Page 19 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
CHAPTER EIGHT
“SO WHAT’S NEW?” Carley asked.
Samantha was glad to be on the phone—if they were face to face, her friend would be able to see that something was bothering her. “Not much.”I can’t stop thinking about a ditch-digger.
“How’s the library project?”
“So far, so good,” she said cheerfully.Except for the fact that my foreman kisses me as though I was paying him for it.
“Are you avoiding all those unsuitable guys we talked about?”
“I don’t have time foranyguy,” Samantha said wryly and, she hoped, convincingly. Then she bit her lip. “Although there is this attorney in my building.”
“Ooh, do tell.”
“We’ve just had a couple of conversations in the hallway. And the last time he saw me, I was covered in mud from head to toe.”
“How on earth did that happen?”
“I, uh, fell on the job site.”Into the arms of a manwho’s gotten under my skin like a drug.“How about you? Any promising prospects?”
Before Carley could answer, Samantha’s doorbell rang.
“Hang on, Carley. Someone’s at the door.”
She walked to the door and looked through the peephole to see Stewart Estes’s angular, boyish face smiling back at her.
“Who is it?” Carley asked.
“My neighbor,” Samantha murmured in surprise. “The one I was telling you about.”
“He’s making his move,” Carley said with a squeal. “Successful and suitable—see, Samantha, I told you that if we held out, we’d meet someone worth investing our time in. Set down the phone. I want to hear his voice.”
“What?”
“Indulge me. I’m living vicariously through you.”
Sam sighed. “Okay.” She set down the phone and thought about Carley’s words. Successful.Suitable.Stewart Estes would be a welcome distraction from the inappropriate feelings she had for Teague Brownlee.
Pleased, she swung open the door. Stewart stood there, dressed in dark slacks and a thin, dressy T-shirt that skimmed his lean shoulders and arms. His hair was shiny with gel, and his tiny glasses were Versace. His skin shone with the glow of a recent facial—these days men with money took good care of themselves.
“Stewart. Hi.”
“Hi, Samantha.” He smiled and held up an emptymeasuring cup. “This might sound corny, but I was wondering if I could borrow some sugar.”
A flimsy excuse, but flattering nonetheless. “Sure. Come on in.”
He stepped inside and hummed in approval. “Nice place. I like your decorating style.”
“Thank you.”
He took in her casual black velour sweat suit and appreciation flared in his eyes. “And you look…different than the last time I saw you.”
She flushed and gave a little laugh. “That was a bad day at the office.”
His eyebrows rose. “Where do you work?”
She told him the name of the firm. “But the day you saw me, I had been on a job site and I’d…had an accident.”
