Page 51 of Right Up His Alley

I’ve never dreamed of a lifelong love, but perhaps this couple has something figured out I don’t.

The chime from above the door pulls my attention away from the Glasgows. Three large men and a petite woman walk in, all wearing the same bright orange shirt with Harvey’s Furniture Co. written across their chests.

I frown, eyebrows knitting together as they make their way toward me. “Can I help you?” I ask once they are close enough, but they just smile at me and keep walking toward the arcade, completely ignoring my question. “What the hell?”

The group stops in the arcade, and the woman points to the decrepit tables and chairs. “Take these out,” I hear her say.

“Whoa, hold on, what’s going on?” I scramble out from behind the counter, nearly tripping over the pile of bowling shoes that need cleaning. “What do you think you’re doing with those?” Yeah, I get they’re shitty, but they are all I have for furniture in the arcade. Forcing customers to sit on the floor instead of wobbly tables and chairs is arguably worse.

The woman tilts her head to the side, eyeing me like I’ve had one too many drinks. “We were hired to do a job, so we’re doing it.” Her no-nonsense tone tells me she isn’t one to cross.

“Hired? I’m the owner. I didn’t hire anyone. What are⁠—”

“Ezra,” a familiar voice calls from behind me just as the door swings shut, a gust of wind rushing in with it. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Truett—my whole body already knows, every nerve going sharp as his footsteps close the distance. Still, I glance back, catching him mid-stride, that same sexy smile already in place like he knows exactly what he does to me. “I hired them. Well, that’s not technically true. Your mom and I hired them.”

I would have been less surprised if Truett showed up in a clown costume and started making balloon animals for everyone. “You…her… What?” My brain struggles to make sense of it all.

Truett takes my hand, pulling me out of the way of two of the men removing a table. Just as they make it to the door, the base of the table falls off, plummeting to the ground and splitting in two. “We’ll take care of that!” the redheaded man bellows.

“So, remember when your mom pulled me aside at the party, and we wouldn’t tell you what we were talking about?” Truett asks, his cheeks blooming red as if he’s suddenly unsure what he’s going to say. “Well, she didn’t trust that you wouldn’t use the money to get ahead on the mortgage.”

“That is—” The anger that quickly washes over me vanishes. “Actually, that’s pretty accurate.” The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that he says it…

“Yeah, so she wanted me to make sure you didn’t use the check for that. I added a few extra dollars and put the order in my name.”

“So, she wants you to babysit my money and tell me how to spend it?” I ask, deadpan, not sure how I feel about that.

Truett’s eyes widen, his cheeks growing a deeper shade of red. “No! No, that’s not it at all. She wanted me to…” He struggles to find the right words. Soon, defeated, his shoulders slump. “Actually, yeah. That’s exactly what she wanted me to do. I’m sorry, I know I should have asked you. I thought it would help take some of the stress off you. Are you mad?”

Am I upset? Anger is typically my default emotion, seeing as how much pent-up frustration I keep locked away. But I wouldn’t even have taken the chance on the alley if it wasn’t for Truett and his need to fix up a place he loved as a child. He wants to see it shine brightly again.

“No, I’m not upset,” I say honestly, watching the visible tension leave his body. He offers me a shy smile, which I return. “But that doesn’t explain who these people are.” I gesture to the woman ordering around the movers.

“Oh! This was your mom’s idea. She wanted me to help her find people to take away junk and deliver the new furniture. We were on the phone last night⁠—”

“You were on the phone with my mom?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“How did she get your number?”

“Actually, she gave me hers, and I called. Stop interrupting so I can finish, okay?” He tries to be stern, but it doesn’t have the desired effect. Still, I nod and allow him to continue. “Anyway, yes, we were talking last night about new tables and chairs to spruce up the arcade. She found a great deal at this place called Harvey’s, and we couldn’t pass them up.”

I’m not sure if I want to call my mom up and scold her for going behind my back or kiss Truett because this man truly has the alley’s best interest at heart. I do the latter. It doesn’t matter that we are in the arcade and that we could be caught. It should, but it doesn’t. None of that matters as I take his head between my hands, pulling him to me until my lips meet his.

He gasps before melting against me, arms snaking around my hips. My tongue flicks out, tracing his bottom lip. Truett opens for me, and I claim his mouth. I kiss him with wild abandon, as if no one’s in the room but us.

But I’m the one who told him we couldn’t kiss in the alley, and here I am going back on my own rule. Reluctantly, I force myself away from him, savoring the taste of his lips. I force myself to step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.

Then someone clears their throat from behind us, shattering the illusion. The woman from Harvey’s stands behind us, giving me an awkward wave. “Not to interrupt, but are we good to take the barstools too? They look like they are about to collapse with a gust of wind. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Jiménez bought three new ones.”

“Yes, that’s fine.” My voice comes out gruffer than I mean it to.

“Great. Because one already broke. We’ll get this stuff hauled, mop and vacuum the area, and then set up the new furniture. Can we use the dumpster out back to discard the boxes?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Use the door in the back to get to it,” I say, and she offers me a thumbs-up before finally leaving.

Truett lets out a soft chuckle before effortlessly hopping onto the counter, settling himself on the edge. His gaze drifts toward the Glasgows. Mr. Glasgow has just rolled a straight gutter ball, yet his wife cheers him on with unwavering enthusiasm. Truett’s smile fades as he watches them, his expression turning contemplative, lost in thought. I didn’t think it was possible, but some of his shine dims.