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Now he’s trying to stick his nose into Devon’s business? I won’t be having that. “The point of the window isn’t for customers to have something to look at.” I retort, immediately realizing it isn’t the gotcha I’d hoped it would be.
His smirk grows wider. “No?”
I plant my hands on my hips, not caring that it probably makes me look like a petulant five-year-old. I’m done with this guy. “No. It’s not.”
He takes half a step closer, full of broad-shouldered confidence. “What’s the point of the window, then?” He thinks he got me, but he is dead wrong.
I recite the story I’ve told customers a thousand times before. “In the sixties, a man named Lou bought this old gas station and turned this half into a diner. He rented the other half out to a woman named Nora, who turned her side into a bookstore, and they fell in love. They were so head-over-heels for each other that they had the giant wall of windows put up so they could see each other all day long, never missing a moment of their partner serving lunches or stacking books.” I watch for the softening of his posture and the “aww” face that people inevitably get whenever I tell this story, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, he scoffs. “You don’t believe that, do you?” What iswiththis guy? Of course, I believe it. I just told it, didn’t I? Sure, the whole thing is a little far-fetched, but that’s what makes it a good story.
“They used to come in all the time. Nora loved to tell thestory about how they got together,” I tell him, tightening my hands where they’re still planted on my hips. “They’re the ones who sold it to Mel. In case you missed it while you were eavesdropping earlier, Mel’s the guy who sold this building to some jackass after years of promising he’d sell it to me.”
He furrows his brows, bringing a momentary flash of confusion to his sculpted face before it returns to his stern stare. “Sounds like maybe Mel’s the jackass.”
My cheeks heat with frustration. “Mel is an exemplary jackass, but that’s the thing about jackasses. No one has a monopoly on the title. Lots of jackassery going around.” The black-haired man’s gaze is heavy on me. He’s thinking something really loudly, but I can’t decipher what it is. “Do you want a drink?” I ask him a final time.If he doesn’t order now, he can fucking leave.
His gaze narrows, considering something that probably isn’t his order, but actually answers me, “Coffee, black.”
Of course, this guy drinks black coffee.There are two types of people who order black coffee. The first type is the easiest, sweetest, lowest maintenance customer you’ll ever meet. The second category is the one he clearly falls into—condescending asshole.
“Size, room, name?” I ask. How hard is it to know your entire coffee order, black coffee man?
He doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Medium. No. Luke.”So, he knew but didn’t say?He must be the kind of gorgeous person who never had to develop manners. Or a personality. I bet he doesn’t have one of those either.The muscles in his arm strain against the sleeve of his shirt as he reaches for his wallet and a thick strand of onyx hair falls across his forehead, his deep brown eyes never leaving mine.Yeah, definitely no personality.
“Luke,” I repeat back to him as my blue marker squeaks hisname onto a compostable paper cup with a turbine printed on the side.
“Yes, Luke.” He’s smirking again. In the five minutes that I’ve known this man, I’ve gone from being dumbstruck over that smirk to being glad it’ll be out of my life after I get him this damn black coffee, but then adds, “It’s short for Lucas. Lucas Pine.”
I almost drop the cup. Of course, this obscenely gorgeous and equally frustrating man is my new landlord.Of course. That is precisely the day I’m having. I should have known. He’s the one who bought my building out from under me. He’s the one taking away Station 19 and everything I’ve ever worked for.
Stopping the blush from overtaking my cheeks again is a losing game, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold my ground. I plant my feet, taking up as much space as my five-three frame can.
Leveling him with my best Devon-glare impression, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “The faucet in the back leaks. The faucet in the bathroom leaks. The door to the parking lot in the back always gets jammed. It’s not safe. Speaking of the parking lot and safety, there’s only one light out there that isn’t burnt out...” I continue to list every little thing that could possibly fall under his responsibilities as a landlord.Turbineis still mine for six months, and I’m sure as hell not going to make them easy on him.
Chapter 2
Luke
“Looks good on ya, kid.”-Luke’s Grandad, Ernie Hudson, on Luke’s fifth birthday after gifting him his first bicycle.
Before Allie and I ever spoke, she decided I was a jackass, and I decided she was the most stunning woman I’d ever seen.
It only took one look at her through our shared glass wall to stop me in my tracks. She’s flawless. Thick thighs, full hips and rounded breasts create an exaggerated hourglass shape on her short frame. Big green eyes pop against her pale skin, and rosy cheeks and plump lips define her sweet face.
She wears her emotions open, raw, and beautiful for anyone to see. Hands moving for emphasis, cheeks blushing at the slightest trigger, chestnut-haired ponytail bouncing along with every word she says. I was captivated.
When I walked over there to introduce myself, I realized all the heated emotion I’d seen through the window was directed at me. She believes I’ve fucked her over by buying Station 19, and she tried to punish me with a lengthy “fix-it” list. But I’ll fixanything that needs it. Saves me from doing it later when I’ve taken over her side of the building.
Allie rushes toward me when I walk behind her counter after retrieving my toolbox from the truck. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The counter forms an L-shape, with the register and bakery case on the shorter arm, parallel to the front door. The long arm runs parallel to the glass wall, almost all the way to Turbine’s back door, with the entrance to the kitchen behind it. She reaches me in a huff, grazing my arm with her perky breasts as she crosses to block my entrance to the kitchen.Fuck me, that was nice.
With only a couple of feet between us, I have a clear view of the freckles that detail her plump cheeks and the nose that curves up a touch at the tip. I know enough about eyebrows from my little sister to understand that Allie’s have been perfectly crafted into their shape. She’s arching one at me now, which I’m sure she intends to be intimidating. It only makes her look sweeter, or at worst, like she’s overly curious about what I’ll say next.
I lift my toolbox toward the swinging door to the kitchen. “Figured I’d start with the faucet in the back.”
“You can’t do that.” She puts her hands on her hips in another move that she means to be threatening but isn’t.
