Charlie
I never thoughtI’d be looking for someone to take the place of my husband, but here I am. I hate to use the word desperate, but it’s come to that. If I don’t find someone to take his place soon, there’s a good chance my life will go straight down the toilet.
I lock the door behind me, breathe in the ever-present scent of coffee and sugar, and raise all three sets of shades. It’s an hour before dawn, and the darkness soothes me, knowing that most of the town is still warm and snug in their beds. My shop, Sugar Buns, is my everything at this point. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it up and running—with or without my jerk ex-husband.
I make myself push down the stress of being overworked and understaffed as I head to the kitchen and prep the first batch of my famous sticky buns. Baking has always been my therapy. Once the buns are in the oven, I head to the espresso machine and make myself a vanilla latte, and thumb through the latest issue of People magazine. How anyone can stand being a celebrity is beyond me, your life on display for the world to judge. Still, I love reading about them.
The oven dings as soon as I finish the last swig of my coffee—perfect timing. Once I’ve filled the counter and applied a coat of cherry lip gloss, I head to the front door. A long sigh escapes my lips as I grab the plastic “Help Wanted” sign and shuffle it into the window. I’ve barely made it back to the counter when the first customer walks in.
Three hours later, I finally get a break. I’m about to flip the sign in the front window to “be back soon” when the door chimes overhead. I’ve never seen the man standing before me, tall and broad with the most muscular arms I’ve ever seen in real life. As soon as his steely gray eyes meet mine, my body erupts in tingles.
“Morning.” My words are wobbly. I beg myself to get a damn grip. “Can I help you?”
His square jaw remains clenched, and for a brief moment, I wonder if he’s here to hurt me. He’s certainly got the stature for it, and here I am, completely alone with a register filled with cash. He takes a step toward me, and I try not to cower at the sheer size of him. The conflicting feeling of fearing him and wanting him to throw me over the counter and have his way with me jumbles my noggin.
“I saw you had a Help Wanted sign in the front.” His dark blonde brow furrows.
This was the last thing I expected him to say. “Yeah, we’re…I mean, I’m hiring.” My hand taps my chest, and I’m aware of how fast my heart is beating.
“What kind of work is it?” He asks, his face cold and expressionless.
“Well, it’s actually an amalgamation of things.” I clear my throat, wishing I would’ve chosen a different word. “Are you inquiring for yourself?”
His massive chest rises and falls as he lets out a sigh, then brushes his thick palms against his dark-washed jeans. “I am,” he says, “I’m Mick Toliver.” He extends his hand, and I’m suddenly shy to take it, but I fight the fear and press my hand into his. I try my best not to swoon at the subtle strength in his grip.
“Charlie Lowe.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and I have to break eye contact, so he doesn’t see me smiling like a goon. Dangerous or not, this guy is giving me serious hot flashes. He seems harmless, but then again, so did Cameron, my ex-husband. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“Thanks.” He nods, and I lead him over to the table by the window.
“Can I get you a coffee?” I bite my lower lip, unable to stop smiling. It’s like I’m sixteen.
“I’m fine, Miss.”
“You can call me Charlie.” At least he didn’t call me ma’am. “Do you have a resume?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“That’s okay,” I say, even though it’s super unprofessional to look for a job without one but I’m willing to overlook this fact because he’s making my core twitch in a way it hasn’t in a long time. “You can just tell me your work experience.”
We both sit. As soon as we do, I wish I would’ve at least grabbed us each a glass of water. Lord, I’m so nervous sitting close to him that it’s like he’s the one interviewing me.
“So, let me tell you a little about the job before we get into this. It might not even be something you’re interested in.” Judging from his bulky frame, he’d clearly be better suited for construction or something physical. Thinking about Mick sweating over a jackhammer sends a wave of wetness pooling into my panties.
“It’s primarily custodial and handyman work. Occasionally I may need your help at the counter or in the back if I’m overloaded.” I smooth any flyaways from my ponytail that may make me look like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket—damn natural waves. “It’s not very demanding, but it is a position that requires self-supervision.”
“You run this place alone?” He asks.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, pushing aside the hurt of being abandoned in both my marriage and my business. “But I do okay,” I add. “I just need an extra set of hands to do some of the heavy lifting.” I let out a little laugh. Now that I’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop. “The only people who’ve inquired have been high school kids, but I’m not looking for someone with after-school hours.” I meet his steely eyes, surprised at the hint of warmth in his gaze. “This is a full-time, daytime position.”
Mick nods his head once more. A quick silence passes between us, and I wonder if he’s picked up on how desperate I am to have the position filled. When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “So, is this something you’d even be interested in?”
“I think so, yeah.” He licks his full lips, and I wonder what it would feel like to press my mouth against them.
“Geez, I’ve talked a lot.” I brush the thought from my mind. “Why don’t you tell me a little about you and what kind of work you’re looking for. What you’ve done in the past.”
He leans back in his chair, and again, I’m amazed at how thick he is. “I used to work construction for my dad.” I knew it! “And I did a little landscaping right out of high school.” Of course he did! “I also have experience with renovating houses.” Yeah… yeah, you do. This guy is a perfect fit. How in the world did I get so lucky that he walked in randomly off the street and needed a job? I lean forward and rest my chin in my hands, smiling. “But I just spent the last two years in prison, and it’s part of my parole that I get a job.”
Tires screech in my brain.
No…a race car explodes between my ears.
Now that? I did not expect that.