by Lacey Black
“Ugh!” I bellow just as my son runs to the counter.
“Aunt Laken, can you read me this one?” he asks, proudly holding up a book on fishing.
“I’d love to,” my sister replies, moving around the counter, taking my son’s hand, and leading him back to the nook.
Instead of joining them, I decide to browse her store, looking for my own book to read. I’ve never been much of a reader, always preferring music and puzzles, but have learned to appreciate a good book as an adult. Of course, there isn’t much time for reading when you’re a single mom with a young son. However, now that he’s five and in kindergarten and doesn’t require my constant attention, I find my own time is a little more flexible.
Since the other shoppers are in the murder mystery section, I head for the romance department. There are a few books I recognize from recent announcements, something about books made into movies for a streaming service and can’t help but notice the big endcap displays my sister has set up. She’s always been a big fan of authors, preferring books over movies, but I imagine having some of her favorites turned into something for the small screen is a big deal, even to her.
One particular cover catches my attention. It features a gorgeous man, his button-down shirt open and his abs on full exhibit. I can’t help but recall another set of abs recently on display. They were rippled and hard, much like the rest of his body. Even as he casually threw his towel over his shoulders, I noticed perfectly sculpted arms and tight thighs you could climb like a tree.
I flip the book over and read the blurb on the back. It immediately grabs my attention, talking about a single mom and the playboy she tamed. A snort leaves my mouth, uncontrolled and very unladylike.
“What’s funny?”
I jump, not realizing my sister’s fiancé had entered the shop and walked up behind me. “Oh, hey, Grayson.”
“Hi, Leni. Whatcha reading?” he asks, his green eyes sparkling like emeralds, even under the lower fluorescent lighting.
“Uh,” I stammer, holding up the book and blushing a bit at the cover. “I was just looking around.”
He smiles, one of those gorgeous smiles that my sister has always found irresistible, even back in high school when she had the ultimate crush on him. “Your sister read that one a few weeks ago. Some of it to me,” he mutters with a far-off grin, as if recalling something I probably don’t want to know about.
“Where are the girls?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation. Grayson was a single dad before he got together with my sister. Harlow and Hayden are his four-year-old twin daughters from his first marriage, a union that ended when she unexpectedly passed away when the girls were only a year old.
“They’re with my mom. I just got off work, so I thought I’d stop by and steal a kiss from my girl before I go pick them up,” he replies.
“Trace will be sad they’re not here,” I tell him, glancing over to where my sister reads to my son.
Grayson snorts out a laugh. “I bet. Last time they were together, I heard they talked him into painting his toenails.”
I can’t help but giggle as well. “They were blue, so he thought it was okay because it was a boy color.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the softest blush tinting his cheeks as he tries to hide his grin. “They’re a lot, especially when they conspire together.”
I wave off his apology. “I wasn’t worried about it. It came off with nail polish remover.”
“Yeah, well, I’d like to apologize anyway. And for all the things they’ll do in the future.”
A bubble of laughter spills from my mouth. “Well, Trace loves having them around. He says they like getting muddy too, so maybe I need to be apologizing to you.”
Before he can reply, the fast footballs of a runner catch our attention. “Mommy, I want to go fishing like Ernie did in the book!” Trace hollers.
“Shh, don’t yell inside, remember?”
“Oh, sorry.” He turns to my sister and gives her a shy grin. “Thank you for reading to me.”
“You’re welcome, little man. Come back next week, okay?” she says, noticing the man standing beside me. Oh, who am I kidding? She noticed him right away. “Hey, you.”
“We’ll get going,” I add, nodding toward the front counter, where the two shoppers from earlier are standing to make their purchases.
“Sounds good,” my sister replies, though I can tell her attention is already turned to her fiancé as they move to the front of the bookstore.
“Ready to go?” I ask, taking Trace’s hand in my own.
“What’s for dinner?” he asks as soon as we step out onto the sidewalk and toward my car.
“I think Nana said something about spaghetti and garlic toast.”
“Yay!” he proclaims, jumping up and down right where he walks. “I love pasgetti.”
Smiling, I unlock my car doors and help him inside. Trace jumps right into his seat and fastens the buckles. “Ready, Freddie?”
My son starts giggling. “I’m not Freddie. I’m Trace!”
“Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting,” I tease, closing the door and making my way to the driver’s door.
Just before I pull it open, movement down the sidewalk catches my eye. A tall man steps out of Stitches Seamstress carrying a pair of pants. He slides a pair of aviators on his face, his long gait eating up the walkway with ease and confidence. I recognize him instantly.
Malcolm.
I can feel my cheeks instantly heating up, remembering exactly what he’s hiding beneath that finely pressed suit. I need to get away before he can see me and be reminded of my voyeurism last night.
Quickly.
I tug on my door handle and step back into the roadway just as a car comes around the corner. The driver honks his horn and swerves into the other lane, thankfully without causing an accident from oncoming traffic.
Plastering myself against my car, I try to calm my racing heart.
“Are you okay?”
I startle and turn fast. Two big, warm hands grab my arms to keep me from stumbling, only to come face to face with the man I was trying to avoid. “Oh, yes. Thanks.” I offer him a quick, reassuring grin.
“Are you sure? You almost got flattened by a teenager, who clearly rolled that stop sign,” he replies, glaring off in the direction the swiftly moving car went.
I chuckle. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I appreciate you keeping me from falling on my face,” I add, awkwardly. Glancing down, I realize he dropped the pants he was carrying earlier. “Oh no, your pants are down.”
It takes a second before my words register, and when they do, he busts out laughing. “Well, that’s better than not wearing them at all, right?” he replies with a wink.
I swear, if it were possible, I’d love for the road to open up and swallow me whole. That’s the only way to end this mortification. I cover my mouth with my hands. “That’s not…I didn’t mean…oh my God!”
Malcolm chuckles and squats down to grab the hanger, leaving one hand still holding my arm. “I know what you meant, Lenora.”
“I…can’t believe I said that. Or did what I did last night. I’m so sorry, sir.”
He smirks. “Just Malcolm. And it’s all right,” he says leaning forward. “Besides, it’s not the first time someone has walked in on me in an undressed state. Fortunately for me, the last time, Gladys wasn’t wearing her bifocals, which was why she didn’t realize my bathroom was occupied.” He stands up straight and meets my gaze. “But I suspect your vision is much better.” He smiles, perfectly straight, white teeth that could probably do wonderfully dirty things to a woman’s body.
Kill. Me. Now.
“Again,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t want to hear any more apologies. Clearly you didn’t mean to,” he adds.
There’s a knock on the window, and my eyes are drawn down. “I have to go to the bathroom!” Trace hollers through the door. “Bad!” he adds, reaching down and holding himself fo
r good measure.
“I’m so sorry, but I need to go,” I state quickly, reaching for the door handle.
Malcolm beats me to it though, pulling open the door and stepping aside. “I have a bathroom at City Hall, if that would help,” he says, eyeing the back seat with curiosity.
“Thank you for the offer, but I only live around the corner. We can make it home,” I insist, slipping into my car.
As I reach for the door, he pushes it closed. I fire up my car and roll down the window. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Lenora.”
“My friends call me Leni,” I state, putting my car in drive. “Oh, and I’m very sorry for making you drop your drawers.”
My words register.
My God!
“I’m going to stop talking now. Goodbye, Malcolm,” I say, as I pull from the parking spot and pull into the street, heading around the square to get back to my place.
Before I turn the corner, however, I glance in the rearview mirror, only to find Malcolm standing in the same place I left him. He doesn’t seem concerned that someone could whip around the corner and hit him. He’s just standing there, watching me drive away.
A shiver of awareness slips down my spine, but I ignore it.
The last thing I need is to notice someone like Malcolm Wright.
Worse, the last thing I need is someone like Malcolm Wright noticing me.
Not that I have too much to worry about there. I’m a single mom with wide birthing hips and a big ass. I wear yoga pants yet haven’t attended one yoga class in my entire life. I clean houses and businesses and own the town laundromat. Hell, I clean his family-owned business.
Plus, I often smell like disinfectant and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Grape, not strawberry.
My life isn’t my own and won’t be until my son turns eighteen.
Believe me, there’s nothing exciting or great to look at here.
Chapter 3
Malcolm
I’m intrigued.
And have no idea why.
As I watch her little Altima drive away, I am overcome with a sense of interest, which still shocks me to the bone. It did last night after she made her hasty escape and I wanted to follow her. It reappeared just a few minutes ago when I looked up and saw her beside her car, about to be run over by that teenage driver.
Clearly, deciding to take the long way around the square to get back to my office was the right decision.
Except, it probably wasn’t.
Sure, I may find Leni Abbott attractive, but I shouldn’t. She’s not my usual type, but also there’s the big factor of her son. I’ve dated a lot of women in my life, but never a single mom like that. Divorcees, yes. Kids go to Dad’s for the weekend, and Mom is looking to unwind. That’s where I come in.
Then there’s the physical differences. The women I’ve dated in the past are model thin. You know the ones who barely eat a few bites of their salads and proclaim themselves full? I’ve never understood it, personally, but whatever. Lenora isn’t overweight. Not by a long shot. She’s got that perfect hourglass figure that drives men wild, me included. All I thought about last night was gripping onto those hips and thrusting into her from behind. It made for an uncomfortable night’s sleep.
And morning.
I was determined to forget all about the pretty woman who apparently now cleans City Hall, but then fate dealt me a cruel hand, and minutes ago, I found her again.
At least this time I was wearing pants.
I snicker as I return to the sidewalk, recalling her comments about me dropping my drawers and the look of mortification that appeared on her pretty face moments later. Talk about opening mouth and inserting foot.
Oh, the things I could do with her mouth…
Clearing my throat, I head down the walkway and round the corner, my recently tailored suit pants thrown over my arm. I turn where Plumbing Solutions sits and pass the laundromat in the middle of the block. Something niggles at the back of my mind, and I find myself stopping in the middle of the walkway.
I glance through the windows of Squeaky Clean as realization sets in.
Lenora Abbott owns this place and lives above it. I recall when the previous owner retired a few months back and sold it. I heard mention at one of the Chamber of Commerce gatherings that the woman who bought it had just returned home after being away for several years, and also cleans houses and businesses in town.
My family’s law office and City Hall included.
As I keep walking, I realize how incredibly brave it was for this woman to open a business in a town she hasn’t lived in for a while. Especially one as young as twenty-nine, six years my junior. But I imagine it gives her a steady income with the flexibility she needs to raise a child alone.
At least I think she’s doing it alone.
I’ve not heard anything about a boyfriend or ex hanging around, and usually all gossip makes its way past my desk at some point.
I worm my way back to City Hall, prepared to put in a few hours of work before the public works committee meeting later this evening. As I pass Shana’s desk, I can’t help but stop. “Hey, Shana. Can I ask you a question?”
The woman in her mid-forties gives me her full attention, pushing her chair away from her computer desk. “Sure, Mal. What’s up?”
“The woman who cleans this place, she’s fairly new, right?”
The woman I hired right after taking office nods her head. “She is. Been cleaning three weeks now,” she informs, though I already knew that. I signed off on her hiring. “She comes highly recommended by several businesses around the square. Why? Is something wrong?” she asks, a look of worry crossing her face.
“No, of course not. I was just curious. I’ve been considering having my place cleaned at home every week or so and thought maybe she’d be a good fit.”
“Leni’s fabulous. She cleans Jim’s mom’s place, as well as Hazel’s sister’s neighbor’s condo. Heck, she could probably give you a whole list of references around Mason Creek. Everyone uses her.”
I nod. “Okay. I’m pretty sure that’s who Dad uses at the law office. Do you have a contact for her?”
“I do,” she states, pulling open a desk drawer and grabbing a Rolodex. You know, like a good, old fashioned business card holder and contact keeper. “Do you want me to email it to you?” she asks, stopping on a small card with bold lettering across the top.
“No need. I’ll just program it into my phone,” I say, glancing over her shoulder and inputting her name and cell number into my contacts.
Not that I plan to use it.
“Thanks, Shana.”
“You’re welcome, Mal. Oh, don’t forget, you have that meeting request with Aqua Solutions, the company who manages the water treatment facility. They’re still hoping to get in this week.”
I sigh, having put off this request for almost a week. I know why they’re calling. They want to negotiate new rates for this next contract, and I’m not looking forward to playing hardball with them. The owner is a bastard who tries to cut corners at all costs, including how they monitor our water treatment facility. “I’ll email them back shortly. It’ll have to be next week, though. My schedule is already full.”
It’s not.
She knows it.
I know it.
But I’m not in a hurry to deal with them right now.
I slip my phone into my pocket and head to my office, hanging up my trousers on the hook behind my door as I go. I boot up my computer and take a seat, just as my phone vibrates in my pants. A part of me hopes it’s Lenora, but then I realize how silly I’m being. She doesn’t have my number, and why the hell would she be texting me anyway?
Spying the name on the screen, I sigh. It’s Jessa, and there’s only one reason she’d be texting me on a Wednesday evening.
Jessa: Hey, darling. I was hoping you’d be free later this evening. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. *winky face*
That’s code for
too long since we hooked up. It’s probably been about two months since her last text message invitation arrived on my phone, and the last time since I arrived on her doorstep. Jessa Donaldson is a recent divorcee, as well as a widow. When she was in her mid-twenties, she married a wealthy politician old enough to be her grandpa. When he died unexpectedly a few years later, she was left everything in his name, including vacation houses and a stake in a transportation company.
Then, she moved on to another older man, though the second one only about twenty years her senior. When he found out she was sleeping with everyone and their brother—including his own brother—he filed for divorce. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a prenup, so he had to give half his net worth to his cheating wife. She walked away with a cool 7.5 million bucks and relocated to the biggest estate in Mason Creek.
I met Jessa a year ago when she showed up at our law firm to meet with my dad. Later that night, I was balls-deep between her thighs and we’ve had a casual arrangement ever since. No commitment. No relationship. No strings.
Sex.
Whenever, wherever.
My finger lingers over her message, trying to figure out how to reply. Do I want to meet up with Jessa later? My dick says yes, but my head tells me I’m busy and it’s not a good time. I have a committee meeting later, plus some paperwork on a new custody case that landed on my desk I need to review.
Me: Sorry, doll. Busy. Another time.
I can almost hear her pout all the way across town.
Jessa: You know you can drop by anytime. I’m always available for you.
Me: I do know that, but I have meetings.
Jessa: Tomorrow then. I have an appointment with my cosmetologist to get things waxed.
I almost groan. Jessa’s a fan of going bare and not afraid to show it.
Me: Maybe another time.
Jessa: Fine. I suppose I could find someone else to entertain…
She’s used jealousy on me before, but it’s not going to work this time. In the very beginning, she mentioned someone else, and I went running with my tongue hanging out, like she knew I would. Now, I don’t even feel a bubble of envy or anything at the thought of her hooking up with someone besides me. I’ve known all along I’m not her only friend, and that’s never bothered me much. Still doesn’t.