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1
HANNAH
“They’re chopping wood half-naked again.”
I stepped back from the window of our food truck and looked over at my sister. Tinley was staying with me for a couple of weeks while I helped get my boss’s food truck going. Every morning this week, we’d come to this worksite, providing coffee and breakfast to the hard-working guys on the Blackbear Bluff logging crew.
Tinley shrugged and took another bite of the apple fritter. “Tell me when they put their shirts back on. Show-offs don’t impress me.”
I looked out the window again. The guy they called Wes stood in front of the tree stump, his muscles gleaming in the sun. He lifted the axe and swung it at lightning speed toward the wood.
Thwack.
The sound cut through the air, bouncing off the trees and causing Tinley to jump. Since she wasn’t watching, she wasn’t prepared for the axe to land. I looked at her and when I turned back toward the window, I was the one who jumped.
“Coffee. Black.”
The words came from a man standing in the window. He had broad shoulders like the other guys, but unlike the other guys, this one’s shoulders were clothed. They’d stay clothed too. This guy didn’t participate in these daily competitions.
“Sure,” I said. Then, for the fourth time that week, I asked a question I knew would get a no. “Would you like an apple fritter with that? Maybe a banana nut muffin?”
The guy shook his head, but his penetrating stare made me nervous. It went all the way to my heart, maybe even lower. Okay, definitely lower. This guy just took control of every nerve ending.
“Hey, Tucker,” one of the guys called out behind him. “You going to wuss out on us again?”
I saw the muscle in the guy’s jaw twitch. Tucker. That was his name. I liked that name—strong, sexy. It fit.
“Give me one of something,” he said. “Whatever your specialty is. Something that takes a while to eat.”
I held in a smile. I’d noticed this guy sitting off to himself while everyone else joked around and had fun. It made me curious about him. What was his story? Why did he seem to prefer his own company to the company of others? And why did I relate so well to that?
“You should offer him one of our sweetheart muffins.” My sister pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the box that held them. “Those take a while to eat.”
I flashed her a look, but her attention was on the items in front of her. Tinley had this thing about our grandma’s muffin recipe. I thought it was complete nonsense, but our grandmother, who we called Birdy, swore this muffin recipe brought together my grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles.
We’d yet to try it outside the family, which was exactly why I’d pushed back at Tinley’s suggestion that we make a batch and sell it.
“I’ll take one of those,” Tucker said. “And a few extra napkins.”
“Planning to be messy?”
The words slipped out of me, sounding a lot more flirtatious than they should have. He was a customer. I should be professional.
But wasn’t flirting encouraged? It was the very reason my boss came out here in short shorts and a tank top. My shorts were a little longer, but the tank top did little to disguise my ample cleavage under this pink polka-dot apron.
That comment just brought a confused stare from the guy. Then he glanced at the card reader.
“What’s my total?” he asked.
So, he wasn’t into flirting with his barista. Got it.
“Here you go.” I slid the screen around to face him. “I’ll get that coffee for you.”
My hands were shaking as I made what was a very basic order. Most of these guys were black coffee types, but they did have a couple of lattes in the mix. There’d probably be more if it weren’t for all the macho one-upmanship on these job sites.
“One coffee,” I said in my most cheerful voice.
I had a smile plastered on my face, but deep down, I was just hoping he didn’t notice my hands trembling. If he did, he didn’t say anything. He just reached out to take the cup from me.
