I take the cups, lean close, and smooch her on the cheek. “You’re the best, sis.”
Her face lights up when I call her that. She’s loved it since I did it the first time.
I’m juggling the two paper cups when it hits me that someone is missing from the bookstore. “Where’s the dog?” I call over my shoulder.
Franco gives Chloe a kiss on the cheek in an annoyingly long goodbye and then walks around the counter. “In my truck,” he says. “That’s why I’m here. When Chloe got here and discovered the mess, we figured it’d be safer to keep the dog away from the plumber and whatnot. I’m taking her back with me to the shop.”
The lightbulb goes on in my brain, despite my lack of caffeine. Now his being at the bookstore in the middle of the day makes perfect sense.
He yanks open the door for me so I don’t spill my coffees.
“Give her ear scratches for me,” I call after Franco before glancing over my shoulder again. “Thanks, Chloe.”
I only have to walk about ten paces to get to the place I work. The Body Shop is the only tattoo shop in Star Falls. It just so happens to have the same name as the only strip club in the county, which has been the source of a lot of jokes over the years. Especially during the short time my brother Vito was married to a dancer with the stage name “Exotic,” aka Michelle.
My parents were far from thrilled when I decided to apprentice at a tattoo shop, but I know better than to judge people by what they do for a living, what they drive… All that crap doesn’t mean jack shit. Sometimes the choices we make are…the best we can do. Being an adult is damn tough.
I have good parents. I come from an amazing family. But we never had a lot. My brother Vito and I both still live at home, and it’s not just because my dad’s cooking is to freaking die for. I could go home whenever I wanted a meal. Big Sunday dinners are a requirement for all the Bianchi kids. And now Chloe, too.
I lived alone for a short time and learned a lot of lessons very quickly. I don’t like to think too much about that time, but there are days—like today—when all I can think about is what’s coming up next. The next doctor’s appointment. The next test. The next call to my insurance company about co-pays and approvals.
That’s why I didn’t give a shit if my brother married a stripper. Michelle was cool, and I think she actually loved my brother. Most people have something about them that you can like if you just give them a chance. Bookseller, stripper… Who cares.
Underneath it all, our hearts are what matter.
I have walked literally two steps from the bookshop, lost deep in my thoughts, when I see a man peering through the still-dark windows of The Body Shop.
“Hey, there. Excuse me. Hi?” I call out as I approach the guy. I look him over, trying to assess why he’s looking in the window of a store that’s obviously closed.
“Oh, hey. Hello.” When he turns around, my stomach does that little flippy thing it does every time I see someone with muscles and a wide, sincere smile.
Ughhhhh.
The man is big and, like, rugby-player muscular. Totally yummy.
I know. I’ve dated athletes. And with all the bodies my hands have worked on over the years, I can tell gym muscles from muscles that can do miraculous things.
I can see this man has a body that is put through a vigorous regimen.
His thighs are crazy muscled. He’s wearing shorts but not suburban dad shorts. These are the shorts of a guy who just rolled off a field someplace after scoring a last-second, game-winning goal. One knee has the etched-looking, well-healed scars from some kind of orthopedic repair. And his arms… He’s wearing nothing sexy, just a plain soft blue tee, but the thing must be made of the world’s finest cotton. It’s stretched over defined pecs that would normally make my mouth water.
But God, those arms…drool.
I have to stop myself before I turn into an idiotic puddle of goo. This guy is notjustmy type; he’s every stupid stereotype I’ve ever fallen for in the past.
And, oh, how I’ve been burned.
As I take him in, he’s looking back at me like he’s not sure whose turn it is to talk, but if it’s his, he might owe me an apology even if he doesn’t know why.
“Do you…work here?” he asks, looking from my cups to the shop.
“Sure do,” I say. “Here.” I thrust both cups of coffee toward him and fumble in my giant silver studded purse for my keys. “You look smart enough to handle this, but just be careful. These are hot,” I remind him.
I normally juggle two cups just fine, but if he’s a weirdo or a criminal, keeping his hands busy while I open the store feels a lot safer than me having my hands full.
Although the day is clear and sunny, and one scream would no doubt bring Chloe and half of downtown Star Falls running, I refuse to consider that maybe, just maybe, I’m not opposed to the hunky athlete carrying my coffee.
He takes both cups, his lips slightly parted and a confused look on his face.
