Lucky Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by L. A. Boruff

  Conall Finnegan

  Cobbler

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I groaned at the no doubt fake he’d hand out at pubs. Still, I stashed it in my purse, just in case. Taking one last look through the hole at the half-green landscape, the cold breeze whipping through the massive hole in my window, I counted the odds I’d ever see him again.

  I wouldn’t head to Vegas on them, that’s for sure.

  * * *

  “…And if I hadn’t been there to catch that typo it’d have gone out to our entire client list. In forty point font.”

  Abby chuckled though my Accord’s speakers. “‘Public’ can be a tricky one. Lucky for the board you were there.”

  “Lucky for me. Even though I wasn’t the one to type up our new ‘Pubic Option’ for the stockholders, it’d have been on my head.” I sighed, turning down the out-of-the-way road to a small neighborhood originally built for military families. The base was torn down decades back, but the cement and brick houses remained.

  “So you’re saying that tree through your window was a good thing,” Abby cooed. She’d found it all hilarious and spent the day texting me gifs of Ents.

  I scoffed. “Thanks for reminding me of the mess I have to clean up.” A groan rattled in my throat as I thought upon not only the shattered glass and gaping hole into my bedroom but the man who caused it. “What do you think the chances are on Conall actually paying to fix it?”

  “Who?” Abby sounded distracted while dodging her own traffic. For me it was quiet sailing towards the driveway of the house with a hole punched in it.

  “Conall. The red-haired, green-eyed…” so damn handsome, “Irishman who sent the tree careening through my window.”

  “Did he give you his insurance info?”

  I pursed my lips. It wasn’t until I burst through the doors of work two minutes early that I realized how truly up the creek I was. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to get anything substantial off him. He could be some lunatic who goes around breaking sleeping women’s windows with shrubbery. “Just his business card, which — get this — claims he’s a cobbler.”

  A prolonged silence tumbled out of the speakers, my eyes darting from the empty road to check my phone. Just before I could see if it once again ran dead, Abby spoke up. “Wait, wait. Are you telling me there’s a redheaded, Irish cobbler wandering around in your backyard? You got yourself as wee little leprechaun there, Jess.”

  “Ha ha,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes at the preposterous thought.

  “How tall was he?”

  “I’m…” I wasn’t sure. All I saw of him was his head and a bit of the neck. The bedroom was ground floor, what with the house having only one, but he could have been hunched over to make it through the hole. Or standing on a ladder.

  “Four feet? Three?” Abby was snorting hard at her joke. Her words garbled as she spat out fast, “Better be quick to get all his lucky charms!”

  “I hate you,” I mumbled, coming to a stop in my driveway.

  I let my friend finish with the unending cascade of giggles, my head tipped back into the duct taped headrest. Shutting off the car, I pinned the phone between my shoulder and jaw while exiting. Abby finally shook off her unhelpful laughter and sighed, “Well, if your wee pixie doesn’t show I can stop by to help fix it.”

  “What do you know about window repair?” I asked, my hip slamming the car door shut. Exhausted to the marrow, I collapsed against the car rather than face what I knew waited inside.

  Abby took her time before blurting out, “There’s gotta be a video tutorial on it.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll…” sighing, I shifted the phone to my other ear and finally rose, “I’ll figure it out. Bye.”

  “Bye,” Abby chirped and I killed the call.

  What were the chances the man who cut down a tree that shattered a bedroom window would stick to his word? Negative billion came to mind. More than just the glass littering my carpet and snow blowing in through the hole, I knew Tir had to have been on a tear from my closing the bedroom off to him. It didn’t matter if he never spent any of the day in that room, the fact he was suddenly no longer allowed was tantamount to treason and I’d have to pay for it.

  “I won’t have a single roll of toilet paper left,” I sighed, turning around the five-foot-tall bushes to the walkway. My mind flitted between who to hire to fix a window and which bottle of wine to open so I’d forget the mess. There was no way in hell I’d ever see that handsome Irishman ever…

  “Hello.” Green eyes caught mine from the impenetrable ether they’d been glaring into. I nearly ran backwards on my heels, my heart leaping into my throat at an unexplainable man standing on my porch.

  “What are you…?” my lips tried to spit, but my eyes drank him in. An oaky-green flannel cut tight to his chest. So tight that when he shifted his arm the bicep threatened to split a seam. The color caused his eyes to glow, beckoning me to stare in rapture at the verdant depths.

  He rose from his lean, quickly towering above me. No three-foot leprechaun was he. Stupid! Leprechauns aren’t real. And dear god was his smile pretty. It flashed fast, without impudence, an ease and charm softening his hard jaw. As I kept staring, my mouth dangling open, the brightness in his eyes began to dim.

  “Doing?” I squeaked, wishing I could pinch myself.

  The smile’s warmth increased tenfold, dooming me. “I’d intended to leave you a note, but this is much better,” Conall said, passing me a scrap of folded paper. I accepted it in my fingers, limply flipping it open even while waiting for him to talk.

  “As a full apology for the damage I caused, I wanted to invite you to dinner.”

  “What?” My head whipped up at him. I wanted to glare. The dashingly charming and besotting man was trying to pay off his crimes with a simple meal? It was enraging for him to think he could get away without proper reparations.

  As the fullness of his meadow eyes fell upon me, my body was more than happy to let him do whatever he wanted. He leaned closer, a finger jabbing at the note. I took in a breath and my nose filled with amber, oakmoss, and a dab of clover. Conall didn’t even blink as I lapped up his scent.

  “To discuss the proper procedure for fixing your shattered pane. I don’t know about you, but there’s nothing I despise more than negotiating on an empty stomach?”

  God save me, his lips rounded up to a smile and he dipped the tip of his tongue against the edge. My traitorous eyes followed the movement and, in an instant, I ached to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. Shaking off the thought, I focused my attention on the letter. “Oh? So you do intend to fix it?”

  He slapped a hand to his chest, reminding me how wide his palms were. “Lass, an Irishman never goes back on his word,” he spoke with a cloak of chivalry, but his eyes sparkled as if we were sharing a private joke. “Tonight, if at all possible. I did my best to block up the hole, but the thought of you having to suffer in a drafty bedroom for overlong wounds me.”

  “You…you want to have dinner tonight?” My mind was still struggling with the threat of negotiations. But, before I figured he’d pay a big fat goose egg, so anything was better than nothing. “Wh-where?” It was already past 7. Having to get changed and set out for the city, it was unlikely we’d even be seated before 9.

  Conall turned to wave a hand at the house right next to mine. “A home-cooked meal is the best panacea for life’s ills. Oh, and I hope you like lamb.”

  “Love it,” I threw out as if we were talking favorite movie genres. He didn’t really make lamb? For me?

  “Grand.” Conall danced around my frozen body, a thumb raised for emphasis. “Merely ring the bell when you’re ready, Lass.” With a lightness in his steps, he walked towards my next door neighbor’s house. My eyes kept darting from the note in immaculate penmanship, to the house I thought was still the home of an older gentleman and not an Irish angel — who broke windows on the side.

  “O…Okay,” I muttered as if he was st
ill there to hear me. When I caught my fingers waving at nothing, I sneered and stomped inside. Stop acting stupid, like put me under some spell. I had to be focused, tough. Accept nothing less than a full replacement and clean up. And god, do not look at his tight ass again. It’ll give the whole thing away.

  Dropping my purse to the couch, I gave into my libido’s pleading and let my mind return to those bountiful buttocks vacuum-sealed in his grey pants. I fluttered his letter in my hands, trying to cool off my burning cheeks, when twelve pounds of fur launched from the bookshelf. The body struck my shoulder while the front paws clawed at the paper toy.

  Groaning at the weight, I pet my cat. “Hi to you too, Tiramy.”

  * * *

  Nothing to be nervous about. Just meeting a stranger at his house to discuss…no, negotiate. I frowned at the reminder that this wasn’t to be a pleasant evening. He certainly didn’t make it sound as if he’d cut me a check and fork over a plate of leftovers.

  Why did he invite me to dinner?

  Pulling in a calming breath, the crisp early-spring breeze brushed against the daring neckline of my camisole. The black blazer was my version of a power tie, always backing me up in the worst of situations fate led me into. Usually, I paired it with a turtleneck or boxy blouse, but in digging through my laundry all I could find was this low cut cami. Truly, there was nothing else I could wear. It wasn’t as if I wondered what those emerald eyes would do when they’d caress down my cleavage.

  Well aware I was stalling, and that for a ten-minute argument I didn’t even need to bother changing, I lifted my finger for the doorbell. The first few jangles broke through the house and I stared down at my surprise neighbor’s lawn. Prodding through the retreating snow were surprising acres of green.

  Odd, I didn’t remember seeing clover here.

  The door that I’d been cowering at for a few minutes blew inward. My foot lashed behind in surprise, prepared to catch my clumsy form, which was right when the heel decided to buckle. I felt my body slipping towards the stone steps, no doubt about to land me in the emergency room for stitches.

  As if parting from the heavens, a hand enveloped my waist. Raw strength froze my descent, pinning me in place as I tripped into emerald eyes. “Evening, Lass,” Conall chuckled while holding me safely in half an embrace. He leaned closer, his nose nearly glancing against the tip of mine. Twin rings of pure gold encircled his pupils, the flecks dancing through his fields of green.

  A pulse dug into my hip and along the small of my back, Conall flexing his hand against all of me. Right, he was holding me. On his front step.

  I clumsily slammed my heel into place, finally taking my weight off of him. While he returned his hand to his side, he didn’t look strained at having to hold me up. If anything, his cheeks brightened and the smile rose higher.

  “You, you said I should come over,” I babbled and finally let my eyes traverse down his body. The flannel was gone, revealing a thin white undershirt straining against a set of shoulders and pecs that’d put most marble statues to shame. There were three buttons at the neckline, the first undone to reveal a tuft of red chest hair poking out. The shirt cuffs were rolled nearly to his elbows, the taut forearms flexing off square wrists. What struck me were the suspenders dangling off the tight grey pants. In his getup, he looked like a factory worker fresh off his shift in the Industrial Revolution.

  An incredibly hot and buff factory worker, who was sweaty in all the right places.

  “Indeed I did,” Conall spoke, nearly shaking my lustful thoughts free. Window. Broken. Fix it.

  Maybe if I kept repeating that phrase over and over he wouldn’t bamboozle me by taking his shirt off. Oh god, I groaned as he turned to reveal the suspenders framing his round buttocks perfectly. Okay, yes, he could get whatever he wanted if he just asked.

  “Please, come inside. I’d offer to take your coat, but you seem daring enough to leave the house without one,” he continued, proving to be the perfect host over my drooling. Taking one last breath, I stepped into his home.

  “It’s not that cold,” I laughed at the thought, “or that far a walk next door. When did you move in?”

  “I didn’t,” he said taking me aback. “This is one of those app rentals. For a time.”

  “Oh?” I glanced around the living room, cleaned and impersonal. With the soft grey walls and dark furniture, it looked like the setting of a staged house for a lifestyle magazine. “How long will you be here?”

  Conall’s chin pivoted at my question. His eyes began at mine, the emerald gaze amplifying as if he could pluck free my thoughts with a look. If so, he’d probably combust. Slowly, he drifted to my lips and the tip of his tongue lapped the length of his own. I squirmed in my heels, tempted to mimic his movements. But when his eyes landed upon my chest, I froze.

  It was only for a beat, barely a glance, but the edge of his smile turned high and he met me eye for eye. “Depends on if I find what I’m looking for. You may leave your shoes at the door if you wish.”

  I hadn’t planned to abandon them, but then I did nearly spill out on the front stoop. While sliding out of one, and tugging off the next, my body contorted so I didn’t bend clean over. “Your business card, the one that says you’re a cobbler…?”

  “Oh.” He smiled brightly. “Yes?”

  “Just…are you really one? Does anyone need cobbling nowadays?”

  “You’d be surprised.” He relaxed his stance and I found my own shoulders unknotting. “Though, I’m not strictly a cobbler. More a jack of all trades. If you need something fixed, I’m the one you call.”

  “Now I’m starting to think you work for the mafia,” I muttered to myself when the air went deathly quiet. Tension ripped through the sterile room. All I heard was the slush of my blood pumping through my quickening body.

  Conall leaned closer. His feet locked to the floor, but his six foot and counting size easily pushed his lips beside my face. Hot breath tickled down my ear as he whispered, “And you willingly walked into my home. Brave Lass indeed.”

  Goosebumps erupted over my arms, my teeth chattering as I turned to face the voice in my ear, and found a disarming smile instead. A laugh rolled in my gut, Conall quickly responding in kind at the shared joke.

  “I am a contractor,” he explained as if to assure me he didn’t have bodies hidden under the floorboards, “carpenter when needed.”

  “And occasional cobbler?”

  “People too often let good shoes go to waste.”

  I was going to give Abby so much grief for her leprechaun theory. He wasn’t some magical, gold-hoarding pixie. He’s a drop-dead gorgeous Irishman who builds things. Perfectly normal. Dime a dozen, really.

  “Is that why you were cutting down the tree?” I asked.

  Conall squinted. “I don’t know many who use trees for shoes. Excusing the Dutch.” Before I could explain, he laughed and did it for me. “Yes, there was mention of a dead tree in the yard. The landscapers feared it might fall and cause damage. I’m afraid I didn’t realize how rotten the roots became when it tipped into your bedroom.”

  I remembered the old elm. It hadn’t shown signs of life in a couple of summers. Maybe a few branches with leaves, but that was it. His story made sense. Better than “I wanted to see if you slept naked and broke your window to get a peek.”

  Bouncing on my naked heels, I said, “I’m amazed I didn’t hear the chainsaw.”

  “Chainsaw?”

  “To cut down the tree. They’re always so loud and…” I trailed his line of sight behind me toward the front door. “You can hear them for miles,” I kept babbling while staring at an ax that looked like it could cleave a bear in half. It rested against a shoe rack as if it belonged there.

  “You cut it down by hand?”

  Conall shrugged. “There is usually some back, chest, and thigh involved as well.” To emphasize, he drew his tree-chopping hand against said body parts which invited me to join in. How could I not have noticed those thighs before
?

  “You, me…” My lips sputtered words incoherently while my imagination flooded with a half-naked Irish lumberjack. “We!” I snapped out of it, realizing I had no idea where I was going. “We were going to discuss fixing the window. My window. My broken window.”

  Sweet lord, I sounded like an imbecile, but Conall was kind enough to chuckle at my ineptitude. He leaned nearer, his smile overwhelming me, when a ding broke from further inside the house. “Ah, sounds as if supper is ready,” he declared, spinning on his heel and marching towards the supposed kitchen.

  On instinct, I trailed him, giving into the occasional glance at his ass and the sway of the suspenders. “You had no idea when I’d come over and it just got done now?” I voiced one of the less incriminating thoughts in my head.

  Sparkling eyes whipped back to me and he winked. “I’m rather lucky that way.”

  The smile stumbled my feet, his wink alighting my cheeks, and I muttered, “Must be nice. I’m afraid I’m not so lucky.”

  His gaze danced from my blushing cheeks down my cleavage and he snickered, “Give it time.”

  A scoff tried to build in my throat at his boldness, but when his back turned I lay my palm flat to my cheek. My entire body was tingling, my skin buzzing as if a single whisper could start a fire. And all he did was glance at me.

  Trying to balance myself, I stared around the kitchen. Once again the stainless steel appliances and granite countertops were impersonal, the fine but bland taste hiding away any hint of who this relative stranger was. I was about to comment when my sight landed upon the black cauldron coated in chunks of wrought iron bubbling on the stovetop.

  Conall tugged off the lid, sending a cascade of steam from boiled lamb and peas through the air. The meaty scent entwining with his tree-chopping physique left me ravenous. Paying me no heed, he dipped a wooden spoon deep into his concoction and took his own deep whiff of the meal.

  “That’s…an interesting pot,” I said, my stomach eyeing up the rich stew while my lower bits grew peckish for the man stirring it.