What I Love About You (3 page)

Natalie knew what her friend meant. Working with Mabel and all her demands had been a test of her patience, but at least she’d talked the woman out of posing completely naked on top of her floor-length mink coat.

“Fred’s going to take one look at these and stroke out.”

“Maybe that’s the idea. It’s the perfect crime.” Natalie had known Mabel most of her life. Mabel had been friends with Natalie’s grandmother Joan, until Joan’s death two years ago. Grandmother Richards had always said Mabel was a character, which meant she was opinionated and bossy and the best snoop in Valley County. As a kid, Natalie had hid behind her grandmother’s sofa and listened to such juicy gossip as the questionable paternity of the Porters’ latest grandbaby or who in town was drinking like a lake trout.

A dull ache stabbed between Natalie’s eyes as she gazed at the boudoir shots Mabel had taken for her ninety-year-old husband, Fred. “I hope she’s happy with these.” If not, Natalie would have to reshoot them, but the thought of Mabel dressing up in corsets and kitten heels again caused the stab in her head to sink further into her brain. It wasn’t just that Mabel was a difficult woman and customer, she had bad taste. And a customer’s bad taste reflected poorly on Natalie’s business.

“What’s she wearing on her feet?” Lilah asked as she scrunched up her pretty face.

“My fifty-dollar kitten heels that I had to cut up and tape back together so they’d fit her. She said she was retaining water, but that woman has the biggest feet I’ve ever seen.”

Lilah leaned in for a closer look. “They look like Nutty Professor feet.”

Natalie carefully gathered up the photographs and slid them into a photo envelope. “When I was pregnant, I had Nutty Professor feet.” Behind her, the commercial printer cranked out pictures and fed them into slots. The hum and whirr was money to Natalie’s ears.

“When you were pregnant, you had the Nutty Professor everything.”

And it had taken a year to get back to her normal one hundred and twenty pounds. Okay, one hundred and twenty-five. Most of the time. “I had water weight.”

“You gained Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup weight.”

“And macaroons.” She picked up the photo envelope and moved to her office a few feet away. Two years ago, she’d taken out a loan for the used digital printer. Just as with brick and mortar stores like Walgreens or CVS, or online photo sites like Shutterfly or Snapfish, anyone with Internet access could upload photos to the Glamour Snaps and Prints Web site. Customers could order regular prints or special order their pictures on anything from birthday cards and magazines to catalogues and canvas panels. “One hour or it’s free” was her slogan for residents of Truly.

She charged ten cents a print for four-by-six pictures and more for larger sizes. Between her digital print business and her own photography, she made a fairly good living. She wasn’t rich, but she supported herself and Charlotte.

She tossed Mabel’s photos on her desk and turned to Lilah, who’d followed. “The Olson triplets are coming in tomorrow. Their mother wants harvest-themed photos.” Natalie had a pumpkin patch and weathered barn backdrop that would work, but she’d have to drag in a bale of hay and some leaves to stage the studio in back. “I’m thinking it would be better to meet them in Shaw Park instead of shooting studio photos here.” The Olson boys were five and notorious for naughty behavior. Rather than try to control her hyper sons, Shanna Olson had given up and given in years ago.

Lilah shook her head. “Shanna took fertility drugs like you. Think about it.”

She had, and every time she was in a grocery store and heard a case of soda hit the floor and Shanna’s tired voice say, “Peter, Paul, Patrick. Get down from there,” she thanked God she hadn’t conceived triplets.

Lilah leaned one shoulder into the door frame. “What’s come in lately?”

Natalie didn’t have to ask what her friend was talking about. “It’s unethical for me to discuss a customer’s personal photos that I may or may not have inspected for quality assurance.”

“Save it for your customers who inexplicably send you their private pictures and just as inexplicably believe that you don’t look at them.” Lilah held up one hand and motioned for Natalie to bring it on. “Spill it.”

“I shouldn’t.” She bit the corner of her lower lip.

“Don’t pretend you can keep a secret.”

“I can!”

“No you can’t.” Lilah tilted her head to one side. “You tell everyone what their present is before you give it to them.”

“I haven’t done that in a long time.” She could keep a secret. No problem. No sweat. Not a big deal. “Frankie Cornell has a massive penis,” she said really fast and perhaps a little loud as if it burst uncontrollably from her lips.

“Seriously? The Frankie we went to school with?”

She nodded and put a hand on her chest. “Scary huge.” God strike her down, but she felt better now that it was out. Like a pressure cooker after it let out a little steam.

“The short little guy who ate a tuna fish sandwich every day?”

“Yeah. When he picked up his prints yesterday, I couldn’t look him in the eyes but I was afraid to look down.” She dropped her hand and let out a breath. “It was a problem.”

“What did it look like?”

“Ugly.” She shuddered. “Like an angry mutant.”

Lilah laughed. “There must have been something in that tuna his mom packed in his lunch. Probably chromium.”

“I doubt chromium gave him monster junk, Erin Brockovich.”

“Did you make copies?”

“That’s illegal and unethical.” She moved past her friend toward the digital printer. “And believe me, I never want to see that enormous penis again.” Just the thought made her cringe. “I’m still traumatized.”

The bell sitting on the front counter rang once, and Natalie spun around as Lilah stuck her head out of the office. Both women froze as they stared at the man on the other side of the counter. A black short-sleeve shirt clung to his big biceps and bigger shoulders and the defined muscles of his chest. It was the kind of shirt that joggers wore when they ran twenty miles, then stopped to lift a few cars. The kind only a supremely confident man would dare wear in public.

She raised her gaze up his thick neck and square chin. Past the fine definition of his lips and nose to his eyes. Gray. Steel. Stormy. Everything that was hard and cold. Just like she remembered from yesterday, and if he wasn’t the biggest a-hole on the planet, she might think he was handsome. With his short blond hair and strong chin and jaw, he could pass for an action hero in a Hollywood blockbuster. Thor. G.I. Joe. Captain America. Magic Mike. And yes, she knew that Magic Mike wasn’t an action hero movie, but it had the kind of action that reminded her of this man. The hot and sweaty, bump and grinding kind of action that turned a sensible woman senseless.

Heat flushed her chest and she turned her attention to Lilah, who looked like she’d been turned to salt for staring at Sodom. When it came to good-looking men, Lilah wasn’t sensible and was prone to sins of biblical proportions, and ever since Lilah read
Fifty Shades of Grey
, she overshared the details of her kinky sex life.

Natalie turned her attention to her neighbor and his hard eyes staring into hers. She had bigger concerns right now than Lilah and her Ben Wa balls. More pressing questions, like why her neighbor was in her place of business after yesterday’s unpleasant encounter. And more importantly, just how much of her and Lilah’s conversation had he overheard?

She licked her dry lips and pushed up the corners into her best business smile. “Can I help you?”

“I need to pick up my prints.” He glanced up at the red and pink banner tacked to the ceiling above his head. “This is Glamour Snaps and Prints?” He returned his gaze to hers. Cold. Stony. No humor or hint that he might have overheard her and Lilah’s discussion of Frankie’s mammoth wiener.

“Yes.” She moved to the front counter and looked across at him. “Your name?”

“Blake Junger.”

He’d lived next to her for over a week now, but she hadn’t met him until yesterday. Hadn’t known his name, neither first nor last, but neither suited her image of him. Both sounded a little too nice for a guy who swore at little girls. Too soft for a guy so hard. She pulled open the big drawer beneath the counter and searched the Y file folder. This guy looked more suited to a name like Rock Stone. Or Buck Knife. Or Raging Asshole.

“J,” he said. “Junger with a J.”

She glanced up as she shut the drawer and moved a few feet to her right.
Junger with a J
. She remembered prints from Junger with a J. He’d ordered them online last night and Natalie had placed them in a print wallet and order envelope this morning. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed the address. She opened another drawer and flipped past Jackson, Jensen, and Jones to Junger. She pulled out the envelope with her logo printed on the front and reached inside for the paper photo wallet. He’d paid with a Visa and given a local P.O. box as his mailing address. That’s why she hadn’t connected him to his photos.

“Please look these over carefully before you take them.” Thinking about it now though, she should have recognized his bottle of Johnnie Walker.

He opened the paper flap and quickly fanned through his pictures.

Usually she tried to sell frames, photo books, and other services. Or at the very least, a greeting card from the row behind him. The longer she could get a customer to stay in her shop, the more money he was likely to spend. Not this time. Not with this man. She hated to admit it, but he rattled her nerves. Everything about him was just . . . too. He was too big. Too handsome. His presence was too dominant to ignore. He was too big a jerk, too.

He closed the flap. “They look fine.”

“Great.” She reached into a drawer beneath the cash register and pulled out a customer loyalty card. “Every fifth order is half price and every tenth is free.” She punched a hole in the first square and handed it to him. His knuckles brushed hers, predictably rough, surprisingly warm. She looked up into his cold gray eyes staring back at her, and she pulled her hand away first. “Thanks for your business, Mr. Junger.” This time, she slid the order envelope and receipt across the counter toward him.

“It’s Blake.” He flashed such a perfect white smile, she could practically see a silver glint on his perfect incisor. “Your raging asshole neighbor.”

Natalie raised a brow. “Yes. I remember you.”

“No one’s ever called me a raging asshole.”

“Maybe not to your face.”

He chuckled, a warm sound deep in his chest, and Natalie was saved from a response by Lilah, who had apparently recovered from getting turned into a salt statue. “Delilah Markham.” She shoved her hand toward the neighbor. “Everyone calls me Lilah.”

“It’s a pleasure, Lilah. Everyone calls me Blake.” He shook her hand and glanced at Natalie. “Well, almost everyone.” One corner of his perfect smile lifted a little higher. “I like your hair.” Natalie could practically feel Lilah melt into a puddle at her feet, and she wondered what was up with the Mr. Nice Guy act. “And leather. I appreciate a woman in leather.”

“Thank you.”

He took his hand back and shoved his photos and punch card into the order envelope. “Good day, ladies.”

“See you around, Blake.”

Hope I don’t see you around
. “Mr. Junger.”

The two women watched him leave, the back of his wide shoulders tapering to his waist and the zippered back pockets of his black running pants.

“Oh. My. God,” Lilah managed as soon as the door shut behind Blake. “Pinch me. That man is gorgeous.”

“Do you think he heard us talking about Frankie’s junk?”

“Who cares?” Lilah pointed toward the door. “Did you
see
him?”

“I care. I’m a business owner.” Natalie put a hand on the front of her white blouse. “Discussing a customer’s private photos with another customer is unethical.”

Lilah waved her concern away. “Did you see his chest? Like someone painted him with edible chocolate fondue. All dark and yummy and I just wanted a bite.”

“Edible chocolate fondue?” She didn’t even want to know what Lilah did with edible fondue.

“Please”—she grabbed Natalie’s arm—“please tell me that man took pictures of his junk and that you made copies!”

“Sorry.” Natalie chuckled. “No junk photos.”

Lilah looked like she might cry and dropped her hand. “What were his pictures of?”

“Mostly Johnnie Walker and a few snapshots of some wildflowers.” And lots of the lake. Even though it killed her to admit it, his photos were pretty good. Nice color and lighting. Even the shots of his whisky bottle had interesting depth.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Flowers and booze? Is he a drinker or gay?” A frown creased her perfectly plucked brows. “Or is he a big gay drinker?”

Natalie shrugged and moved to the cabinet a few feet from the big digital printer. “I really doubt he’s gay,” she said as she pulled out a large canvas bag. Big drinker? Maybe, but he didn’t look like either.

“No. I didn’t get the gay vibe from him, and I can always tell. Gay guys love me.”

“Drag queens love you.”

“I bet Blake Junger wouldn’t mind if I painted him with chocolate fondue.”

Natalie had dated a few times when she’d first moved back to Truly. She’d even had a short relationship with Imanol Allegrezza, a handsome Basque man from a large Basque family in the area, but it hadn’t worked out. She’d been a single mom working hard to support herself and her toddler. Manny had been a cheater. Cheating men seemed to be the story of her life.

“Or hot wax dripped on his privates,” Lilah continued to dream.

“Ouch.” Natalie cringed as she turned on the printer and clicked on a few icons.

“You’re such a prude.”

“No. I’m boring.” She chuckled.

“You’re not boring. Michael’s an asshole.” Lilah looked at her and frowned. “You just need to loosen up and get laid. If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.”

“Quit reading
Cosmo
.”

“I don’t need to read
Cosmo
to know that you have sexual shame and old-fashioned guilt. You can’t let yourself have sex outside the societal views of a monogamous relationship.”