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“You do realize this is why you can’t get a date?”
“Whatever. Look who’s talking. I don’t see you doing any better in your flannel and beard. At least I keep nice and clean for the ladies.” He rubbed his bare chin and chuckled. “You let your hair get any longer and people will start calling you Thorin from that Lord of the Rings movie.”
“I cannot guarantee your safety. Nor will I be responsible for your fate if you continue to diss the beard.”
Jack cackled and slapped Mick on the arm. “You would be the one who can quote the damn character I’m trying to tease you with.”
Mickhumphedand crossed his arms. “Should I go check on the lady in question or will the sheriff be showing up shortly to haul you away for harassment?” Mick leaned to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the shop across the street. He’d seen the lights when he’d arrived to open the store, but hadn’t seen anyone actually in the space. Certainly not a gorgeous-high-heeled female like Jack’d described.
“She’s fine. I just hung up her Matched sign and came over here. Scouts honor.”
Mick purposefully rolled his eyes. “You’re not a scout.”
“When do you get out of this joint? You want to go grab a beer with me at Joe’s?”
Mick cracked his neck from side to side. “Not tonight. I’m closing.” Charlie caught his quick glance and flashed a smile of appreciation. “Catch up with me later this week. When do you leave for the next fishing tournament?”
“Not till next Wednesday.” Jack’s phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. “Got to run, Mick. Talk later, man.”
“No prob.”
His friend hurried out of the shop, rambling something about plane tickets and crappy hotels. Mick’s chest shook, a chuckle rolling all the way through him. “You go ahead and get home, Charlie. It’s only two hours till close. Pete’s picking up his order in a few minutes. But I doubt we’ll have a run of customers in that time I can’t handle.”
“Thanks, boss.”
It was almostdark out when Mick locked up the feed store and started for his truck parked around on the side of the building but yelling—between rumbles of approaching thunder—across the street caught his attention. A distinctly female voice filtered through humid evening air. Storm was on its way.
He waited for a car to pass and then crossed the cobbled street toward the swinging MATCHED sign hanging from the eve of the building.Matched to what? Clothing?Jack had mentioned the woman he’d seen was dressed to the nines. Not the norm for most in this town.
The yelling got louder and Mick couldn’t help smiling at the curses coming from the woman’s mouth. By the sound of things she was teaching her furniture a very harsh lesson. Or it was teaching her something?
He tried to peer through the glass, but the reflective coating did its job well, blocking any attempt to view what was behind it. “Ma’am.” Mick rapped on the glass door. “Everything okay?”
The deadbolt on the door clicked and the door swung open revealing a flash of black hair and two of the damn prettiest cornflower-blue eyes. And those lips. No wonder Jack had been about to bust a gasket about this woman. Those lips were pulled down into the cutest frown he’d ever seen. He wanted to kiss it right off her face.
Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?
“Sorry, I’m just a little frustrated with a desk. I didn’t realize anyone outside could hear me. Between the bottle of wine and the missing pieces, I’ve just about had it.”
“Need a hand?”
She shoved the door wider and flashed a smile that would’ve put the devil himself under a spell. “So much. Thank you.” Her tone spoke to her relief. “I’m Laurel,” she said, extending her hand.
“Mick. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands and he couldn’t help but enjoy the feel of her small soft fingers entwined with his. “Where’s the culprit?” Mick asked, stepping into the office space fighting to hide the amusement in his voice. “Not just the desk, I see.”
There were pieces of furniture everywhere. Little bags of screws and dowels. Paper pamphlets littered the floor like someone had turned over a recycle bin. A hammer and a few screwdrivers lay in the center of the room with their tags still attached. It looked like an IKEA had projectile vomited its entire catalog.
“I started on one and couldn’t figure it out. So I tried another.” Her frown had returned and genuine worry darkened her angular face. “I know what to do, but most of it I swear I need eight hands to follow the directions.”
“Did you open everything?” He tugged on his beard and tried to decide where to start.
“Probably,” she answered, her tone sheepish. Embarrassment brought a lovely pink color to her creamy cheeks.
“What do you need first?”
“The desk,” she answered, gesturing to a large stack of different-sized pieces.
He followed her over, picking up the pamphlet from the top of the stack. Flipping through a few pages, his eyes crossed at all the direction. She wasn’t kidding about needing eight arms. “I’m going to need you to hold the top panel still while I attach the sides.”
