One
Skylar
They call me the redheaded Rapunzel, except I’m not trapped in a tower and I don’t need rescuing.
What I need is a contractor.
But for now, I’m getting by with help from my best friend Iris and her new beau, Oliver.
They’ve both been a godsend with this pop-up book fair I’m doing at the Dogwood Festival. I’ve met lots of people excited about the shop, plenty of local authors who are interested in stocking their books with me, and other people in the business community who seem very welcoming.
I was right to take advantage of the large crowds during the festival, and I feed off everyone’s excitement and energy.
The sun is shining; it’s a gorgeous spring day; I wouldn’t be at all surprised if little birds — or lizards — started following me around.
Then it all comes crashing to a halt when a tall, trim man in steel-toe work boots the size of my forearm walks up.
My tongue goes numb.
The stranger addresses Oliver, but he’s looking right at me, where I stand under the tent a few feet away, gripping my coffee.
The tone, the haircut, the nod of his chin, and the posture. Military. Ex-military, I do believe, by the salt and pepper at his temples and the lines around his eyes when he squints in the sun. Hello…sailor?
Listen. I know my way around men, and this is a Navy man, or I’ll eat my own foot.
He’s also so cute that I stumble as I try to figure out how to stand, how to fix my face, how to remember the English language.
“Finn. You made it.”
Finn. OK. His name is Finn. Short for Finneas? Phineas? No, he’s definitely a Finn with an F.
Finally, Oliver introduces the man as his older brother.
Personally, I don’t see the resemblance. Finn is taller and bulkier, and well, way hotter.
In the five seconds before Oliver introduces me to his brother, I think a hundred different thoughts. I should have worn a different sweater. I should have done a winged eyeliner. I should have curled my hair. I should have worn less jewelry and chosen a more understated look. Should have, should have, should have. But then I catch myself. What am I doing? Who is this voice inside my head trying to rearrange myself for a man? That’s not the Skylar I know.
I’m Skylar fucking Everett, and I don’t get intimidated by anyone. I’ve been taking care of myself since the age of ten, basically. No one makes me tongue-tied, least of all someone who doesn’t even know me.
I shore up my wits despite this man’s eyes boring into me. Boring is right. He’s probably the least interesting individual on the planet. He probably wears steel-toed boots just to look cool and doesn’t have any cred to back it up.
That’s the story I tell myself so I can put my guard up for the next five minutes.
And then, Finn shakes my hand. He does that thing where he puts both of his hands around mine while never letting go of eye contact, except when he blinks.
“Lovely to meet you, ma’am. Finn Harris.”
He called me “ma’am.” Really taking a chance with that one, considering how many Yankees live around here who take offense to that. Me? No. Born and bred in here, and I’d be offended if I didn’t get a ma’am from a Navy man.
At least I know he was raised right.
I turn the charm all the way up to eleven and bat my lashes. “Aren’t you precious? Pleasure to meet you, sailor.”
His too-beautiful mouth quirks up. “How’d you know I served in the Navy?”
He’s still holding my hand, but I am not going to let him see me sweat over that. Nor am I going to let him see me swoon. “You have that something-something of a Navy man. Let me guess… Captain?”
“Right on the money,” he says.
