“No problem. Is she ready to take it on?” I wince. I just met her and shouldn’t be doubting her abilities. There are too many people in my life who’ve done that, and I always strive to prove them wrong.
“I think so. Do you know of somewhere in town where I can get plans printed?” He rests his forearm on the counter and leans, so I’m looking down at him for once. There’s a lock of hair that lays just over his eyebrow, drawing my attention to his beautiful eyes.
Did I debate all last night whether to text him? Yes. I typed out several text messages but deleted each one.
I have a love/hate relationship with texts. I love that I can goback and make sure I didn’t read something the wrong way, and they’re great evidence for things. But I hate the fact that I can’t understand tone, and if someone takes a long time before responding, I second guess what I sent.
I realize he’s waiting for my answer and I have to scramble for coherent words.
“You didn’t have them already?” I ask. “Or the company you work for didn’t?”
There’s a flicker of surprise on his face before he shakes his head. “I’m new to the project. I thought everything was already in the files I was given, and those were all electronic.”
“What company do you work for?”
He hesitates, then bends down to tie his shoe.
Avoiding the question?
When he stands, he says, “I work for Bauer Enterprises.”
Now I remember the logo at the top of the paper he showed me yesterday. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”
“It’s a smaller company under a larger one,” he says with a shrug.
I point toward the stairs. “You can head up whenever you’re ready. And thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Do you need to give me a key?” he asks.
“No, I usually leave it unlocked.”
He blinks. “You don’t lock it?”
I shrug. “There’s not a lot of traffic up there. With the door locked downstairs, I don’t worry as much.”
“You might want to start,” he says gently. “Especially with workers coming in and out.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say. “But honestly, there’s not much up there worth taking.”
He still looks unsure. “All right.”
I watch as he steps back outside, grabs a tool bag from his car, and heads toward the stairwell.
“What’s Max doing here?” Sarah asks.
“He’s fixing my sink,” I say, focusing on refilling cups by the coffee machine. The shop is already picking up this morning, and by that, I mean, we’ve got three customers instead of our usual two by this time.
Sarah raises an eyebrow. “What is with you and sinks? He looks like a guy who spends all day behind a desk.”
Something about that comment rubs me the wrong way. “If you think he’s out of shape, you’re sadly mistaken.” The snapshot of Max without his shirt shines onto my mental movie screen.
She smirks. “So you’ve been taking stock of his assets?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re as bad as Lila. No, I haven’t been ogling the guy. I’m just saying he’s fit.”
“He’s got that energy,” she says. “Like he’s used to telling people what to do.”
I laugh. “Are you saying I don’t?”
