Page 4 of Seeking the Mountain Man

I nodded, wiped my hands on my napkin, and reached into my purse. The business card holder stayed in the front pocket. I withdrew it and slid one out. Then I set it in the center of the table.

“Heartfelt Matches,” Will read. “Kenzie Vogel, owner.”

He looked up from the card, those gorgeous eyes narrowed. Then he set down the card, picked up his fork and knife, and cut a generous chunk of meat. I waited, barely breathing, as he slipped the slice of steak into his mouth and chewed.

Was he doing that on purpose? Trying to get me all worked up? He knew I was waiting for a response to what he’d learned, but he wasn’t giving it to me.

I shouldn’t let him see that he was getting to me. But I was aware of his eyes on me as I picked up my sandwich and slipped my mouth around it.

What was he thinking? Was he wondering what else I could slide between my lips?

No. I couldn’t think like that. I was here to pair the single guys in this town with my clients in nearby Charlotte. Getting involved myself was out of the question.

Finally, he finished chewing and took a swig of beer. Then he spoke.

“You fix people up, huh?” he asked.

That was it. He was a man of few words. And he was driving me crazy in a way that should’ve been bad.

But was really, really good.

“Clients come to me to help them find Mr. Right,” I said. “The problem is, there’s a shortage of those.”

“Of what?”

“Mr. Rights.”

He rolled his eyes and sat back. “So thisisabout the article.”

“I read it, yes, but I’m not a reporter.”

“But it brought you here.”

I couldn’t argue with that. And here I sat in a delivery company uniform that I’d bought online. Turned out it wasn’t even legit. The logo was fake, according to him.

“The article claimed there’s a shortage of women here,” I said, having just swallowed another grape. “I can bring women to you.”

Well, not him personally. But to the guys of Blackbear Bluff. In fact, I didn’t like the idea of matching this guy with someone else.

“These women of yours,” Will said, jabbing a french fry in my direction. “They look like you?”

For once, I was speechless. I had no idea how to answer that question. But I had to say something.

“I have a variety of clients,” I finally pushed out. “I matchmake based on personal preferences as well as compatibility.”

He was already shaking his head before I reached the end of that. But he chomped down his french fry and picked up his beer before speaking again.

“Are they hot like you or…?”

He didn’t finish that sentence. I could pretend I didn’t know what he was asking, but I was intrigued by where it might go.

Yes, I could play his game. I could play it and win.

“Areyourfriends hot like you?” I asked.

At that, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So you think I’m hot, huh?”

Okay, maybe I wasn’t winning this game. “And you think I’m hot.” I shrugged, but my heart was racing. I ignored it and pressed on. “Tell me a little about your friends. The single ones.”

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