Page 4 of Jack of Hearts

“Kentucky,” he says. “Small town, not too different from here it seems.”

“Maybe small towns are the same everywhere. At least in many ways Though I’m partial to this one.” I lead us into my house. “So this was my nana’s house. She lived here her whole life and it was her nana’s before that.”

In the back of the house, there’s a mudroom, where I kick off my boots and slip out of the thick shirt I wear over my overalls when I’m welding.

Jack hesitates at the door from the mudroom into the kitchen, clearly unsure if he should take off his shoes too.

“You can leave yours on,” I tell him. “I just don’t like tracking bits of metal from the shop into the house.”

But he ignores me and takes off his shoes anyway.

His quiet seriousness as he does it is endearing. And maybe even a little sexy? Okay, facts, everything about this man is sexy. But not in the obvious ways. Yes, he’s physically attractive, but there’s more to it. He’s precise and careful.

When he looks up and sees me watching him, I feel my cheeks warming. Which is so not like me. I look away, immediately launching into another burst of rambling.

“I mostly grew up here because my mom flaked out and dropped me here at her mom’s.” The mudroom leads straight into the kitchen, in all of its early 70’s glory. “And anyways, it hasn’t been changed much. The house is over a hundred years old and not much has been done to it other than basic maintenance since they did the kitchen remodel in the seventies. I mean I could paint, but when there are a few holes in the drywall, painting isn’t going to fix it.”

He follows behind me and now that he’s in socks, he’s freakishly quiet with his steps for being a giant.

“I’m not a giant,” he says.

“Shit, did I say that out loud? I have a tendency to do that on account that I work alone and so I talk to myself. Sorry.”

He chuckles again and I feel like I’ve won the freaking lottery.

“I was going to say that I’m not a giant, you are like an elf or something. Tiny. Pocket-sized.”

I snort. No one has ever called me pocket-sized or tiny. I’ve got hips wide enough that I’m pretty sure I could deliver twins simultaneously. They could just walk out holding hands. Not to mention my big butt, thick thighs and squishy belly. When you are a solid size 18-20, no one says you’re tiny.

“Whoa, hold up there, that’s a lot of words all at once. Let a girl catch up.” I wink at him. “What can I get you to drink? You can sit over there at the table.” It’s the same metal chaired, Formica-covered table that I grew up eating Lucky Charms at. But there’s something comfortable about those vinyl covered chairs in their brown floral print.

He sits and his legs sprawl out in front of him because they are at least seven feet long. “Whatever. Coffee is fine. Or water. I’m not picky.”

“You should be. Life is too short to not be picky.” I set the coffee to brewing and sit at the table with him.

“Life motto?” he asks.

“No, but maybe it should be.” I pull down the left shoulder of my shirt and put my back to him. “It’s a cliche now, but this was my first tattoo.”

His finger rubs across the words I know are inked into my skin and I shiver at his touch. Wow. Haven’t had that kind of physical response to a man in a long time. Maybe ever.

“Carpe diem.” His deep timbre comes from directly behind me. “Cliche or not, it’s a good sentiment.”

I spin away from his touch before I do something stupid, like take all my clothes off and offer myself to him. It’s obviously been way too long since I’ve had sex. At least with someone other than myself.

“That coffee maker takes forever to brew.” I laugh and it sounds fake to my own ears. Why am I so nervous? “How about I give you a quick tour so you can see the basics of what needs done and then we can prioritize things?”

He nods and stands. “After you, Pocket.”

chapter

three

Jack

Did I just give her a nickname? Evidently yes. It fits her. And there’s something about her that makes me feel at ease. Not like at the diner when I was tripping all over my words. Here, in Lucy’s house, everything just feels right. She’s easy to be around in a way I don’t think I’ve experienced with any other person.

The tour of the house doesn’t take more than an hour, then I’m sitting back at her kitchen table making my list. The house itself is a gorgeous Colonial revival, probably built around the turn of the previous century. While there’s plenty of work to be done on it, she’s right about that—other than the work in the kitchen—it’s been mostly untouched, which means there are not ugly 80’s bathroom “updates” that will need to be torn out.