The man was a barbarian. A total barbarian.
As I thought that, two more burly barbarians walked through the door.
Both spoken for.
One belonged to Sara, and the other to her best friend Emma.
I’d met Steve and Grant my first week here. Steve popped in whenever he could to give Sara a kiss on her lunch break. He was good-natured, goofy and sweet as hell.
Grant was remote and quiet. A strong silence lived inside him.
Both men were hot as hell. But neither held a candle to the trashman’s rugged good looks.
That was another thing that pissed me off about him. Add it to the list of things that were wrong about Thatcher. Too hot. Which made him completely annoying.
Quietly, before Steve got to the table, I said, “He said his boss’s name was Thatcher.”
Sara quirked up a brow. “Maybe he was making a joke.”
Then I watched the two couples connect, Grant moving towards Emma, Steve sitting down and slinging an arm around Sara.
They were newlyweds and obviously wildly in love. It was enough to drive me crazy.
Not that I was upset at them, but I never saw that happening to me.
Love and I didn’t mix.
Until recently, there hadn’t been time. But that was part of why I’d moved here in the first place, to find the time for little things like love and life.
Unfortunately, despite the warm welcome I’d received, I still felt like an outsider. All my hard New York edges that made me cunning and strong where I came from, felt rough against the polite society of southern country folk.
Everyone was yes ma’am and no sir around here. Just the other day, my neighbor had offered to weed my garden bed for me! I’d thought they’d been making a pointed slight about the fact that I’d obviously done nothing to the yard since moving in. But then they’d told me they were the president of the Deer Springs Garden Club and wanted to practice with a new combination of plants. They’d run out of room at their house.
It had taken me a while to believe they were telling the truth, but now I knew they were.
And my front bed now had a whole host of fall flowers cropping up thanks to them. Asters and chrysanthemums, decorative cabbage, and a row of short, late-blooming crepe myrtles. The whole display was a medley of fall colors. Burnt orange and rust browns, cheery reds, and mustard yellows.
It cheered me up every time I walked home and saw it.
Chapter 3
Thatcher
There she was again.
This time she was at the curb waiting for me. She had a slightly vicious tilt to her lips and a tiny smirk on her face that no one would notice but me. She was standing next to the trash can with her arms crossed just under her ample breasts.
She was wearing a navy power suit with a crisp white shirt, her hair perfectly coiffed and wicked-tall heels on her feet. The last part was probably to make up for the fact that she was so short.
My cock activated at the sight of her.
That was how I liked them. Short, chubby and feisty.
And she fit the bill perfectly.
But she hates me.
I had to remind myself of that every time I saw her. Just because I had a visceral reaction every time she got near me, didn’t mean she was my destiny. The woman had hated me on sight.
