The Last Man She Expected
Page 22
Sheets of rain slapped against the window, quickly turning the view to gray. There wouldn’t be much business today if this kept up, so he may as well get to work on taking inventory. He’d just started sorting the pesticides, getting ready to put most of them away until spring, when the front door swung open with a loud bang and a string of colorful swear words spoken in a female voice. He stuck his head around the corner of the fasteners aisle just in time to see a tall brunette stagger into the revolving seed display. Some of the packets went flying, but she managed to steady the display before the whole thing toppled. He took in what probably had been a very nice silk blouse and tailored trouser suit before she was drenched in the storm raging outside. The heel on one of the ridiculously high heels she was wearing had snapped off, explaining why she was stumbling around.
“Having a bad morning?”
The woman looked up in annoyance, strands of dark, wet hair falling across her face.
“You could say that. I don’t suppose you have a shoe repair place in this town?” She looked at the bright red heel in her hand.
Nate shook his head as he approached her. “Nope. But hand it over. I’ll see what I can do.”
A perfectly shaped brow arched high. “Why? Are you going to cobble them back together with—” she gestured around widely “—maybe some staples or screws?”
“Technically, what you just described is the definition of cobbling, so yeah. I’ve got some glue that’ll do the trick.” He met her gaze calmly. “It’d be a lot easier to do if you’d take the shoe off. Unless you also think I’m a blacksmith?”
He was teasing her. Something about this soaking-wet woman still having so much...regal bearing...amused Nate. He wasn’t usually a fan of the pearl-clutching country-club set who strutted through Gallant Lake on the weekends and referred to his family’s hardware store as “adorable.” But he couldn’t help admiring this woman’s ability to hold on to her superiority while looking like she accidentally went to a water park instead of the business meeting she was dressed for. To be honest, he also admired the figure that expensive red suit was clinging to as it dripped water on his floor.
He held out his hand. “I’m Nate Thomas. This is my store.”
She let out an irritated sigh. “Brittany Doyle.” She slid her long, slender hand into his and gripped with surprising strength. He held it for just a half second longer than necessary before shaking off the odd current of interest she invoked in him. He turned his hand palm up and she dropped the broken heel into it.
“Come on back, Brittany, and I’ll see what we can do.” He took a few steps before he realized she wasn’t following. He turned to face her and read her expression with understanding. She had no reason to trust him. “You’re right to be cautious about following strange men around, but it’s ten o’clock in the morning in Gallant Lake. I’m just offering you a place to sit while you wait.” A shiver ran through her. “And a towel. And a hot cup of coffee. And that’s it.”
Her pretty tawny-brown eyes, just a little tip-tilted at the corners, lit up at the mention of hot coffee. Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded, following him in her awkward, one-heeled gait. Nate was so busy thinking about the woman that he completely forgot about Hank.
“Hello! Hello! Hello!”
The parrot’s harsh voice echoed around the shop. Brittany-in-the-red-suit let out a scream and jumped sideways, bumping into a tall stack of dog food. Nate caught the stack before it went over, then grabbed Brittany’s arm to stabilize her.
“Sorry. Hank’s extra loud in the morning. Here...” Nate turned to the display wall at the back of the store and grabbed a pair of orange flip-flops with bejeweled daisies on top. He handed them to Brittany, who was eyeing Hank with daggers. “I think you’d find walking a lot easier if your feet were both at the same level.”
“I’d find walking a lot easier if that creature hadn’t scared the shi...daylights out of me.” But she snatched the sandals from his hand. “What the hell are you doing with a bird in your store? Isn’t that against sanitation laws or something?”
City women.
“It’s a hardware store, not a restaurant. And Hank’s a very clean bird, if you don’t count his language. He’s a fixture here.”
“Charming.” That word in that tone did not sound like a compliment.
“If you’d rather walk back to your car and go somewhere else for shoe repair, I think there’s a place in White Plains...” It wasn’t like Nate to be rude, but he couldn’t help goading this woman.
A crash of thunder answered before she could, and he noticed her mouth tightening at the sound. She didn’t like the storm. She didn’t like Hank. And her glare made it clear she’d leave if she could, because she didn’t seem to like him very much, either. But she couldn’t leave in this weather, so he may as well fix her shoe. She followed him to his office, colorful flip-flops slapping on the floor, and claimed his leather chair at the desk. He went into the back room, found a beach towel and tossed it at her. Her annoyance started to fade when she wrapped it around herself like a blanket. She was probably chilled to the bone.
“What do you take in your coffee?”
“One sugar and lots of cream.”
“Powdered creamer is all I have.”
Her face scrunched in disgust, and Nate almost laughed.
“Again—not a restaurant. Hardware store. You want it or not?”
“Fine.”
He used his mom’s bright yellow mug. She hadn’t been here to use it for years, but it was tradition that everyone in the family had their own mug waiting in the office. Her Majesty accepted the coffee with a mumbled, almost reluctant, “Thank you.”
“Give me a minute to glue this up.” He went to the bench in the other room and found his favorite bonding glue. He used it while repairing antiques. He placed a few dots far enough from the edge that they wouldn’t seep through. Then the heel was pressed into place on the... He looked inside. Jimmy Choo. He’d heard of them. Expensive. He had a feeling everything about this woman was expensive.
When he walked back into the office, she was staring out at the lake. The striped towel was wrapped around her shoulders, but she’d obviously used it on her hair while he was gone. The chestnut-brown waves were drier, fluffier and had been brushed off her face. Her profile, with the backdrop of the stormy lake, was striking. A perfectly straight nose and full lips. Those large golden eyes with the upswept corners. The gold hoops hanging on her ears matched the multiple gold necklaces, and the bangles on her wrists. This woman was classy. Sharp. A real go-getter. This woman didn’t belong in Nate’s Hardware. She didn’t belong in Gallant Lake. She turned to look at him in the doorway.
She was a grown-up version of Monica Battersby from high school. Prom queen. Valedictorian. Champion tennis player. Daddy was a doctor. Mom ran a charity foundation. Monica walked down the halls like she was walking a red carpet. She didn’t waste time with anyone outside her circle of equally privileged friends. She certainly never made the time of day for Weird Nate Thomas from the hardware store.
He swallowed hard. This pretty brunette—even drenched from the rain, wrapped in a towel, wearing flip-flops—she was another Monica Battersby. She was out of his league. And still...
“Was the operation a success?”
“What?”
She held out her hand. “The shoe? Did you cobble it or not?”
“Um...yeah. Give it a little while to finish setting up before you put weight on it. You can keep the flip-flops to wear.”
“I can pay for the sandals.”
“I’m sure you could.” His eyes gave her a once-over, taking in all her designer duds again. “I’m saying you don’t have to.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him intently. Then she gave him a slow smile. The towel slid slowly off one shoulder. She wasn’t Monica Battersby anymore. Now she looked
more like that black-and-white poster of Sophia Loren that Gramps used to have hanging in this very office.
Gramps used to say Sophia was the kind of woman whose beauty was timeless because it was more than skin deep. Her beauty glowed from within. Gramps said Sophia wasn’t a put-on. She was “The real deal, boy.”
Nate had a feeling that, somewhere inside that proud, prickly attitude, Brittany Doyle might just be the real deal, too.
Copyright © 2020 by Jo McNally
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ISBN-13: 9781488070020
The Last Man She Expected
Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Major
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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