serious. No long haul. No love at first sight or any off that bullshit. I was not ready to tie myself down to anyone before I had a handle on the life I wanted.
Whatever the hell that was.
This man, this big lean man, waltzed into my kitchen like he owned it. He took my red enamel pot and filled it with two coffee cups full of water.
'Matches?' he asked.
I handed him the box from the counter. Then Coop turned the burner until we heard the gas hiss and lit it with a wooden kitchen match. 'Gas and electric men, we always have tricks.' He grinned at me and then he opened the junk drawer and rifled through it. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he asked, ‘You have a small strainer?’
‘How small?’ I almost whispered. It was hard not to just watch him and his economical movements.
‘Size of a tuna can?’
‘Nope.’
‘Coffee filters?’
I opened a box on the counter and felt my robe gape a bit. I also felt his eyes on me and it made me flush hot, like I was out in the sun. I rummaged, clutching my robe with one hand, rifling with the other. Finally, I yanked out a package of filters and handed it to him.
‘Another pot? A bowl? A large measuring cup?’
More rummaging and I handed him a glass measuring cup with a spout.
‘Thank you, Farrell,’ he said. ‘Where are you off to today?’
‘Applying at a dog salon,’ I snorted.
He smiled at me, stunning me a bit. Turmoil started in my stomach and much, much lower. I nodded, unable to speak.
Deke made me feel bold and wild. Coop made me feel barely in control and on edge, constantly off kilter and unsteady. It was oddly pleasant to feel after so many years of trying so very hard to pilot a destiny that did not want to behave.
Which reminded me to be nervous about my looming dog salon job interview. I couldn’t decide if it was a step up or a step down from working at a bar. Or maybe it was just a lateral move. And maybe that was okay.
When the water came to a boil he asked me, ‘Strong or weak?’
At first I thought he meant me. And I almost said strong … I hope. But then I realised he meant coffee and I stuck with my original answer. ‘Strong.’
I stared at my ugly mukluks and my freshly shaved legs and waited. Embarrassed that I looked so bad, but partly relieved too. It’s not like I looked sexy or enticing. I was a wet, ugly robe-swaddled mess.
He dumped four tablespoons of coffee into the water and twisted my egg timer to three minutes. It started to tick.
‘You okay?’ He had a way of setting his jaw after he asked a question, as if daring you to disappoint him. I found it unsettling because the thought of upsetting Jim Cooper was distressing. And there was no logical reason it should be.
‘I’m wet.’
I didn’t even backpedal verbally when he cocked that half grin at me. I just dropped my eyes and shook my head and sighed.
‘Literally,’ I said.
A soft chuckle.
‘My hair. My robe. And I want coffee and something that sounded like a cannon shook my windows.’
He waved a hand at me when the egg timer gave a shrill sound.
‘Get used to it, the pots around here blow all the time. They’re old lines and overtaxed and need to be replaced.’
‘Well you’re power, can’t you do that?’ I asked, watching him start to slowly pour the brewed coffee into the filter he’d suspended over the large measuring cup. He patiently, steadily, held it aloft while coffee dribbled through the paper into the cup.
‘Hey, I tow the lines and repair and all that. I don’t control the budget.’
‘Oh.’
One more rush of rich dark liquid and then he was pouring us mugs of coffee from the measuring cup. ‘Just takes some patience,’ he said.
He clinked his mug to mine and I watched him study me. It was such an intimate gaze that I felt my cheeks colour again. The man was a mind fuck to say the least.
I took a sip, realising that he had MacGyvered a better cup of coffee than I normally made with use of electricity.
‘Let me just … I’m going to …’ I took one more sip to steady my nerves.
‘Go get dressed, Farrell,’ Coop said, his gaze sliding along my cleavage, over my shoulders, down to my hips.
When his eyes hit me at hip level a heat bloomed in my pelvis that was disturbing in its intensity. I ran from the room as if a serial killer was drinking coffee with me instead of one of the most handsome and eerily self-assured men I’d ever met.
I scurried off like my ass was on fire. Even as I was pulling on black leggings and a checked purple shirt, I was imagining Coop peeling them off.
‘Get a hold of yourself,’ I hissed. And then I shoved my feet into black flats and hurried back downstairs – only to hear a hellacious, repetitive and maddening beep coming from my basement.
‘What now?’ I sighed. I grabbed my mug and watched him appraise me with that sharp stare. Why did I still feel naked?
‘That is your sump pump, Farrell.’
‘Oh.’ To be honest, I had no idea I had a sump pump.
‘It’s on a battery backup in case of …’ Coop waved his hands around. ‘This.’
‘Ah,’ I said.
Brilliant. One word answers, dingbat.
I listened to the infernal beeping for another moment and tried not to squirm as he studied me, that mysterious twist of a smile on his sensual lips. Coop crossed his arms and there was a Celtic cross, a feather that might or might not be a raven or a crow, a swatch of blue and … he crossed them the other way and there was the hint of a scaled tail. A mermaid?
When I took a shuddery breath and simply could not stand the beep-beep-beeeeeeep anymore I blurted, ‘My God, how do I make it stop?’
He chuckled, gave me a decisive nod and took my hand. ‘Let’s start by going in your basement where the sump pump lives.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ I echoed, rattled by his strong hand on my wrist. When he held my arm, though, I saw more of that tail and yes, it had to be a mermaid. Or a very curvy fish.
‘It’s a mermaid,’ he said, following my gaze.
