I pour myself a cup of coffee, slap some strawberry jam on two pieces of bread, and open Torts: Cases and Context. I flip to page 342 while I wonder if there’s any way to clone myself by this afternoon. Since that’s not likely, I might as well make use of the few quiet moments I have right now.
The backdoor opens, and a second later, the bathroom door closes. Great. Leo’s inside, which means I won’t be able to concentrate on account of proximity. To be honest, I had a bit of trouble falling asleep last night. Yesterday’s shopping trip was crazy awkward. It started out fine enough. We decided to share a buggy, but somewhere around the cereal aisle, we both seemed to realize that everyone there assumed we’retogethertogether, not just a landlady/supervisor and a tenant/bellboy. Somehow the thought of other people thinking we’re a couple made the whole concept a weird possibility, even though it’s totally not a possibility. Seriously, it’s not.
Even though it was kind of nice to have a man load all the groceries in the trunk and put the buggy away. And I told him not no bother buying coffee because he’s welcome to come inside and have some of mine. Except when I said it, I sounded like some hot-to-trot character in a 1950’s movie. “Why don’t you come up and see me sometime?”
“Morning, Bree,” Leo says, snapping me back to reality. He glances at my open textbook. “Oh, sorry. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“No, it’s no trouble,” I say, suddenly self-conscious about my no makeup/boring low pony/mowing-the-lawn outfit of oversize T-shirt and cut-off jeans. How the hell can he look so good at this hour? “Mugs are in the cupboard above the coffeepot. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. I think I will.”
I watch him for a second, taking in the way he moves his long, lean body with such confidence. He has a regal air even though he’s just in a pair of board shorts and a fitted green T-shirt. I set my gaze back to the page in front of me, but the words are all jumbled together. What is it about this guy that turns me to mush? Oh, right. He’s insanely hot.
“God, that’s your to-do list for the day?” he asks, sitting down across from me.
“Uh-huh.” I don’t dare let my eyes move in his direction because my expression will give me away, and I’m trying to pretend to be too busy to notice him.
“I think you’d look really lovely in a backless dress.”
Oh, crap. Why did I put that in writing?! My entire body flames with embarrassment. “Certain looks don’t flatter curvy girls,” I say, snatching my list and tucking it under my book.
“Agree to disagree,” he says, grinning at me over his mug. “Who’s getting married?”
“My little sister.”
“Bridezilla?”
“I prefer to think of her as highly anxious.”
“Bridezilla.” He nods before giving me a hard stare. “You need help.”
Raising one eyebrow, I say, “Like a personal trainer?”
“God, no,” he says, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “With your to-do list.”
“Oh, right. That’s okay. I’ve got it covered.”
“Ah, I see. And just how are you going to manage everything on that list before our shift?”
“Easy. I’ve already put in the first load of laundry. Once Izzy’s up, we can play maids while I clean the bathrooms and fold the clothes. It’s not thebestquality time we could have, but she’s used to me being busy. Besides, helping out won’t kill her, and she likes playing pretend. We’ll have fun,” I ramble on, my working-mum-induced guilt flowing out. “I’ll make a pasta salad for dinner while I study, then zip outside and mow the grass, shower and run to the dress store, then pop to work.”
Leo stares at me for a moment. “Where you’ll be on your feet until midnight.”
“I’m used to it. That’s the life of a student-slash-single mum-slash-concierge,” I say with a shrug. “But if I play my cards right—and I’m pretty sure I am with this whole law-school thing—sometime in the not-so-distant future, I’ll be able topaysomeone to do the cleaning and yard work.”
“And that thought keeps you going.”
“That, caffeine, and chocolate,” I say, licking the jam off my fingertip. “Which is why I shouldn’t be in a backless anything.”
He leans toward me and lowers his voice. “You should stop putting that image in my mind, Ms. Lewis, or I’m going to have trouble keeping things strictly business with you.”
I roll my eyes even though my bones have turned to liquid goo. Doing my best to pretend I’m not affected, I lean in and match his tone. “Your empty flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Davenport.”
“There’s absolutely nothing insincere in what I’ve said. You’re stunning. Deal with it.” With that, he stands and walks out the door, coffee mug in hand, as I stare after him and try to tell my stupid heart to slow down because he is trouble personified. He’s the dangerously handsome heartbreaker type who will leave you knocked up and shattered.
“Is he gone?” Aunt Dolores asks, peering around the corner from the staircase.
“He just left.”
