Page 7 of Late to Love

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs? Working?” I emphasize the last word.

He tilts the glass up to empty it, and how is it that the man freakingswallowingis hot? Shit. I am unwell.

The glass hits the counter with aclinkand his eyes narrow. “I told you, I wanted to check on things up here.”

I push off the counter and set my now-emptied glass in the sink.See? You may set your glass on the counter, but here I am, going one better and putting mine in the sink. So there.“You’ve checked. Now leave. I have things to do.”

I sway my hips more than strictly necessary as I walk away, confident he’s watching. I’m a curvy girl, and even in overalls, I’m well aware of what I’ve got to work with.

Behind me, I hear his grunt of frustration and bite back a smile. The man is beyond fun to irritate.

But also? I might want a little more than to just mess with him. He’s older than me—at least ten years, but maybe more, it’s hard to tell—but why not? He’s hot as hell, and something tells me he’d be a lot of fun in bed. Those tattooed arms wrapped around me as he flattened me into the mattress? Yes, please.

After he’s gone and I’m deep in concentration, measuring the space and brainstorming on how to make it cozy, my dad calls.

“Hey, Dad.” I put the phone on speaker and toss it onto the floor beside me. “What’s up?”

“Just checking on you.”

I bristle. What is it with these men and the need to check in on me? I’m not a child. “Everything’s fine. Doing the job.” It’s nearly impossible to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

“Good, good. How is it over there? Anthony being nice?”

“Anthony is working. Same as me.” When has this man ever wanted to be this involved? The answer is never. But in fairness, he’s never been the one to do any kind of interior work. He owns the hardware store. I’m the one who insisted on learning how to use damn near every tool in the store. I’m the one who insisted on building an infinite number of bird houses, then mailboxes, then flower boxes, and on and on, until I was smelling of sawdust instead of the beach like the rest of my grade school friends. I have never been on par with most people my own age—not when I was a kid, and certainly not now. “But it’s wide open and beautiful,” I answer. “Lots of space to do just about anything he’ll let me do.”

“When will you be coming by the store? I have some invoices I need your help with. The software’s giving me trouble.”

“I’ve shown you what to do, Dad. You have to pay attention next time.”

“Why pay attention when I know you’re going to do it?” he jokes.

Yeah, it’s not funny. I’ve explained that I’m working to get my own shop off the ground, but I don’t think he’s really let it sink in. Like, at all. I’ve always worked with Dad, and it was only recently that I started thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was time to branch off on my own. Not that I’m ready to do it just yet, and not that Dad’s ready to hear it.

Sighing, I say, “I’ll be there soon. I’m in the middle of things over here. Talk to you later.”

Chapter4

Anthony

“THANKS FOR COMING.” I stand, and the kid’s eyes widen a bit before he stands and stammers a thank you, then turns and bolts before I can so much as round the desk.

I swear the kids get younger and stupider. I make a note to call him later and tell him he’s got the part-time job for the summer, then wipe a hand down my beard. It’s been the week from hell, and to make matters worse, it’s Thursday. Which means it’s Darcy’s bowling league’s night.

Although, the word “league” is a little strong to describe the absolute atrocity that is the team’s abilities. But it’s not my place to judge. I make sure their lane is always reserved and keep my opinions to myself, no matter how much I want to correct every bad move they make. Locals keep the place open through the winter, and even as we’re kicking into summer, my job is to make sure they have everything they need. Nothing more, nothing less.

The past week has been far more challenging than I thought it would be. Darcy is fucking everywhere.Everywhere. She’s up in the loft before I can finish my coffee, despite my repeated requests for her to come later, and I swear she is all I can smell. Like summer-ripe watermelon and cherries andGod dammit,I need it to stop.

I stalk through Hall’s Balls, checking out the individual areas as I go. The office is behind the welcome area at the front of the building. Right next to it are the pinball machines and other games geared for the smaller set, and then two Skee-ball lanes. Across from that area and down a bit are the five pool tables. They tend to get going later in the day, after the game area empties out, meaning I never have to worry about the little kids annoying the pool players or the pool players being scary to the littles. Next up is my bar, which is where I’m usually stationed. I can see the whole place from behind there, and that’s exactly how I like it. Restrooms are across from the bar. Then the bowling lanes, four of them, to the left of the bar, and a couple of party rooms across from the lanes.

I love this place. I have put my heart into it for the past decade, and love everything about it. It may not be the snazziest, or the coolest one with the most up-to-date games and latest ways to take visitors’ money, but it’s mine. The building is on its way to being mine, too.

That’s my only comfort right now as I take my place back behind the bar as the evening kicks into gear. I’ve already stocked the beer and any liquor that needed it, and of course, the bar itself is wiped down and as clean as can be. You can’t have a family game center and have a gross bar; it won’t work like that.

A familiar figure in blue slides onto the stool out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to see my brother Ox, Lucky’s chief of police. He grins. “Hey, big brother.”

I nod in response, my lips tilting into enough of a smile that he knows I’m happy to see him.

His grin only broadens in response. “There it is! That’s a huge smile.Huge. I can see those pearly whites and everything!” he jokes.

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