Chapter 1
Harper
Businessman, my ass.
The guy standing on his front porch – correction,myfront porch – looked more like an overgrown frat boy than an entrepreneur.
His hair was thick and brown. His legs were long and lean. His arms were tanned and muscular, like he spent his weekdays doing pushups at the beach.
Idiot.Didn't he know it was almost December?Andsnowing?
Apparently not, because even though the mid-morning temperature was well below freezing, he wore strategically ripped jeans and a thin Central Michigan T-shirt – burgundy with faded gold letters.
When he lifted his arms in a long, leisurely stretch, the shirt hiked up several inches above his jeans, giving me a shameless glimpse of the finest six-pack I'd ever seen.
Great.
So the guy was an idiotanda show-off.
Adding insult to injury, the interior of my coffee truck now felt annoyingly warm in spite of the freezing weather.Stupid abs.
As I stared across the distance, I felt my brow wrinkle in concern. With abs like that, he probably gota lotof action. If his libido matched his appearance, he'd be bedding a different girl every night.
Pig.
True, I didn't really know the guy. And normally I wouldn't carewhathe did in his free time. But thanks to that short-term rental contract, he'd be porking those girls inmybed – unless, of course, he was sleeping in my sister's room.
In front of me, a different guy, this one older and huskier, shifted with obvious impatience and grumbled something too low for me to make out.
Taking the hint, I murmured an apology and picked up the pace. I'd been in the middle of making the guy's candy cane mocha when the younger guy had emerged from the front door of the cute little bungalow that I owned with my sister.
The renter was still on the porch, looking oblivious to the cold as he bent down to tie up the laces of his classic red sneakers. If he hadanysense at all, he would've tied them earlier,beforewalking out the front door.
I frowned. If he tripped over the laces and fell down my porch, wouldIbe liable?
Probably.
My stomach twisted with new worry.Did my insurance cover such a thing?
Probably not.
Terrific.
I kept one eye on the renter and another on my work while I reached for the whipped cream dispenser and positioned it over the mocha.Almost done.
But just as I pressed the nozzle, the customer gave a loud huff. When I glanced in his direction, he practically growled, "You wanna say that again?"
Huh?Saywhatagain? I paused in mid-squirt. "Excuse me?"
Outside my concession window, the guy looked seriously miffed. "You called me a pig."
I felt the blood drain from my face.Had I truly said that pig thing out loud?
To a customer?
Jumpin' Jimminy Christmas.
When I replied with only a horrified swallow, the guy's chin jutted outward. "So…you got the guts to say it again?"
