AllFreeNovel
Share Us
In his head, the answer to the rhetorical question rang clear as a bell. No one compared to the fair, green-eyed beauty standing before him. On his lips, something more flippant hovered. Maybe a joke about how his Facebook fan base would never stand for it, but she had already redirected her attention.
At Oven Guy, who had pulled himself to a lumbering stand and was writing up his chit of can’t-help-you-a-damn.
“Hi, there.” Her bright grin became impossibly wider.
Visibly startled, the repairman ran thick fingers through his untidy hair. “Uh, hello,” he offered cautiously.
“Looks like hard work,” Jules said, her eyelashes fluttering. That’s right, fluttering.
Juliet Kilroy did not have a flirty bone in her body. Not once had he seen her even talk to a guy with any intention beyond ordering a Sprite in a bar. Of course, as long as he’d known her, she was either pregnant or mom to a rambunctious kid, so flirting was fairly low on her list.
But it sure looked like she was flirting now. With Oven Guy.
“So two weeks to get that part?” She loosed a breathy sigh and chewed on her bottom lip. Oven Guy’s cheeks flushed and he stood up a little straighter, and damn if Tad didn’t blame him. That lip snag thing was very cute. And very sexy.
Defenseless in the face of Jules’s charm assault, the man’s hands fell into a distinct caress of his tool belt.
Jules looked down at the belt with wide-eyed innocence, as if the notion of belt-stroking and all it implied had only just occurred to her. Slowly, she returned her gaze with a slide up Oven Guy’s body.
“What are you doing?” Tad asked her and then wished he hadn’t because his voice registered more peevish than curious.
“Practicing,” she said without taking her eyes off the non-repair guy. “You don’t know how much we’d appreciate it if you could get that part sooner. The pizza needs of the masses must be appeased.” Was it Tad’s imagination or did her accent sound a little posher than usual?
“Practicing what?” Tad asked, no longer caring how put out he sounded. Ignoring him, she kept her green-gold gaze trained on her target.
“I could probably put in a special order,” Oven Guy said, his blush now saturating his hairline. “Have it in a couple days.”
“Lovely man,” she said with a fire-bright smile.
Lovely Man returned a shy grin and backed out of the kitchen, muttering something about calling with an update the next day.
“Sorted,” Jules said, rubbing her hands together in satisfaction.
“What in the hell was that?” Tad asked.
“It’s a well-known fact that honey gets the bee. Do you want your special part or not?”
If it meant he had to witness that display again, that would probably be a whopping great negative.
“Thanks,” he said, trying not to sound like a curmudgeon and failing.
“You’re welcome.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, an action that molded the shapeless material to her figure in a way he should not be noticing. “Where’s Long Face?”
That was the nickname she had given to Jordie the chef, who usually wore the lugubrious expression of a man with the weight of the world on his reedy shoulders. The bastard hadn’t sounded all that sad when he called to quit this morning. Tad filled her in on his tale of woe, glad for the distraction and gratified when she made sympathetic noises in all the right places.
Moving her gaze around the room, she rocked that look where she wanted to say something, usually some criticism about how he was mistreating his latest woman or the fact that he drove too damn fast on his Harley. As well as being one of his closest friends, she was unafraid of playing annoying sister and nagging mother hen.
“Out with it,” he said, eager to hear what she had to say. Her smart-mouthed take on his occasionally imperfect decision-making was often the highlight of his day.
“No working pizza oven, no vittles, and a dining room about to be filled with the harshest critics known to man. You’re in deep doo doo, mate.”
Shit. In all the excitement, he had forgotten to cancel the trial tasting of his now non-existent small plates menu. Luckily, the impatient herd about to descend on his fledgling bar was his family and not Chicago’s rapacious food cognoscenti.
He had planned trendy accompaniments to go with the extensive wine list. Duck rillettes. Porcini and shallot flat bread. The expected selection of artisanal cheese and charcuterie. Items that didn’t require too much effort and absorbed healthy mark-ups. He might expand the menu later but he didn’t want to overextend himself starting out. For now, it was all about the wine—especially today when there was no hot food on offer.
At least there were cold cuts. He strode over to the prep station and uncovered a couple of platters.
“Here, make yourself useful, wench,” he said to Jules. “Take this out to the horde.”
