Page 5 of Flare

“Alec Williamson?”

Kip nodded. “Six foot two of blond-haired, lanky sexiness, with a strut to die for and cheekbones that could take out an eye, not to mention an epic arse I’d pay good money to get my hands around.”

I laughed. “Roll that tongue of yours back in your mouth, young wolf.”

Kip grinned. “Now, where would be the fun in that? I have a vacant notch on my bedpost just waiting for his name. Watch this space.”

I shook my head. “You don’t chaseanyone. And I haven’t noticed Alec looking your way.”

Kip waved a hand, a dismissive hand. “Baby,everyonelooks my way.”

I laughed because he was right. Kip was a dangerously pretty young man—auburn locks, classic cheekbones, and startling green eyes. He was also blisteringly smart-mouthed, surprisingly kind—although he hid it well—and notoriously picky about the men who flocked to his flame. In the eight months he’d worked for me, I hadn’t known a single one pass whatever mental checklist he carried in order to earn a second date.

He’d responded to my store window ad without a single fashion reference to his name. I’d been sold before he even opened his mouth after watching the twenty-four-year-old rearrange my sock display and polish the glass counter, all while I was busy interviewing another applicant. Both looked a million times better after his attention and the fact he arrived looking gorgeous—in a pair of skinny black leather trousers and a scarlet billowy chiffon shirt that made him look like the most delicious strawberry gelato ever—sealed the deal. I knew my customers would love him.

And they did.

Kip exchanged a lingering look with the blond businessman, then grabbed a store card to write his number on the back.

“I’m sorry, is your job getting in the way of your dating life?”

“Watch and learn, grasshopper. The hallmark of every great shop assistant is personalised service. That’s what you told me, right?” Kip flourished his pen.

“To be fair, I hadn’t envisioned solicitation when I’d said it.” I gave him a stern look, which, as usual, went nowhere.

“Ah, but there’s payment and then there’spayment.” Kip waggled his eyebrows. “Any minute now that delectable man is going to buy something he doesn’t need just to get the chance to chat, and then, and only then, will he get the card. It’s hardly gonna be a sacrifice to share a coffee or while away a few hours in those arms.”

“Excuse me.” The blond approached the counter with an expensive black silk shirt in his hand. “I’ll take this, thanks.”

“Of course.” Kip fired me a smug grin and reached for the shirt while the man ogled him as if I wasn’t even in the same universe.

“An excellent choice,” Kip purred and rang up the sale. “You’ll knock ’em dead in this.”

Oh dear god.“I’m gonna grab a coffee. Want one?” I went to fetch my wallet.

“Double mocha with cream and cinnamon, please.”

The blond man grinned at Kip. “Mmm, I do love a sweet drink.”

I barely contained my eye-roll. If blondie thought Kip was sweet, he was in for a shock, and I’d pay good money to be a fly on that particular wall when he realised his mistake.

“Back in twenty.” I left the two men flirting at the desk and headed for the front door.

Kip’s voice followed me out. “Here’s one of our cards to take with you, just in case you have any questions.”

My mouth curved up in a huge smile.

CHAPTERTWO

Rhys

The queueat the café was longer than expected, and it was thirty minutes before I made it back with two coffees and a couple of donuts from the bakery just down the street. The scent of cinnamon and sugar perpetually hung in the air like a tempting fog, and my waistline had definitely suffered since moving in. I paused before crossing the road, revelling at the sight of the Flare label above the front door of the 120-year-old building.

The elegant two-storey brick house was divided into two premises and the half Flare currently occupied had been empty for some time. Yes, it had needed some work, but it sat a few streets west of downtown Queen Street, close enough to be relevant and on a popular thoroughfare to the train station. I’d been sold on the place almost immediately, wooed by the cute wrought iron Juliet balconies above each of the entrances and the large oak tree that washed the front of the store in dappled shade throughout summer. The original glass entrance door was flanked either side by large picture windows that bathed the store in natural light and begged passers-by to take a look.

All in all, the pretty building sat like a prim lady, knees crossed and hands in her lap, a pretty flower in a sea of bland offices.

At some point the building had been split in two and the second front door led to an upmarket tattoo parlour with a client list that included most of New Zealand’s who’s who. The owner, Leon, had been thrilled to finally have a neighbour, and together, along with our families, we’d put in a lot of hours and elbow grease to bring the building up to scratch.

---