it.
So she looked at it. Er, him.
Lucy lifted her gaze, taking in the whole tall, lean, powerful package. Though he wore the tools of the trade, he was not built like a brawny construction-worker type. Strong, yes, but with a youthful leanness—Hugh Jackman as Leopold, not as Wolverine.
Yum.
His entire body told tales of hard work An impressive set of abs rippled visibly beneath the sweat-tinged T-shirt. His broad chest and thickly muscled arms moved with almost poetic precision as he finished installing a new bookcase in the back corner of the shop.
He lifted one arm and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, which just emphasized the handsomeness of his face, seen only in profile. He had a strong, square jaw, a straight nose. High cheekbones emphasized the lightly stubbled hollows below, lending his lean face an air of youth and power.
His light brown hair was longish, a little shaggy, and he swept it back from his brow with an impatient hand. Seeing the strong hands in motion made Lucy let out a long, slow breath, and when he turned around and she beheld him from the back, she had to suck in another one. Oh, my, did the man know how to fill out a pair of jeans.
Apparently she wasn’t the only woman who’d noticed. What she’d taken for shopper’s distraction earlier she now realized had been female appreciation for the beautiful display of raw, powerful male in the corner. Every other woman in the place was either sneaking peeks or outright gaping.
She was a gaper. No peeking about it.
Finally realizing she was literally turned in her seat to stare, and probably had drool dripping down her chin, she swung back around to face Kate. Her friend wore a similar expression. “Wow,” she admitted.
“Double wow. If I didn’t love Teddy, I’d be over there offering to take care of his tool for him.”
Lucy couldn’t help being wicked when she was around Kate. “I bet it could use some lubrication.”
“Atta girl!”
“But I think you’d have to stand in line.”
“With you?” Kate asked, her eyes sparkling.
Lucy shook her head. “I don’t think so. Cheated on and heartbroken an hour ago, remember?”
“Well, cheated on, anyway,” said Kate, perceptive as always.
“Touché,” Lucy admitted, not terribly surprised to realize she was already feeling better. What had felt like heartbreak ninety minutes ago had segued into a heart cramp. Now it was barely a heart twinge.
Kate glanced at her empty cup, and at Lucy’s. “One more?”
“Sure.”
“I got it,” the other woman said, grabbing her bag. She stood up and walked toward the counter near the front of the shop.
Lucy sighed deeply, then forced herself to put Jude out of her mind. Time to forget about him. He hadn’t been her lover, merely a boyfriend who’d gotten a hand down her pants just once in three months. Absolutely forgettable.
Besides which, she had other things to think about. Like Christmas, now just two days away. And the fact that she was spending it alone.
Your own fault. She’d made the choice. Kate was going away with Teddy tonight so the apartment would be empty. But Sam had begged her to come back to Chicago to celebrate Christmas with his fiancée’s family. Lucy had refused, claiming she had too much work to do over the holidays.
Truth was, she couldn’t handle a big family Christmas. The last traditional holiday season she’d experienced had been a week before her parents had been swept from her life by a stupid asshole who’d decided to celebrate a promotion by having a few bourbons, then getting behind the wheel of a car.
It had been just her and Sam for five years now, and each Christmas had been more nontraditional than the last. One year ago, they’d been in Mexico, lying on a beach, ignoring the merriment around them in favor of rum drinks and steel drums.
Though Sam was ready to dive back into the holiday spirit with his new fiancée, somehow, Lucy just couldn’t face it yet. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to again. Christmas had once been her favorite holiday; it seemed almost sacrilege to enjoy it without the two people who had made it so special for the first seventeen years of her life.
Now she had another thing to add to her why-I-should-skip Christmas list: she’d been cheated on—right before the holiday. The angel on the top of Jude’s tree had borne witness to the extension-wearing ho who went around sucking on dicks that belonged to other girls. Er, other girls’ boyfriends.
“The whole holiday is just overrated,” she told herself. “Better off just forgetting about it.”
Not to mention a few other things. Like love. Romance.
And men.
“EXCUSE ME, SIR, can I ask you a favor?”
Ross Marshall heard a young woman speaking, but since he knew she wasn’t talking to him, he didn’t bother turning around. He instead remained focused on putting the finishing touches on the custom-made bookcase he’d been asked to install today. Thankfully, despite his concerns about the off-kilter walls in this old New York building, every shelving unit he’d built for Beans & Books had fit beautifully. Including this last one.
“Sir?”
Though curious, since the voice sounded a little insistent, again he ignored her. He tried to avoid the customers and usually didn’t work until later in the evening when the shop was closed. The owner really wanted the final unit installed today, however—gotta have more shelf space to grab those crazy day-before-Christmas-Eve shoppers who’d be filling the aisles tonight. So he’d agreed to come in right after the frenetic lunch hour but before the five o’clock rush.
He’d still arrived just in time to listen to modern-day robber barons having power coffees while making let’s-take-over-the-world deals via Bluetooth. Oh, and their trophy wives stopping by between Junior League meetings and museum openings to grab a Fat-Free Cappuccino with Soy milk and carob drizzle.
Manhattan was like a different planet. He preferred Chicago, which he’d called home for the first twenty-three of his twenty-four years. It was almost as big and half as pretentious.
“Hellooooo?”
Finally realizing the woman might actually be speaking to him, which he hadn’t imagined since in New York nobody called hammer jockeys “sir,” he turned around. The young woman had been addressing him—she was staring at him, her eyes narrowed, her freckled cheeks flushed and her mouth tugged down into a frown.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.” He offered her a smile. “I’m not used to being called sir.”
The blonde relaxed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Hey, listen, could I ask you a big favor?”
He stiffened the tiniest bit. He might not be used to being called sir around here, but he’d received a lot of suggestive invitations lately. It seemed men with calluses were, for some reason, catnip
