Page 10 of Falling for Her

“You,” I spit at her.

“You.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Mister-Smash-Into-Me-and-Then-Check-Me-Out-When-I-Walk-Away.” Her voice is loud, and I glance next door where the neighbors are coming out to walk their dog.

“Come inside.” I move away from the door, not wanting to have this conversation where people might hear. It’s enough that the whole town was talking about my divorce when it happened.

She steps into the house, and I get a whiff of her vanilla perfume. “This is definitely nicer than where I thought you lived,” she states.

My eyebrows pinch together. “What does that mean?”

“I pictured you living in, like, a forest”—she looks around then back at me—“under tree stumps, places like that.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Finley.” I look at her hand. “The gentlemanly thing to do would be to shake my hand and tell me your name.”

“I didn’t get that memo,” I retort, reaching out instead of doing what I want to do, which is to put my hands on my hips. “You know, since I live under tree stumps and all.”

“I guess I was wrong.” She looks around at my house as our hands move up and down in a handshake.

“You came into town today. Clocked you going twenty miles over the speed limit.” I drop her hand.

“Um, are you sure that was me?”

“I remember the make and model of your vehicle.”

“I don’t own a one-of-a-kind vehicle,” she fires back.

“I bet if I checked, it would be the same license plate.”

She thinks about that for a moment. “Okay, well, did you clock that on radar or are you just assuming?”

“Does it matter? You weren’t going the speed limit. That means you’re careless with the way you drive.”

“That was one time.” She holds up her finger. “How do you know I wasn’t speeding to get away from someone? What if I had an emergency?” She throws up her hands. “You didn’t even check up on me. Way to protect the people.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her face is one-thousand-percent serious, leaving me speechless. The only thing going through my head now is: I’m never going to find anyone.

CHAPTER FOUR

FINLEY

“Are you kidding me?” I gawk at him. “Is this how you interview everyone?” I don’t know if I’m asking him the actual question; words are just flying out of my mouth. “It’s no wonder no one wants to work for you.” Maybe pissing off your potential boss before you even interview for the job isn’t the best idea, but I just can’t help it.

“Are you kidding me right now?” He folds his arms over his chest, and that just makes him seem bigger than he is. And he’s already pretty fucking buff. I thought he was King Kong–shaped when he smashed into me, but I assumed it was because of his uniform. Now that he’s just wearing a T-shirt, I can tell he spends some time in the gym.

“I most certainly am not.” I mimic his stance by folding my arms over my chest, but I don’t think I’ll get the same reaction as he does. “How many interviews have you had?”

All he does is raise his eyebrows.

“That look right there means it’s a lot.” I grimace. “So I think it’s safe to say that you’re the problem and not everyone else.”

Again, I should tell my mouth to shut up. It almost feels as if, driving over the city lines, a brand-new person has emerged, and she’s not going to take any shit from anyone anymore. My whole life—with my parents, with my friends, and especially with my soon-to-be ex-husband—I’ve bitten my tongue when I should have said something, anything. I stayed quiet and in the background, not ruffling any feathers.

“You know nothing about the other people I’ve interviewed, so you turning it around and pinning it on me—” I swear I see the vein at the side of his temple throbbing, and from the way his chest is heaving, he’s either really freaking pissed, or he’s turned on. I’m going to say that with the way his eyes are almost in slits, he’s pissed off.

“I’m not pinning it on you, per se,” I cut him off. “I’m just saying that maybe”—I shrug one shoulder—“perhaps, it wasn’t them who were the problem. And I may not have met your son yet, but I don’t think he would have been the problem either.”

“How do you even know that?” The scowl on his face comes out.

“He got 50 percent of his genes from his mother, so chances are in his favor.”

“You know, for someone who wants this job, you are not putting your best foot forward.” His jaw is tight.