Seeking Single Male (17 page)

"You burned your hand," he said, then pulled her to the sink and ran cold water over the pink tingling flesh.

"It's nothing," she protested, but admitted the water felt good on her scorched palm. Or was it his fingers on her hand, brown

skin against white, that felt good? He stood just behind her, his head bent close to hers. Perhaps the hot coffee had stirred up

his cologne, because the musky scent enveloped her, teasing her senses, dredging up a flood of forgotten sensations from last

night. She was grateful he couldn't see that her face was as pink as her injured hand. Had the oxygen in the air suddenly

decreased?

"Thanks, it's better," she said, then pulled her shaky hand from his and dried it on her apron.

He unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on his stained shirt to expose his throat and collarbone to the air, and her cheeks

burned with the realization that she knew the planes of the rest of his torso in intimate detail.

"The first rule of working in a coffee shop," she said with a rueful laugh, "is not to wear white."

"I guess I should've taken the apron," he said, then one side of his mouth pulled back. "But at least now my shirt matches my

torn jacket."

Lana winced. "I haven't had a chance to get your jacket repaired yet."

"Can I get some service here?" a man asked loudly from the other side of the bar.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but Greg spoke first. "Take it easy, man. Can't you see the lady burned her hand?"

"All I see is you making moon eyes at her," the customer said dryly. "Can I have my coffee, or what?"

Greg's face was a thundercloud, so Lana cut in and handled the man's order, her mind humming like a teenager's at the

offhand comment. Had Greg been making moon eyes at her? Nah. More likely, his eyes had been dilated in pain from his

scalding hot coffee bath. She busied herself filling orders, until, as was the way of retail, the customers were gone and a lull

ensued. Lana glanced at her watch. Where the devil was Annette?

Greg wore a closed expression, and he, too, checked the time. He had better things to do, of course. But at least business had

been good for the short time he'd been there. Maybe he would realize that she provided a service that people wanted. That he

couldn't just go around uprooting people's lives, like he'd uprooted hers.

At a loss for conversation, she gestured to a nearby table with a game board. "Do you play chess?"

He shrugged. "It's been a while."

"Come on, I'll go easy on you."

But he snorted softly as he sat down. "I'm a pretty good player."

So he'd belonged to the science club
and
the chess club. "Well, I'm not so bad myself."

He cracked his knuckles in a sweeping motion. "Give it your best shot."

She looked into his dark eyes, and for a split second she wondered if he were talking about the game, or about trying to

breach his stony exterior. He looked away and gravely set up the game pieces. The tiniest of smug smiles played on his lips,

and Lana shook her head.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Six moves later she announced, "Checkmate."

"Huh?" Greg jammed his hand into his hair as he stared down at the chessboard. "That's impossible. We've barely moved

any pieces."

Instead of scoffing at his disbelief, she swallowed hard at the sudden realization that his large, handsome features were

becoming too familiar, and too appealing. She pushed back her chair—she needed some distance. "While you're second-

guessing me, I'm going to sort the recyclables." She grabbed a couple of paper cups from a table as she walked by, then slipped

behind the bar, trying to keep her gaze from straying to him. She needed to get a grip.

"How did you do that?" he asked, gesturing to the game board.

"Diversion," she said. "While you were pursuing my queen, you left your king at risk."

His head was still bent, and his index finger moved, recreating plays in his head.

"Can you handle refills for about five minutes?" she asked.

He waved and frowned, which she interpreted as yes.

Fighting a smile, Lana wheeled the garbage down the hall to where the recycle bins were stacked behind a folding door. She

separated paper, glass, plastic.

Undoubtedly, no one had ever beat Greg Healey at chess, and certainly not a complicated female-type.
Paper, glass, plastic.

Most likely, the women he met through the singles ads had more lively pursuits.
Paper, glass, plastic.
She closed the folding

door with a sigh and headed back to the front.

Lana froze at the sight of her smiling pastry chef Annette coming through the front door. Good grief, she'd forgotten. The last

thing she needed was for Annette to reveal that
she
was Coffee Girl and fall head over heels in love with Greg Healey. He'd

trample the woman's heart for sure. And Lana should know.

Lana blinked with the revelation, then shouted "Annette!" before the girl's hand left the doorknob. Lana glided past Greg,

who had moved behind the bar. "Thanks for coming in."

Annette cast a quizzical glance toward Greg, who was, amazingly, wiping up the counter. "Who's that?"

Lana lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Um, he's the owner of the building, the one who's trying to rezone the area and

close me down."

Annette pursed her lips. "Close you down? Looks to me like he's cleaning up."

Lana rolled her eyes for effect. "He's only here to prove to the city council that he's concerned about the merchants."

"He's gorgeous. What's his name?"

She took in Annette's perky face and voluptuous figure, and suddenly realized that keeping Annette and Greg apart had little

to do with her concern for Annette's fragile heart. Was it possible that she wanted to keep him all to herself? Preposterous,

considering the man probably answered singles ads every week. Still…

Her heart skipped a beat in relief when she remembered that Annette didn't know the last name of the man who had answered

her ad. "It's, um, Mr. Healey. Listen, Annette, while you're here, I wondered if you could do me a little favor." Lana led a

craning Annette past the bar out of sight to a coat closet in the back. She withdrew Greg's torn jacket. "Is it possible to repair

this tear so that it doesn't show?"

Annette studied the rip. "Nice fabric. Whose jacket?"

"Um, the guy out front."

She grinned. "What did you do? Tear his clothes off in a fight?"

"Can you fix it or not?"

Annette nodded. "To the point that it won't be noticeable."

Lana sighed with relief. At least she wouldn't have to replace an expensive suit on her already strained budget. "Great. Write

me up a bill when you're finished."

"No charge. It's the least I can do for accidentally setting you up with that creepy Greg What's-his-name last week."

"Shh!"

"What?"

"I thought I heard something."

"I didn't hear anything."

Lana waved off the imaginary noise. "Thanks for watching the shop for me."

"With that hunky guy? No problem."

Lana frowned. "Actually, I was planning to take Hunky Guy around to meet some of the other shop owners that he wants to

put out of business."

Annette's face fell. "Oh."

Lana untied her apron and handed it to Annette. "I'll be back soon."

"Take your time," Annette said, winking. "Maybe you can sweet-talk Mr. Healey into not going through with his plan." She

laughed. "And if he doesn't cooperate, you can always spray his eyes full of hair spray like you did that other guy."

LANA DROVE HER HANDS
deeper into her coat pockets and glanced sideways at Greg. "Now that you've met some of the

shop owners, what do you think?" Her shop was in sight, up ahead and on the opposite side of the street. The weather had taken

a sudden turn toward raw, spitting ice crystals and blowing up sudden blasts of Arctic wind. She could no longer feel her toes

or her nose, but, curiously, she hated for the tour to end.

"Not the friendliest bunch," he said wryly.

"You're trying to shut down their businesses."

"How many times do I have to tell you that this isn't personal—it's business?"

She stopped and turned to face him. "It's personal to me."

He stopped, too, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He'd turned up the collar of his sleek black leather coat to ward off the

biting wind. "You shouldn't allow personal entanglements to cloud your business judgment."

"I can't make decisions without considering the people who will be affected," she said softly. "I'm not wired that way."

He looked away, jammed his hands into this pockets, then looked back. "I'm not responsible for those people. If their

livelihoods are tied up in their businesses, why haven't any of them offered to buy their buildings?"

"Because they can't afford them?" She knew
she
couldn't afford a mortgage on the building her shop was in.

"That's right," he said. "They can't afford to carry a mortgage and pay the property taxes and maintain the rotten plumbing.

They want to have a say-so in how the property is developed, but none of them are rushing to assume the risk."

He was right, of course. At least in her case. "Last night you said you would help."

"Last night I was…distracted." Regret laced his words.

Her heart shivered with disappointment. "Meaning, you would have said anything to get in my pants?"

He shook his head and rubbed his jaw. "Don't put words in my mouth. I said I would
try
to help, and I will, but there's more

at stake here than a few miscellaneous shops. Look, I have to go. I've wasted—" He stopped and scratched his temple to cover

his gaffe, but she'd heard him loud and clear. He'd wasted enough time on her.

"I have to go," he said simply.

She struggled to keep the hurt from her voice, angry at herself because she had no right to feel hurt. Greg Healey meant

nothing to her. She reached into her shoulder bag and withdrew a folder of photocopied notes—all her scribbled thoughts for

regenerating the Hyde Parkland area. "For what it's worth, these are my ideas," she said, thrusting the folder into his hand. "I'll

see you around."

Lana crossed the street and walked toward the shop. It was a good thing she knew the route by heart, or else she'd never have

found the place through the blur of tears—caused by the stinging wind, of course.

17

"GREGORY
?"

Greg snapped out of another Lana-induced reverie. "What?"

"Do you think that Eddie Age Seven would like the red bike helmet or the blue?"

"The blue."

Will grinned. "I think so, too." He added the box to a toy-laden buggy. "That's the last one on the list. This is fun."

"Thanks for coming to help me, pal." The past week had been a blur of disjointed events. He'd left things badly with Lana,

and his regret had escalated each day. Her folder of notes had become his bedtime reading, which dovetailed perfectly into

dreaming about the woman. Greg dragged his hand down his face. He was feeling a little stressed.

"How do we get the gifts to the boys and girls?"

"We'll take them back to the coffee shop, and Lana will make sure they go to the right person." Of course, his dilemma was

how to get the gifts to Lana's coffee shop without running into her. He'd considered posting them, but with only five more

mailing days until Christmas, he was afraid the packages would be waylaid.

"I'm sorry that you and Lana had an argument."

He frowned. "How did you know we had an argument?"

"I heard you telling Yvonne."

"Oh. Well, it wasn't an argument—it was a disagreement."

"But Yvonne said you were the disagreeable one."

"It's not nice to eavesdrop on other people's conversations."

"But I thought you were trying to be nice to Lana to win her over to your side."

He sighed. "It's complicated."

"I know you said that women are complicated, Gregory, but I still want one."

Oh, no, not that again. "You're not looking in the singles ads again, are you?"

"Nope. Coffee Girl was the only one I liked, but she turned out to be complicated, too, didn't she."

Greg's head was spinning, but he managed a nod.

"I guess I'll just have to wait until the right girl comes along." Will lifted a fire truck from the buggy and moved the ladder up

and down. "Lana's a good person, isn't she, Gregory?"

"Do we have to talk about Lana?"

"Well, she is a nice person, isn't she?"

He swallowed hard. "I suppose." He could always have the gifts couriered over.

"So why are you shutting down her coffee shop?"

"Will, we've been over this a dozen times." But what the heck was he so afraid of? He would just drive over there and drop

them off. Period.

"I know, Gregory, but I don't understand why everybody can't be happy."

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "It's impossible for everybody to be happy at the same time." He would simply park,

and let Will take the packages inside.

"I want to buy Yvonne a suitcase for Christmas."

He sighed in relief at Will's sudden diversion. "I think that's a very good idea. Why don't you go to the luggage department,

and I'll—"

"Mr. Healey?"

Greg turned to see Lana's friend Alex walking toward him. He wasn't sure how to respond. The woman hadn't exactly been