by Isabel North
She disconnected, stuffed the folders into her tote, and headed for the office.
The morning, as usual, rushed by in a hectic blur. She sorted Celeste’s figures out, she finalized the paperwork closing on a house in a subdivision outside Mayfield, Emerson’s neighboring town, and had ten minutes to wolf down a salad for lunch before she was in the car heading out to meet the Martinezes again.
This was the house. She felt it in her bones. She’d shown the couple a grand total of fifteen properties, and this was the one.
Please. Please let it be the one.
It came onto the market yesterday. If Lila could get them to put in an offer today, it would be a personal record.
An hour later, Lila waved the beaming Martinezes off, and closed the front door.
Record broken.
Awesome.
Weird that she wasn’t more excited about it.
Lila trudged through the empty house to the kitchen.
At this time of the day, the room was drenched with sunlight. She put her hands on her hips and stared at the sparkling floor, then shrugged. Kicking off her stilettos and shimmying her skirt above her knees, she sat on the floor and stretched her legs out in front of her, wiggling her toes in the warm sun.
She leaned back into her hands.
She’d broken a record, she’d found perhaps the pickiest clients she’d ever had a house that had them bouncing away with glee, and she was…tired.
Lila dropped her head back on her shoulders as she held her face to the sun and tried to smile. Tried to feel the triumph.
“Nailed it, Baxter,” she said into the silence of the kitchen. The house was on a quiet residential street. If there even was any passing traffic, no noise made it through the windows. “Good job. Excellent work. Another satisfied couple.”
Nope. Not feeling it.
Lila drew her legs up until she was cross-legged—quite the achievement in a tight skirt—propped her elbows on her knees, and stuck her chin on her bunched fists. She scowled out of the large window overlooking the backyard.
She’d sold this house before.
Twice.
The first time was one of her very first jobs for Allison, her boss. Lila remembered the family she’d sold it to. He was in insurance and she was a substitute teacher. Two kids. Lila sucked in a breath. The oldest, a girl, had been about, what, ten? Good grief.
She’d be at college now.
The second time was to a newly-married couple with big plans for enough kids for a reality show.
And now, the Martinezes wanted it.
How long would they stay? Would they get their wish and start their family here? Would Baby Martinez be conceived, born, and grow up here until he or she one day went away to college with fond memories of summer barbecues, winter snowball fights, fall trick-or-treating around the friendly neighborhood?
Or would Lila be back here again in two or three years, selling it to the next bright-eyed couple?
Would she still be selling it to bright-eyed young couples when she was sixty?
Wearily, Lila slipped her shoes back on and stood. She smoothed down her skirt, shook back her hair and checked her reflection in the large window. She studied herself for a somber moment then left the house, locking up behind her. She got into her car, drove back to the office and knocked on Allison’s office door.
“Come in.”
Lila threw herself down in the chair opposite her boss. Allison Morrow was in her early forties, was perfectly dressed, coiffed and manicured, and had the business mind of a shark and the compassion of a velociraptor. She was a friend, a mentor, and she was going to kick Lila’s ass for this.
Allison gave Lila a once-over before turning back to her computer screen. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve got that look. When I see that look, I end up giving you a raise. I don’t have room in my budget for any more raises for you, Lila. No.”
“I don’t want a raise.”
Allison’s chair creaked as she sat back. She folded her hands over her comfortably-rounded stomach. “What do you want?”
“Don’t hate me.”
“Don’t piss me off.”
Can’t see a way around it. “I quit.”
“Goddammit, Lila. I said don’t piss me off.”
“In other news, the Martinezes want to put in an offer.”
“I don’t give a shit about the Martinezes. I’m too busy reeling at the horrifying news that my best employee is quitting. My protégée. My apprentice. Practically my child.”
Her child? Allison was twelve years older than Lila. “You’re going straight for the emotional blackmail, I see.”
“The wide-eyed ingenue I took in off the streets and taught everything I know. Walking away from me. Turning her back. Casting me and my sacrifices aside.”
That was doing it a bit rich. “Your sacrifices?”
“I could employ two people with what I pay you, Lila.”
“But I do the job of three, so you’re still coming out ahead.”
“You’ve siphoned off all the knowledge and wisdom I have to impart, is that it? And, what, you’re going to leave me and set up in competition?” Allison’s mock-drama vanished as she rocked forward in her chair and stabbed the desk with a forefinger, dead serious. “You may be my protégée, but if you try to go out on your own and take my clients, I will bury you. Chad!” she yelled out the door at the junior agent. “Lock down Lila’s computer, now. Change the passwords.”
Lila waggled her phone at Allison. “All my contacts are on here, if that’s what you’re trying to do. And calm down. I’m not going into business for myself.”
“Swear to me.”
Lila held up a hand. “I swear.”
Reassured, Allison stopped looking like a cat who’d just been given an unexpected bath, and sat back. “All right. Let us begin negotiations. How much?”
“I really don’t want a raise.”
“Threatening to quit wasn’t your opening gambit?”
“You’re the psycho tossing threats around, boss. I’m not playing hardball. Or chess. I’m quitting. For real.”
“The job? Or the career? Because you’re a great real estate agent, Lila.”
“The job.” She took in a deep breath, and said in a rush, “I’m leaving Emerson.”
Huh. Until she heard herself say it, she’d had no idea.
She was leaving Emerson.
* * * *
What were the odds? He’d managed to avoid her for a week by getting his coffee to go, but the very next cupcake Tuesday, Burke ran into Lila again.
He arrived at Megan’s earlier than usual and waited on the street for Megan to finish switching on the lights and opening up. In the end she got tired of him standing there in the rain, peering at her through the door and waiting for her to turn the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. She unbolted and dragged him in, shutting the door behind them.
“One day soon, Burke, you and I are gonna have to have a talk about your obsession with my cupcakes. This is clearly an escalation in your addiction. Unless you’re here ridiculously early for some other reason?”
“I want sugar.”
“Sure you do. You’ll have to wait, I’m not done with the frosting yet.”
Burke settled himself at his usual table, and for what may be the first time in the place, relaxed.
He was the only customer there. Soft music played over the sound system—piano today—and the delicious aroma of the baking Megan had been doing for hours already filled and warmed the air. Rain pinged softly at the window. He hung his jacket on the back of his chair and stretched his long legs out.
He should get here earlier more often.
After ten minutes, Megan yelled from the kitchen and told him to turn the sign. Megan yelled again, and this time he ambled into the kitchen and selected his cupcakes from the countertop.
“Don’t tell anyone I let you back here, either,” sh
e said. “Anyone in the food preparation area is supposed to wear a hair net.”
“I’d shave my head first.”
“Then you’d have to wear a bandana.”
“That’s okay. I’d look good in a bandana.”
Megan considered it as she plated up the cupcakes he’d chosen. “You’d look like an enforcer in a bandana. This is a one-off cheer-up-Burke treat because there are no witnesses, and because I’m a sucker for puppy-dog eyes and big men who want my sugar.”
Puppy-dog eyes? Burke looked at her indignantly. Unimpressed, Megan shooed him out of the kitchen, made his coffee, and sent him back to his table.
Burke wondered if Lila would have approached him if he had a shaved head and looked like an enforcer, if she still would have teased him to fix her coffee and drawn him a smiley face on the napkin.
Pointed out his frosting mustache.
Let it go.
The coffee shop quickly filled with the morning rush. Lila walked in, shaking a polka-dotted umbrella clear of raindrops, and ordered her coffee. She swiped through her phone while Doug, Megan’s gangly barista, pressed buttons and pulled levers and generally made a big show out of working the espresso machine like an attention-hungry bikini girl at a charity car wash.
Lila didn’t notice him. She was concentrating on her phone, thank goodness.
Until she took the cup with a smile of thanks, spun on her stiletto heel, and headed right for Burke.
He sat up straight and scrubbed at his mouth.
“You’re good,” Lila told him as she set her cup on the table and her ass in the chair opposite him. She nudged his ankles with the toe of her shoe and Burke drew his legs back to give her room.
She put her phone beside her cup, and the instant it touched the tabletop, it rang. Lila glanced at the screen and pressed ignore. “Hi,” she said to him.
“Hi.” Burke had a deep voice, and for some reason today it sounded like grinding rocks. He cleared his throat, said, “Hi,” again. Even rougher. Great. Now it sounded as if he was snarling at her.
“I’m Lila.” She held out a hand, reaching over the table.
“Uh… Griffin. I’m Griffin.” He engulfed her hand in his, and wondered for a distracted moment if he was going to be able to let go, or if Megan was going to have to come back here and pry him loose with a spatula.
Lila cocked her head and smiled. Burke released her as if she’d sent a few thousand volts up his arm.
“Is that a fake name?” she asked. “Did you just give me a fake name?”
“What? No.” Burke pressed his hands flat to his thighs, palm tingling.
“You sure? Because it didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
Because he never introduced himself as Griffin. No one called him Griffin. Not even Kurt, and Kurt had known him since they were eight years old. In fact, Kurt and Derek were the only people in Emerson who even knew his name was Griffin. And now Lila. “Most people call me Burke.”
She propped her chin in her hand. “What do you want me to call you?”
Lover.
Shit.
“Griffin?” Lila asked. “Or Burke? My vote is for Griffin.”
“Burke.”
She sighed, as if disappointed. “Okay. How were the cupcakes today, Burke?”
Burke had been leaning toward her, he realized, but at her question, he leaned back. Giving her a narrow look, he ran a thumb over his lip, checking again.
Lila watched him do it with interest, then said, “Are you still sore at me for telling you about the frosting?”
He popped his jaw.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you as soon as I sat down. Shouldn’t have waited.”
As soon as she sat down? “It was there the whole time?”
“Oops. I made it worse, didn’t I?”
“No. I’m stoked to hear I sat here with food on my face for ten minutes. How could that be worse?” She laughed. Burke couldn’t suppress the small answering smile that pulled at his mouth.
“Hey, at least you don’t have a beard. I’ve seen some weird shit stuck in men’s beards.” Lila gave a dramatic shudder. “There is no reason for you to get all bent out of shape over a tiny little cute streak.”
Cute?
He had no response. She thought it had looked cute?
Was that…good? Or was it really bad?
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” Lila continued. “I didn’t intend to, but I couldn’t let you go without saying something.”
“I wasn’t embarrassed.” His cheeks heated at the lie. For fuck’s sake.
Lila didn’t call him on it, although she did seem intrigued by his blush. He hoped it was one of the smaller blushes, where he looked more sunburned and less like he was about to smash something, or yell at someone, or burst a vein.
He slunk down in his chair, clearing his throat. “Hot in here,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want Lila to think it was anger. Some people did. Mostly women. He blushed at them, and they thought he was going to start throwing cars around.
“Yeah. It’s always hotter when it rains, have you noticed? People come in with umbrellas and wet coats, and things get steamy.” She wriggled her jacket off her shoulders, arching her back and twisting at the waist.
She then leaned over a few degrees to yank the jacket clear and, unaware of the ramifications of their height difference, gave him an uninterrupted shot straight down her silky blouse.
Burke’s hands fisted on his thighs as he redirected his gaze over her head and wrestled with the pounding desire to let himself look. Don’t do it, asshole. She didn’t know. The only way he wanted to see her perfect breasts was if she knew and she was showing them to him. On purpose.
Burke got a mental flash of Lila purposefully showing him her breasts, and almost groaned.
What was wrong with him? Stop lusting at that poor, sweet woman.
Lila finished hanging her jacket on her chair and turned back to him. “Anyway, I wanted to come over and thank you for fixing my coffee last week.”
“No problem.”
She started to say something else when her phone rang again. She glanced at the screen and made a small growling noise. “Stay there,” she told him. “I have to take this, but I’m not done with you yet.”
Burke dipped his chin in a nod and sat back with his arms crossed over his chest.
Whoever was on the other end of the phone could talk. Even Lila had trouble getting a word in every now and then. She tried to extract herself a few times, and had no luck whatsoever. She grimaced at her cooling coffee.
She hadn’t put her sweetener in yet, had she?
Burke reached a long arm over to the condiment bar beside their table and snagged a packet and a stirrer. He took her cup, added the sweetener, and slid it over to her. This time the smiley face on the napkin—his napkin—that she slid over in response had hearts for eyes.
Burke snorted a short laugh.
After another five minutes, he couldn’t wait around any longer for her to finish her call. By then, she’d dragged a laptop out of her tote and was staring at it with fierce concentration.
Burke got to his feet, startled when Lila caught his forearm as he drew level with her seat. He had pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, and her small hand landed on his bare skin.
He looked at her from under lowered brows.
Lila patted his arm, then pointed at the chair he’d vacated, fluttering her lashes at him in an exaggerated gesture.
Burke shrugged, and shook his head. He had to get to work.
Lila covered the mouthpiece of her phone and whispered up at him, “Next time I see you, we are going to have a proper conversation.”
He gazed down into her brown eyes. No, he thought. They weren’t. Not if he had anything to do with it.
If he spent another minute with Lila Baxter, he wouldn’t be able to kid himself anymore, and he’d be all the way in love with her.
Stupidly.
Crazily.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rawlings’ Auto Repairs was a brisk ten-minute walk from the coffee shop. Burke strode through the light rain, welcoming the kiss of gentle mist against his hot skin. By the time he arrived at the garage his hair was damp, his blood had cooled, and he was half an hour late.
Derek Tate was an easygoing guy. Derek didn’t give a damn what time his employees showed up, so long as they got the job done and Derek didn’t have to deal with angry customers. Still, Burke liked to be punctual. He liked routine. He hadn’t been late once since he started working at the garage two years ago.
He walked through the open bay doors and headed for the back room.
“Sleep in this morning, did ya?” Dani said as he passed her. She was leaning over the popped hood of a small yellow VW, her thick black braid dangling over her shoulder.
Burke grunted and continued on.
“Derek’s looking for you.”
Burke turned back to Dani. “Why?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Right.” Dani was a gossip. There was no way she hadn’t asked.
She spun a nut and pulled the radiator hose clear. “You got me. I asked. He wouldn’t say.”
“Where is he? Office?” Burke started that way.
“Nope.” Dani gestured vaguely at the inspection pit. “Derek!” she yelled. “Burke showed up! Finally!”
Derek came over to join them. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Burke said. “Sorry. I was…uh…delayed at the coffee shop. Won’t happen again.”
“Don’t care,” Derek said cheerfully.
“Then what’s up?”
“You got a visitor.”
Burke frowned at him.
Derek snapped his fingers. “That was my exact response.”
Burke rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “A visitor? You mean a customer?”
“I don’t think this one’s a customer.”
Burke shook his head in question.
“I put him in the office to wait. I’m not sure how long he’s been here, but the kid was hanging around outside when I arrived.”