Page 23 of My Merry Mistake
I smile. “Oh, I know.”
His face darkens as he looks away.
Strange.
His gaze drops to the iPad on the table in front of me, and I quickly close the case.
He frowns. “Wait. Are you looking for a new job?”
Is that concern on his face? Why would he care?
“What? No.”
“That looked like a resumé.” He reaches for the tablet, but I smack his hand away.
“Would you get out of my business?” I say, exasperated. “I’m not looking for a job.”
“So, who was that?” He glances back toward the door. “Was it his resumé?”
I scramble to tell a fib that’s close enough to the truth that I won’t get caught. “Yes, I’m looking to hire someone,” I say. “To . . . help out with a few things.”
There. Hopefully it’s enough to make him go away.
But nope. He’s like a puppy who thinks you dropped a peanut in the couch cushions.
“What kind of things?” he asks.
“Finn.”
“Because if you need stuff done around your house—you’re looking at the wrong demographic.”
I frown. “That’s very judgmental.”
“No way that guy has ever used a drill,” he says.
“I don’t need someone who can drill,” I argue, and I can see the cogs turning in his expression. I immediately cringe at my accidental innuendo.
I shoot him a look.
“What?” He feigns innocence. “I didn’t even say anything!”
I pick up my iPad and aimlessly scroll.
“What’s the job?” he asks, nodding toward my tablet. “Maybe I can do it? I’ll save you some money.”
I sigh with a slight laugh. “You can’t.”
“Says who?”
I level his gaze. “Says me.”
He drops his voice. “I have a certain set of skills.”
I give an incredulous look, which seems to be my resting face around him, then stiffen when I see the door to the café open.
Thankfully, it’s two old women—and not my next candidate—who walk in. Eric was here and gone so quickly that I’ve got a bit of time before the next one, but if he’s at all as punctual as his resumé indicates, he’ll be a good twenty minutes early.
“You need to go.”
