a few minutes,” I say as I walk by Lauren and out of the diner.
I walk a few yards up the street to Blackard Designs. When I pop through the front door, I receive a big, friendly wave from Daisy, the receptionist.
“Where’s Cooper?” I ask, not stopping because I know exactly where he is.
“He’s back in the factory.” Daisy motions with her hand.
I nod as I continue down the hall and past the management offices until I come to the factory window. The factory is an extension the size of an airplane hangar. It houses a lot of timber and hardware that is eventually transformed into furniture and has a couple of large, open fire ovens used to weather the wood to give it that aged look. It also has some incredibly loud equipment.
The place is buzzing with employees: men and women hauling wood, working table saws, and guys who are baking wood. This is Cooper’s territory.
I’m gazing through the enormous, industrial window to the factory, looking for the manager of operations—that Viking I’d simultaneously like to slap and kiss—when the door to the factory opens. Carson enters my quiet, observation space, removing his safety glasses and heavy work gloves.
“Imogene, what are you doing here?” he asks, tossing the glasses and gloves into a bin by the door.
“I’m looking for Cooper,” I reply, my eyes roving the large factory for him. “Bingo. I see him.”
“Ah, crap,” Carson mutters. “You look angry. You’re not going to kill him, are you? It took years to find someone who can run this place better than me.”
“I’m going to have a word with him. Well, maybe five words. There will be no blood shed, though.”
“Put on the safety gear before you go in there. And no crossing the blue lines,” he orders.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I smell French fries,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
“It’s me,” I snarl. I generally don’t walk around in my diner duds; the black T-shirt and jeans with hair that smells like a deep fat fryer after every shift.
“I need lunch,” he says absently and exits down the hall.
I put on a pair of the clear, plastic glasses and the large gloves that feel like oven mitts and then barge into the factory, weaving around workers and equipment, making sure I don’t step over the areas marked by blue tape.
Cooper is talking to a group of employees, examining wood they’ve pulled from the oven. I stand at the edge of the blue tape and wave my hands like one of those airport ground crew members that holds the orange paddles to help navigate an airplane as it taxis in. I sure could use a pair of those paddles to get Cooper’s attention.
I’m about to shout over the noise of the machinery when he finally looks at me. He says something to the men and then comes my way with an easy, long gait and a smirk.
“Are you trying to get my attention?” he asks as he approaches.
“You need bullhorns in here.”
“I could spot you a million miles away,” he responds. “You’re like a Trident missile coming in.”
“You’re hilarious, and here’s your mone
y back.” I whip the bills and coins out of my apron and pick up his hand to slap the money in his palm in a dramatic fashion to make my point.
“That was meant for you.” He lowers his voice, sounding disappointed as his fist closes around the money.
“I know what you’re doing, Cooper. It’s nice of you, really, buying my jewelry and throwing bills at me and Lauren at every opportunity. But this has to stop. This isn’t going to change our situation. Lauren and I have to deal with our business and our current finances. I think we can both agree that I don’t deserve this huge tip, and this sudden interest of yours to give us wads of cash makes me feel like a charity case.”
“I want to help you,” he says, shoving the money in his pocket.
“And I appreciate it. I do. But Lauren and I have a handle on this. So, thanks, but no thanks.” When I turn to leave, Cooper takes my elbow and presses close to me.
“That’s the problem. You don’t have a handle on your business, and you’re too afraid to quit working at the diner, so you’re in limbo,” he says roughly as he walks me to a side door that leads outside to the employee parking lot.
Pulling me into the bright sunshine, he takes his safety glasses and gloves off. I stand there dumbly, watching him, thinking of something clever and possibly rude to say. However, I’m mostly enjoying the view of how his broad chest and nicely developed biceps fill out his T-shirt.
He quickly yanks my glasses and gloves off and pushes me backwards against the brick wall of the building. I’m about to reprimand him for unnecessary roughness, but then his mouth is on mine, kissing all of the snarky sense out of me. His tongue roves around mine like it owns me, causing a small moan of approval to escape me for his excellent kissing skills. Without caring that we may be on exhibition to anyone walking by, my hands slip around his waist as his hands slide up my arms before cradling my head firmly in place for a deeper kiss.
Brushing his lips against mine, he then lets his beard stubble caresses my cheek before his head drops into the crook of my neck and he sighs.
He just made my day with that kiss.
“Damn, you smell good,” he says into my neck. “Like French fries.”
I pinch his side hard.
“I love French fries,” he adds, laughing.
“Stop doing this, Cooper. I have to get back to work.” I push him off me.
“Hey, I’m just reciprocating. You were the one who kissed me at the party.
“We both know I was very drunk that night. I probably would have made out with any guy that crossed my path.”
“You’re perfectly sober now,” he retorts, holding me in place by the waist. “And we both know you enjoyed this kiss.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d enjoy kissing Wolverine, too, but I don’t have time for him today, either. Now let me go,” I say as I try to wriggle from his grasp.
“Wait,” he commands. I stop moving because my hormones are signaling my brain to listen to the sexy Viking. “What time do you get off work?”
“Why?”
He drops his head down so his nose is almost touching mine. “Imogene, answer the question.”
“I’m going back to do the shift clean up, and then I’m heading home in about a half hour. Why?”
“Good. I’m leaving here at four. I’m going to run home and shower, and then I’m picking you up at five and taking you to that estate sale Archie mentioned.”
I look at him in confusion. Since when do Cooper and I go shopping together? Since when do we do anything together other than these two unintended make out sessions?
“Arch said they have a lot of jewelry there, and Lauren said you two need more pieces because your inventory is low.”
Between staring at his eyes and his perfectly kissable lips and hearing him talk about taking me to shop for jewelry, I’m quite dumbfounded at the moment. It takes me a few seconds to gather my thoughts.
“Cooper, our inventory is low for a reason. We don’t have the funds to buy the good pieces right now.”
“It’s a catch-22. Whether you have the money or not, you need new pieces to make the jewelry, right? So, if you don’t purchase more stock, you can’t make more things and the business dies. So I’m taking you there to stock up.”
“Stock up? This isn’t like buying canned goods at the grocery store. Those antique lockets and beads are expensive.”
“Right. I have to get back inside to deal with a minor problem, but be ready at five. Five o’clock. I’m always on time, Imogene.” With that, he tweaks my chin lightly before heading back through the side door.
What just happened? I kissed the guy who’s the type I’m not supposed to kiss, ever again. Then I made plans with him, or rather, he made plans for me.
I head back to the diner and finish my clean up before the night crew arrives. As I turn in my sales, I realize the enormous tip Cooper left me is back in my apron. Somehow, the sneaky bastard managed to slip it back in my apron pocket while we were kissing.
That kcuffing, sneaky, sexy bastard.
Six
After freshening up and getting rid of the infamous grease stench from the diner kitchen, I put on some clean jeans, a sleeveless blouse with a modest neckline, and a pair of flats since I’m assuming Cooper will be picking me up on his Harley. I’m pretty excited about that; I even caught myself with a goofy grin thinking about it while I was putting on mascara.
Yes, I’m actually sprucing myself up for Cooper. Maybe it was the kiss, maybe it’s because I’ve spent a year being pissed off at Jeremy for taking a job in California and moving away, only to fall off the grid like a fugitive.
Jeremy was supposed to be my reform boyfriend. After all the shitheads I dated, I was done with falling for the gorgeous assholes. Jeremy was my unassuming, rather average-looking boyfriend who, for several months, treated me like I was a precious gift.
In hindsight, that was part of the problem; I was happy to be in a different kind of relationship, and Jeremy was just happy to have any kind of relationship. I should have known we were headed nowhere. I had felt it in my bones. I was hanging on to a guy who was gentle and intelligent, and we started out with the kind of sweetness that happens when a bashful guy gets up the nerve to ask out a woman he thinks is out of his league. Perhaps it’s egotistical of me to say that, but it’s true, and yet, I still tried to make it last, ending up shocked that he could break up with me. Also egotistical yet true.
I assumed it was the excitement and stress of starting a new job thousands of miles away that kept Jeremy from talking about our future. Therefore, we didn’t discuss details about where we were headed; we kept saying we’d do long distance for a while and then the conversation would always end there.
It certainly ended, and what a role reversal it was for me. After I hugged and kissed Jeremy goodbye, I received one text that he’d moved into his new apartment, and then blip, the guy was gone, never to be heard from again, never returning my calls or texts.
More than heartbroken, I was humiliated over being dumped. Naturally, I was sad, and then I was mad. After Jeremy, every man who attempted to ask me out met my sharped-tongued alter ego, a mean bitch who’d ram a hot poker up their ass if she were given the opportunity.
I can’t explain why I was so angry, except that I thought I had carefully selected a better man this time around. Plain guys like Jeremy weren’t supposed to turn into spineless shits. Obviously, my sweeping generalizations about men and dating have been off the mark, and my failed relationships have resulted in making me cynical more than anything.
I can’t even say that I’ve actually experienced real heartache. You have to fall wildly in love first for that to potentially happen. I have had many lust-filled crushes that ignited and burned out before the calendar would be flipped over to the next month, and it never bothered me. I was that type of girl: crush on him, swoon over him, have sex with him, fight with him, get bored with him, then dump him. That seemed to be the on
ly type of relationship that could be fostered in high school and college, at least for me.
Then Cooper came to town, all six and half feet or whatever of him. He’s taller than Jeremy. I know because they had one week where their schedules overlapped at Blackard Designs, and I remember sizing Jeremy up to Cooper. That should have been a red flag to me.
Jeremy came into the diner with Cooper for lunch, and while Jeremy rambled on about this elusive interview Carson had hooked him up with in California, I was eyeing Cooper. Not in an obvious way, but you can’t not look at the guy. He stands out that much. For the love of God, a hot guy moved to town who wasn’t like a brother to me. However, I wasn’t about to become friendly with Cooper, even after Jeremy fled with his shriveled pecker between his legs, because I was still working off my dumb theory about men.
Cooper has paid dearly for my prickly personality over the last year, but after these recent events—a drunken kiss, a sober kiss, and an upcoming social outing—maybe I can try to be friends with him after all.
I’m attempting to play it cool in front of Lauren, and for my benefit, she’s acting like it’s no big deal that her favorite biker, whom I have portrayed as my nemesis for many months, is taking me out to peruse an estate sale.
“Don’t forget the business credit card,” Lauren says as I pop into the workroom to see her current project. “It’s still in the freezer.”
“I can’t use it if it’s frozen.”
“Imogene, people put their credit cards in blocks of ice so they can’t overindulge with them. You put ours in the freezer next to the vodka. The card may be cold, but it works. You can spend up to two thousand. That’s affordable in terms of payments and interest.”
“I hate that.”
“I do, too, but we need the good stuff to make the next twenty designs we have. If we can get them done in the next two weeks, Sasha’s will buy them all. So please don’t back out of this auction like you did last week at the Goodman estate.”
“Maybe you should go to the Murphy place with Cooper. You’re more pragmatic about this stuff.”
