“Oh no. You are not allowed to flirt with me.”
“Why not?”
“You were mean to me. I do not flirt with mean men.”
“I can be nice,” he said, turning to her and giving her a big smile.
“Stop it,” she said, raising her eyebrows above her glasses in warning. “I mean it.”
“So what about some of the other interviews? Who were they with?”
“Lindy’s Frame Shop, that art gallery over on the beach—”
“Avenue Ocean?”
“Yeah, that one. And I also went to Picture Perfect. They all said I wasn’t a good fit for one reason or another,” she said dejected.
“Look, I’m really not one to get involved in town gossip. I’ve been on the receiving end my fair share of times and it isn’t fun. But this is a small town, and everybody knows one another’s business. Since you’re new, you have no idea. Cynthia Bowers at Picture Perfect would’ve never hired you. Her husband has monogamy issues. The owner of Avenue Ocean, Mindy Trist, doesn’t like anyone that’s competition.”
“Competition?”
Mindy Trist was a man-eater. Brendan knew this to be a fact because Mindy had been trying to get into his bed for years. He wasn’t even remotely interested.
“You’re prettier than she is.”
Understatement of the year.
Paige was suddenly silent on her side of the truck.
“And as for Hurst and Marlene Lindy,” Brendan continued, “they, uh, tend to be a little more conservative.”
“Look,” she said, snapping out of her silence.
Brendan couldn’t help himself, her sudden burst of vehemence made him look at her again. If he kept this up he was going to drive into a ditch.
“I know I might appear to be some free-spirited hippie, but I’m really not. I’m moderate when it comes to politics,” she said, holding up one finger. “I eat meat like it’s nobody’s business.” Two fingers. “And I’ve never done drugs in my life.” Three fingers.
“You don’t have to convince me,” he said, shaking his head. “So I’m sensing a pattern here with all of these jobs. Are you a photographer?”
“Yes, but I do graphic design and I paint.”
“So a woman of many talents.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, shaking her head.
“Oh, I’m sure you have a lot of talent. It’s probably proportional to the length of your legs.”
“What did I tell you about flirting?” she asked seriously, but betrayed herself when the corner of her mouth quirked up.
“Look, Paige, don’t let it get to you. Not everyone is all bad.”
“So I’ve just been fortunate enough to meet everyone who’s mean.”
“You’ve met me.”
“Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on you.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to prove myself.”
“I guess so,” she said, leaning back in her seat. Her arms now rested in her lap, her shield coming down a little.
“I have a question,” Brendan said, slowing down at another stop sign. “If you eat meat, why do you have such a problem with hunting?”
“It just seems a little barbaric. Hiding out in the woods to shoot Bambi and then mounting his head on a wall.”
“Let me give you two scenarios.”
“Okay.”
“In scenario one, we have Bessie the cow. Bessie was born in a stall, taken away from her mother shortly after birth where she was moved to a pasture for a couple of years, all the while being injected with hormones and then shoved into a semi truck where she was shipped off to be slaughtered. And I don’t think that you even want me to get started on that process.
“In scenario two, we have Bambi. Bambi was born in the wilderness and wasn’t taken away from his mother. He then found a mate, had babies, and one day was killed. He never saw it coming. Not only is Bambi’s meat hormone free, but he also lived a happy life in the wild, with no fences.
“Now you tell me, which scenario sounds better: Being raised to be slaughtered, or living free where you might or might not be killed.”
She was silent for a few moments before she sighed.
“Fine, you win. The second sounds better.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Brendan said as he pulled into the parking lot of King’s Auto. “How are you getting home?” he asked as he put the truck into park.
“I called my dad after I called you. He’s here actually,” she said, pointing to a black Chevy Impala.
They both got out of the truck and headed toward the auto shop. Brendan held the door open for Paige, shoving his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. His grandfather and a man who Brendan recognized as Paige’s father stood up from their chairs as Brendan and Paige walked in.
Trevor Morrison was a tall man, maybe six foot four or six foot five. He had light reddish-brown wispy hair on his head and large glasses perched on his nose. And like his daughter, his face and arms were covered in freckles.
“Hi, Daddy,” Paige said, pushing her glasses up her nose and into her hair.
Brendan immediately noticed the change in her voice. Her cautious demeanor vanished and her shoulders relaxed. He’d caught a glimpse of this in the truck, but not to this extent.
“Mr. Morrison,” Brendan said, taking a step forward and sticking his hand out.
Trevor grabbed Brendan’s hand firmly. “Brendan,” he said, giving him a warm smile and nodding his head. Trevor let go of Brendan’s hand and turned to his daughter. “Paige, this is Oliver King,” he said, gesturing to Brendan’s grandfather, who was standing behind his desk. “Oliver, this is my daughter, Paige.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Oliver said, moving out from behind his desk and sticking out his hand.
Paige moved forward past Brendan, her arm brushing his as she passed.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” she said, grabbing Oliver’s hand.
Oliver nodded as he let go of Paige’s hand and looked up at Brendan. “So what happened?”
Paige turned to look at Brendan too. It was the first time he’d gotten a full look at her face without her sunglasses on. She had long dark eyelashes that framed her large gray irises. It took him a second to remember how to speak. He cleared his throat and looked past her to the other two men.
“It’s the radiator. I’m going to have to order a new one, so it’s going to take a few days.”
“That’s fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”
Trevor’s face fell. “The interview didn’t go well?”
“Nope,” Paige said, shaking her head. The tension in her shoulders came back but she tried to mask it by pasting a smile on her face. He desperately wanted to see a genuine, full-on smile from her.
“Things haven’t exactly gone Paige’s way since she moved here,” Trevor said.
“Oh, I think my bad luck started long before I moved here,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. Every time she did that, it pushed her breasts up and it took everything in Brendan not to stare.
“I don’t think it was Paige’s fault,” Brendan said and everyone turned to look at him. “It was with Bethelda Grimshaw,” he said to Oliver.
“Oh,” Oliver said, shaking his head ruefully. “Don’t let anything she says get to you. She’s a horrible hag.”
Paige laughed and the sound of it did funny things to Brendan’s stomach.
“Told you,” Brendan said, looking at her. Paige turned to him, a small smile lingering on her lips and in her eyes.
God, she was beautiful.
“Things will turn around,” Oliver said. “We’ll call you with an estimate before we do anything to your car.”
They said their good-byes and as Paige walked out with her father she gave Brendan one last look, her lips quirking up slightly before she shook her head and walked out the door.
“I don’t believe any of that nonsense people are say
ing about her,” Oliver said as they both watched Paige and her dad walk out. “She’s lovely.”
Lovely? Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the word Brendan would have used to describe her.
Hot? Yes. Fiery? Absolutely.
“Yeah, she’s something alright.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you aren’t a fan of hers. Son, you barely took your eyes off her.”
“I’m not denying she’s beautiful.” How could he? “I bet she’s a handful though and she’s got a temper on her, along with a smart mouth.” But he sure did like that smart mouth.
“That’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black,” Oliver said, raising one bushy eyebrow. “If all of her experiences in this town have been similar to what Bethelda dishes out, I’m not surprised she’s turned on the defense. You know what it’s like to be the center of less than unsavory gossip in this town. To have a lot of the people turn their backs on you and turn you into a pariah,” Oliver said, giving Brendan a knowing look.
“I know,” Brendan conceded. “She deserves a break.”
“You should help her find a job.”
“With who?”
“You’ll think of something,” Oliver said, patting Brendan on the shoulder before going back to his desk. “You always do.”
Chapter Two
Find the Beat Again
I want to hear more about your hot mechanic.”
“Abby, I already told you, he’s not my hot mechanic. He’s just a hot mechanic,” Paige said as she fidgeted with the pillow in her lap.
Paige had called Abby pretty much the second she’d gotten back to her parents’ house. She needed to get some perspective, and who better to help her get it than her best friend? They’d met on the first day of kindergarten almost twenty years ago, bonding over a love for puffy Cheetos and their Little Mermaid lunch boxes.
“Hmm, but I think you want him to be your hot mechanic.”
“Can we stop calling him that?” Paige asked, flopping back onto her bed. “His name is Brendan.”
Brendan the beautiful.
That was an apt description of him. Paige had known he was hot, but when she’d gotten a full-on look at his face without his sunglasses, she’d about melted to the floor. He had the clearest, brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen on a man. And damn, when they’d been intently focused on her she’d about lost all reason, like the fact that she couldn’t possibly like him already.
It was a problem. He was a problem. She couldn’t have feelings for him. She’d just met him, and he’d been an ass. But he’d also been really nice. And God, that smile. She’d been right—it did reach all the way up to his eyes.
“So you’re not denying it?” Paige could hear the smile in Abby’s voice. “You do want him to be yours.”
“I don’t even know him. I spent a total of an hour with the man and he drove me crazy for half of it.”
“What about the other half?”
For the other half he’d still driven her crazy. Just in a completely different way. There’d been that moment in his truck when he’d turned to her and apologized. It had taken Paige so off guard she’d forgotten how to speak…and how to breathe. He was lethal when he was sincere. Who was she kidding? He was lethal just existing.
“For the other half I tolerated him.”
“Liar,” Abby said, laughing through the phone. “Just admit it, you want him.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Paige pleaded.
“Fine. If you want to delude yourself you go ahead and do that. But I’m going to say one last thing.”
“Fine. Go.”
“This is the first time that I’ve talked to you in the past three months when you’ve actually sounded like you again.”
“I…” Paige trailed off, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in a slow, lazy circle. She got dizzy and she closed her eyes. Too bad her spinning head had nothing to do with the fan.
“So anyways,” Abby continued, saving Paige from examining the feelings, or whatever they were, that she might or might not have for the hot mechanic.
* * *
The morning after Paige’s car had broken down, she sat in the kitchen in front of the computer, still wearing her pajamas and sipping on a strong cup of cinnamon-vanilla coffee. Her legs were arranged on the chair in a way that she was able to rest her chin on her left knee while her right was tucked underneath her.
She was back on the job hunt, and since she flat-out refused to use the Mirabelle Information Center Web site, she was currently scrolling through the classifieds on the town newspaper site.
“Anything?” Denise asked from the stove where she was frying bacon and scrambling eggs.
“Nope,” Paige said. “Well, they need a pizza delivery person for Papa Pan’s, but as my car isn’t running I don’t think that’s an option.”
“Hmm, maybe not. Soooo,” Denise said, dragging out the word, “has anybody called about your car?”
And by anybody, Denise meant Brendan. As soon as Trevor had mentioned Brendan’s name the night before, Denise’s face had lit up and she’d asked about a hundred questions. She was just as bad as Abby. Though Denise hadn’t called him the hot mechanic. No, she’d referred to him as that nice young man.
Oh, that nice young man towed your car?
Doesn’t that nice young man just have the most gorgeous smile?
I’m sure that nice young man would be quite the catch.
Don’t you think that nice young man would be more than capable of making love to you for hours on end and so thoroughly that you’d forget your own name?
Okay, so that last one was definitely something that Paige had thought and not something that Denise had said.
“No, mother,” Paige said. “Brendan hasn’t called.”
“Oh, I didn’t mention that nice young man’s name. So you were thinking about him? I knew there was a spark there.”
“Mom,” Paige said, looking over her shoulder.
“What?” she asked innocently as she glanced up from the stove.
“You know what? I don’t know him at all.”
“That’s the funny thing about sparks. They’re just these teeny, tiny little embers that come out of the simplest of things and then out of nowhere you get this giant inferno.”
Paige rolled her eyes and turned back to the computer, trying to hide her smile.
“Look, I’m just happy that you’re not moping over that asshole anymore.”
“Wow,” Paige said, looking back at her mom in surprise. Denise Morrison did not cuss, nor had she really said anything about Dylan in the last three months. She’d pretty much just put on a face of support and kept her opinions to herself. Apparently all bets were off now. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I do not like that horrible man. He wasn’t worthy of you in any capacity. Not in any way, shape, or form. And as far as I’m concerned you’re better off without that smarmy, little prick in your life.”
“What’s with the sudden honesty?”
“You were different yesterday. Different than you’ve been since you got here. I wasn’t lying when I said there was a spark, and I saw it in your eyes.”
Well, if she wasn’t the second person to say that Paige had changed since meeting Brendan.
Dylan hadn’t really been on her mind at all in the last twenty or so hours. Not since this hot mechanic/nice young man had crossed her path. She was still upset about the job interview joke that had happened, and she was really bummed about her Jeep, but things were definitely different today. Good different. Hopeful different.
The phone started ringing. Paige turned back to the desk and grabbed the phone next to the computer.
“Hello?” she said, running her finger down the handle of her coffee cup.
“May I speak with Paige Morrison?” Except the thickly accented male voice said Pie-ge instead of Paige.
“Speaking.” Her hand stilled.
“This is Burley Adams over at Adams and Family. I w
as calling about a job opening.”
Paige’s head shot up. She hadn’t applied to any place called Adams and Family. She wasn’t even sure what they did.
“I’d like to set up an interview. For today if possible.”
“That’s possible. What time should I come in?”
“Would one o’clock work?”
“Yes.”
“Just come into the office. We’re over on the corner of Apple Orchard and Fifth Street. Just ask for me when you come in.”
“Mr. Adams, how did you hear about me?”
“Brendan King gave me your name.”
Brendan?
“Oh,” she said, her mind going blank. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you at one,” she said before she hung up.
She stared at the phone for a second in shock, unsure of what to do from here. She turned around slowly to look at her mother. Denise was beaming.
“Will you look at that? Where’s the interview?”
“Adams and Family.”
“What’s that?” Denise asked, furrowing her brow.
“I’m not sure,” Paige said, shaking her head. She’d been so thrown by Brendan’s recommendation that she’d forgotten to ask.
“How did they hear about you?”
“Brendan.”
“Huh.” Denise grinned, looking more than a little satisfied with herself. “What did I tell you. Sparks.”
Yeah, Paige was just concerned she was going to go up in flames again, and this time there would be nothing left.
* * *
Adams and Family was a funeral home.
Da-na-na, snap, snap.
Paige stood outside of the old Victorian house staring up at the two floors. It was yellow with white trim and green shutters. There was a large black sign on the lawn that read ADAMS AND FAMILY FUNERAL HOME in big white letters. Two shiny, gray hearses were parked on the side of the building.
It’s a job, she told herself over and over again.
Yeah, but it’s a job at a funeral home…with dead bodies.
That’s true, but you need a new radiator, which requires money, which you don’t have.
Dead bodies.
Undone Page 3