One Night Charmer

“Okay,” he said, walking across the room and heading over toward the couch, toward that big, striking table. “This is what I have.”

There was a stack of fabric samples on the table. Little square pieces of different material attached to cardboard. She walked over to them, crossing her arms and studying all the options. “Okay, what vibe are you going for?”

“Is there a particular fabric that says I want to spend my money on the most expensive alcohol in this place?”

She laughed, looking down. “I’ll tell you right now,” she said, reaching for one of the samples, “it isn’t this.” She ran a finger along the red-and-white checked fabric. “Unless you’re going for overpriced picnic by the sea.”

“Not so much. Look, I’m not a frilly guy. So this is all kind of beyond me. I sort of know what I want it to be.”

She looked around the room again. “Simple.”

“Yeah.”

“I like your coffee table,” she said. “I don’t see why you can’t go with something like that. Handmade furniture with some softer details.”

“What do you mean by softer details?”

“Lace. Lace with natural wood would actually be really nice.”

“I’m not... Lace?”

“Yes, lace. Unless you’re serving no one but lumberjacks you’re going to have to have something pretty. But I do think that we should do something with the rest of things that you like.”

He snorted, sitting down on the couch, propping his foot up on the coffee table they were currently discussing. “There’s only one way I like lace.”

“And that is?”

“As women’s panties.”

Heat shot down her spine like a lightning bolt. “Well, you are not using my panties for your curtains. But I assure you that lace has other uses. Picture it. We can do tables made with natural wood, I bet we can coordinate with some people in town. Who all have you helped out, Ace?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” He rubbed his chin, the sound of his palm scraping over his stubble making her shiver a little. She held more tightly to her coffee, hoping that its warmth would erase the chill, or whatever it was, that had just raced through her.

“I know we don’t know each other that well, but I see you at a lot of different functions. And even when you aren’t there, your drinks are there. I know that you donated beer and soda for Connor Garrett’s barn raising. You also provide drinks every year for the Fourth of July barbecue. I think there are a lot of people who’d be willing to return the favor, people whose skills you could make use of. Your brewery would be a showcase for local talent. And I’m not suggesting you go around asking people to give things to you, but I think you could probably get some handcrafted furniture for decent pricing.”

He clasped his hands and raised his arms, placing them behind his head. “That isn’t a terrible idea.”

“Please, you have to be more careful, Ace. You’re going to inflate my ego beyond all recognition.”

“Then you’ll be insufferable.”

“Absolutely.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m already planning on the best method to make your life a living nightmare.”

“Suggesting I use lace curtains in my brewery is actually a good place to start.”

“Don’t be a drama queen, Ace. Nobody likes that. Or so I’m told. Frequently.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. But I actually like the idea about using local furniture, art, whenever we can. Because if the point is to give tourists a great place to get a sense of Copper Ridge, then that’s what we need to do.”

“I imagine you’re not going to have any trouble getting local distribution for your beer, either.”

He straightened, then stood, making a very male noise that seemed...gratuitous. Like he was just stretching noisily to remind her that he was a man and she was...vulnerable to his powers of testosterone. “I imagine not.”

“Your excitement is catching,” she said, treating him to her fakest smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not your sorority sister.”

“I was not in a sorority.”

“Well, there you go. Busting stereotypes all over the place.”

She lifted the coffee mug to her lips, taking another sip. “Absolutely to change the subject, because the one we are currently on basically amounts to you being an ass... What’s in your barn?”

“Is that a double entendre?”

She made a face. “No, what could that even mean?”

“Well—”

“No. Please don’t tell me what it could mean.”

“I didn’t take you for a prude, Sierra,” he said, his voice suddenly getting warm, thick. Certainly not the sort of tone he should be using with her, since he didn’t like her, and she was a waitress. His waitress. His waitress that he didn’t like.

“I hide my Puritanical streak underneath my short shorts.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Her throat tightened, her whole body getting tingly. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“What?”

He looked innocent. Which really wasn’t a great or authentic look on him. “We shouldn’t banter.”

“A little banter isn’t going to hurt.”

“Banter is dangerous. Especially good banter.”

“Maybe. But it won’t go anywhere, because you’re the one who has to beg.”

She nearly choked on her tongue. “Well, I’m not going to. I was trying to change the subject. A gentleman wouldn’t stop me from doing so.”

“I never said I was a gentleman.”

“Clearly.”

“And we actually did change the subject.”

“But you commandeered my subject change. You didn’t answer my question.”