I step into the small hardware store later that afternoon, the familiar scent of dust and old wood hitting me as I make my way down the aisle. The old man behind the counter gives me a nod, but I don’t linger, heading straight for the heating section. I grab a furnace filter and some cleaning supplies, trying to ignore the tight knot in my stomach. As I reach for another item, a low voice murmurs right next to my ear, startling me. “Sure you got the right size?”
That voice. It sends a shiver straight down my spine. I choke on the breath I was holding, slowly turning to face him. There he is. Pope Steele. My carpenter.
“Yes, thanks,” I mutter, turning away from his gaze, which feels like it’s burning straight through me. His broad shoulders and cocky smile are still etched into my mind, no matter how hard I try to shake them.
“Sure about that?” His voice is teasing, dripping with amusement.
“I’m not an idiot,” I snap, rummaging through some paint chips to distract myself. “It’s a furnace filter.”
“Is that so?” he asks.
“Furnace filters are pretty standard,” I argue, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Sixteen by twenty. Nothing complicated.”
His grin widens, and I catch a glimpse of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe nowadays, but you live in one of the old apartments at the end of main street, right? I know for a fact that your landlord hasn’t replaced the old furnace in over thirty years. You need a sixteen by twenty-five.”
Damn it. I hate that he’s probably right. I glare at him as he hands me the correct filter, his plaid shirt stretching over the lean lines of his biceps. He’s standing there, all tall and cocky, with his long legs spread in a wide stance, clearly enjoying this.
“Fine.” I snatch the filter from his hand.
“Thank you will do–where are your manners, precious?” His eyes sparkle. He knows he’s under my skin and I hate it.
“Don’t call me that.” I husk back.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against my earlobe in a way that makes my breath hitch. The sensation shoots through me like a jolt of electricity, straight between my thighs. My heart races. I hate how easily he can affect me.
“Well,” I say, my voice wobbling slightly as I fight for control, “don’t call me that either.”
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends more shivers down my spine. I hate how much I like it. He plucks the old filter from my hands and returns it to the shelf, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You should replace it more often,” he advises. “Mountain winters are hard on the HVAC systems up here.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, turning on my heel to head for the counter. I need to get out of here before this tension spirals out of control.
“Anytime, Prec?—”
I whip around and shoot him a glare so fierce that he actually stops mid-sentence, his smirk widening.
“What would you like me to call you?” he asks, his head tilting slightly as his dark hair falls deliciously over his forehead. Damn him for looking so boyish and devilishly sexy all at once.
“Ruby will do,” I respond curtly, pushing past him and heading straight for the old man at the counter.
“Right,” he says, chuckling again. “Well, if you need anything, just give me a holler.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I cut him off, desperate to shut this conversation down before he can say anything else. I’m cursing the town council for hiring Pope to built the addition on the library. Now, six-foot-four inches of pure, sexy trouble is biting me in the ass.
He arches an eyebrow, giving me that heart-stopping grin again before he finally turns and walks out of the hardware store.
The old man behind the counter smiles at me warmly. “Find everything all right?”
“Yes, thanks,” I reply, trying to steady my breath.
“What’d you say your name was?” he asks kindly as he rings up my items.
“I didn’t,” I answer, my voice quieter. “But it’s Ruby.”
“Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
I nod, grateful for his warmth, and then quickly make my exit. The bell over the door rings as I step out into the cool, mountain air, and I let out a long breath.
