Page 48 of Late to Love

“It’s just for fun, Anthony,” Devon pipes up. “But the lessons are great. It’s my turn—tell me how I can do this better.” She steps up and Anthony watches her.

Half an hour later, we’ve all received personalized guidance from Anthony, and he’s gone back behind the bar.

Devon turns to me. “Ahem. What’s going on there?”

“What’s going on where?” I ask, hopefully sounding as innocent as possible.

“Between you and the bartender,” Agatha says. “Which is too bad, because I had a really nice young man I wanted to introduce you to.”

Repressing the shiver at the idea of Agatha setting me up with someone, I continue. “There’s nothing going on.”

Amanda widens her eyes at me, but Agatha and Devon can’t see her.

“Well, if there isn’t anything going on with you two, then maybe there should be,” Devon teases, her eyes on the bar behind me. “He’s nice.”

He’s nice all right. Especially his mouth. And his hands. And holy shit, his cock. But I don’t say any of that.

Agatha titters. “I don’t know if I’d call him nice, dear, but he sure looks like he could throw you around in bed.”

I nearly choke on the dregs of my margarita. “Excuse me?”

She rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother responding.

Devon and Amanda cackle. Devon says, “I have a brother-in-law like him. Still waters run deep, that’s all I’m saying.”

I swear, between her and her husband, I’m beginning to think those two have a whole story or five to tell.

“Come on.” I step up to reset the scoreboard. “One more round?”

Chapter18

Darcy

AFTER BOWLING, I head home. It’s still early, and as delightful as it might be to watch Anthony tend bar and ogle his ass, I have things to do. I head out to the garage, the latest order from my so-tiny-it-barely-exists business burning a hole in my brain. It’s nothing huge, but I keep reminding myself that even the biggest companies started out small.

Tonight’s order is for Devon and Aaron, and pretty straightforward. They want a Shaker-inspired table, but I’ll put a few subtle design elements in there that will make it uniquely mine: where a Shaker design is all straight lines, I’ll throw a rounded edge in there, maybe a leaf-inspired design going down the top third of the legs. Nothing that’s too intense, but enough so that when you stop to look at it, all you can think is how beautiful it is.

I throw on some Noah Kahan and set to it, donning my goggles and turning the lathe on to begin shaping one of the legs. It isn’t until I’ve sanded the piece and turned the lathe off that I realize someone is in here with me, and I turn to see none other than Anthony, watching me with that signature grumpy look of his.

What’s interesting is that at this point, I know that this is simply the way he looks when he’s studying something intently. He’s not mad or even grumpy, exactly; he’s simply observing.

“Hey, Mr. Hall,” I grin over at him and nestle my goggles on the top of my head.

He stays where he is, propped against the garage opening with his arms crossed over his massive chest. His hazel eyes study me. “Hi.”

My lips lift. “What brings you to my side of the world?”

“A guy can’t come over to see you without getting the third degree?”

I snort. “One question does not the third degree make.”

He shrugs and lets that one movement tell me everything he thinks about my statement. After a moment, he continues, “What are you making?”

“A table.” I glance back at the lathe before meeting his assessing gaze again. “Working on one of the legs, but I don’t think I got it right. I’ll try again tomorrow.” I was going to try again tonight, but Anthony being here isfarmore interesting.

He steps into the garage, clearly wanting my permission to get closer. I motion him over, hoping he doesn’t ask what’s under the enormous sheet. Because that’s his, and I’m nowhere near ready for him to see it yet. Hell, I’m not ready for him to even know what it is.

“Looks perfect to me,” he says now, looking down at the length of oak held in the lathe’s bracings.

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