By the way Mack isn’t meeting my eye, I’m guessing there’s more to the story, but I can tell he doesn’t want to go into it. So, I shift gears.
“Have you always wanted to own your own company?”
He nods. “That was the goal since I started as an apprentice—to be a master electrician by the time I turned thirty.”
“And you did it?”
“I did.”
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty-one.”
“An old geezer.”
He looks affronted, and I laugh at his scowl.
“I’m only twenty-seven,” I say.
“I’ll have to start calling you Baby Boo.”
I crinkle up my nose as a ball of heat flies like a rocket straight up my spine. I swear it splits into two fireballs that settle themselves on both of my cheekbones, because my face is flaming hot.
Note to self: best not to think too much about Mack calling mebaby.
I clear my throat. “Do you like your work?”
“I love it. I never wanted a nine-to-five desk job. I like being out in the field.”
I nod. “I can see that. You’re very handsy.” I blink. Swallow. “Handy.”
Friggin’ Freudian slip. What are the chances?
I blame thebabyendearment. And Rose putting unnecessary thoughts in my head. It’s all messing with me.
Mack’s charcoal eyes are at once brighter. Like there’s a fire lit in them. How is that possible?
He shrugs. “Both. And”—he pauses and stares directly at me with that intense look of his—“I’m good with my hands.”
What thewhat,now?
That sounded a lot like an innuendo.
Right?Right?
“Right,” I say. “Hands.” My voice sounds a little squeaky. “Very important to be good with your hands.”
Mack hums and crosses the kitchen in two long strides so he’s standing directly in front of me, with just the counter separating us. He leans down to rest his elbows against it, and my lungs spasm.
I don’t break eye contact as he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. Goosebumps erupt on top of my burning-up skin. His calloused fingers are gentle, and the thought of the actual electrical work he does with his hands sends a shiver through my nervous system. There is something about a man who is fully capable and in control. I imagine Mack is that on the job site.
And…elsewhere.
His face gets closer to mine, and for a fraction of a second, our lips are only an inch or two apart. I can feel his breath against my cheeks before he leans away.
“Very important,” he echoes, his voice no louder than a rumble. Like the quiet purr of an in-tune engine.
My mouth goes dry. Is he flirting with me?
