Bachelor By Design: Bachelor By Design / Too Hot For Comfort

Eileen clucked her tongue. “You’re on the wrong side of twenty-five, dear. It’s time to stop being so picky.”

“I’m not picky,” Chloe countered. “As long as they pass the FBI background check.”

Eileen laughed, but Chloe wasn’t joking. Growing up among the D’Onofrio men had taught her exactly what she didn’t want in a man. They were all handsome, charming, stubborn male chauvinists. And they all had criminal records. Except Ramon, whom she’d managed to keep out of trouble. So far, anyway.

To be fair, Chloe’s deceased father hadn’t had a criminal record, either. But only because the masterful jewel thief had never been caught.

“Maybe I’ll give Café Romeo a try myself,” Eileen said playfully. “After spending the last three years in here, I could use some romance in my life.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Chloe exclaimed, willing to show enthusiasm for anything that would keep her mother out of trouble. And out of jail. “As soon as you’re free we’ll go shopping. We’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“I need a perm, too,” Eileen said, fingering her faded brown hair. “And maybe a color touch-up.”

“We’ll shoot the works.” Thanks to Madame Sophia, Chloe would have enough money to give her mother a fresh new start. The coffeehouse owner might be a little flaky, but her job offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Madame Sophia hadn’t even asked for any references. All she’d required of Chloe was to sign on the dotted line.

And, oddly enough, to drink one cup of Café Romeo’s special blend of Jamaican almond coffee.

“DON’T SAY I didn’t warn you.”

Trace Callahan looked up from the sheet of plywood he was measuring to scowl at his little brother. Only Noah wasn’t so little anymore. He’d just turned twenty-six, and at six-three, stood an inch taller than his two older brothers. “Warn me? You’ve been predicting catastrophes ever since I told you Aunt Sophie confiscated our coffee grounds. Don’t you think you might be just a little paranoid?”

Noah Callahan snorted. “That’s the same thing Jake said. And looked what happened to him.”

“Jake’s not dead, he’s engaged.”

“Is there a difference?”

Trace shook his head in disgust, then pulled a stubby pencil out of his shirt pocket. He began marking off measurements on the wood, refusing to let this ridiculous conversation slow his progress on the expansion of Café Romeo. A common wall separated the coffeehouse from the now-defunct pizza parlor next door. He’d gutted the pizza parlor and stripped the oppressive red-and-black flocked wallpaper off the walls.

After spending several weeks remodeling the interior, he felt the place was finally beginning to come together. Just yesterday he’d cut the wide archway in the common wall that connected it to Café Romeo. He’d tacked an oilcloth over the opening to contain the dust, but he could still smell the fragrant aroma of fresh-ground coffee and hear the low murmurs of Aunt Sophie’s customers.

He stuck the pencil back in his shirt pocket, then glanced at his brother. Noah might have more brawn than Trace, but obviously not as much brain. He was also an inveterate playboy. “Look, Noah, you’ve got to get over this marriage phobia of yours. It isn’t healthy.”

“And I suppose your plan to have women audition for a chance to be your wife is what you call healthy?”

“Definitely. I’m planning to marry for keeps. As soon as I find the one who fits all my requirements.”

Noah visibly shuddered. “Well, I’m going while the going is good.”

“Going where?”

“Cleveland, Ohio. I arranged a job transfer there as soon as I found out Aunt Sophie had gotten her hands on our coffee grounds. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Don’t you think moving out of state is a little extreme?”

Noah folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me. Our big brother recently proposed to a woman he’s known less than a month. This is the same man who had a bumper sticker on his car that read Marriage is for Morons. And Aunt Sophie made it happen.” Noah leaned toward him and lowered his voice. “Be afraid, Trace. Be very afraid.”

“I like Nina,” Trace said in defense of his future sister-in-law. He bent down and picked up the four-foot level off the floor.

“I like her too. But that doesn’t change the fact that one of Aunt Sophie’s crazy romantic predictions actually came true. And I’m not sticking around to be victim number three.”

“Number three? Who’s victim number two?”

“Just take a look in the mirror, pal,” Noah said as he headed for the archway. “You’re bride bait, and Aunt Sophie’s all set to reel one in for you. As soon as Jake and Nina tie the knot, I’m outta here.”

Trace watched his brother disappear behind the oilcloth. Noah was actually running scared. And for what? Some illogical fear that Aunt Sophie could make him fall in love with a woman against his will?

Trace wasn’t about to let that happen. He’d be getting married all right, but to a woman of his own choosing. A woman who fit the exact blueprint of the future he wanted to build. And he’d told his aunt that already, in no uncertain terms. She’d taken the news well. He frowned down at the level in his hand. Maybe a little too well. Maybe he should have another talk with her, just in case….

As if she were truly psychic, Sophie Callahan appeared at that moment, bustling through the makeshift oilcloth door with Café Romeo’s most inefficient waiter in tow.

“Trace, the place looks absolutely wonderful.” Sophie wore a hot-pink caftan and matching turban. Several gold bangle bracelets adorned each arm, making her sound like a wind chime whenever she moved.

Trace looked around the barren room. All the old booths had been ripped out, as well as the red shag carpet, leaving the old, worn floorboards bare. Plaster hung in chunks from the ceiling. Wires dangled from the newly installed drywall.

“There’s still a lot of work left to do. Especially if you want to open this new section in three weeks. I could hire some extra help….”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sophie interjected. “I’ve got the perfect man for the job.”

“Who?”

“Me.” Ramon D’Onofrio stepped forward, his shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. He stuck his chin out and folded his arms across his narrow chest.

Trace swallowed a groan. Not Ramon. Anyone but Ramon.

“Don’t you already have a job?”

Ramon turned to Sophie. “I told you he hated me. Didn’t I tell you? I spill one cup of coffee on him and he holds a grudge forever.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Sophie said. “Is it, Trace?”

Actually, it was damn close to the truth. That coffee Ramon had dumped in his lap had come perilously close to doing permanent damage. Ramon was obviously as dangerous as the rest of the infamous D’Onofrio family. Trace shuddered to think of the havoc Ramon could wreak with a nail gun. “Look, it’s nothing personal. I just prefer to work with people who actually have some experience.”

“I made a birdhouse in seventh-grade shop class,” Ramon said, widening his puppy brown eyes. “And I’m always doing little repairs around the house.”

“Hammer something for him,” Sophie said, handing Ramon the sledgehammer on the floor.

Trace took a cautious step back. “That’s really not…”

Too late. Ramon took a swing at one of the braces Trace had just installed to reinforce the unstable west wall. Wood splintered as the brace split in two at the impact. The wall creaked ominously and pieces of plaster rained onto the floor.

“There’s more where that came from,” Ramon said proudly.

Trace didn’t doubt it for a moment. “I really can’t afford you.”

“No problem,” Aunt Sophie chimed, picking a chunk of plaster out of her titian hair. “I’ll pay Ramon’s wages. He needs a sabbatical from waiting tables, but I don’t want to lose him.”

“I just can’t take the stress anymore,” Ramon explained, his voice quivering. “The menu is so complicated and some of the customers can be so rude. You dribble a little coffee on them and they start screaming about lawsuits and third-degree burns.”