The Christmas Wedding Swap. Allyson Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ have been wasted. Luke didn’t know if process servers could access credit card records, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. His restaurant, his livelihood, was at stake.

      An entire week in Pineville. Maybe more. Sighing, he hiked up the street and turned left when he hit the main drag. His steps sputtered to a stop. Yesterday, the town had been a work in progress, stores changing out their front windows from the oranges and browns of autumn to a blaze of reds and greens. Now it looked like Christmas had vomited all over the small downtown.

      He was used to nice Christmas displays. The big department stores of Chicago had their windows. Hell, he even had his staff decorate a little tree in the corner of his restaurant and hang twinkle lights over the exposed rafters. But downtown Pineville was like a Christmas theme park.

      Behind his reflection in the window next to him, a metal tree stood in as a makeshift hanger for delicate bits of lace and satin. His mouth dropped open. An array of panties, a mix of red, green, and white; polka dots and stripes; some with bows on the front; and one sexy red thong with a big bow hanging down the back were draped from the metal arms, making them the weirdest ornaments Luke had ever seen. A Santa hat topped the tree where a star should be. Luke stepped back and craned his neck to look at the flowery pink writing above the window: Satin & Lace. He’d never seen that in a Chicago window.

      The next storefront was a whirlwind of wintry whites and icy blues and pinks. Icicles and stars hung from the ceiling, the breeze from a shopper pushing through the front door causing them to sway. A little girl wearing a blue princess dress and an elf hat had her little fingers pressed to the window, eyes wide, trying to take it all in. He stepped around her parents, the couple so fused to each other’s sides as to make one block.

      Christ, even the lamp poles were wound with thick vines of green garland. Wreaths adorned with large red bows hung from each one. Christmas was all well and good, but this was a bit much.

      With time to waste and a desire to escape the Norman Rockwell image, Luke quickened his pace and made for the coffee shop across the street. The front windows were painted with snowmen and reindeer and who the hell knew what else. He rolled his eyes and pushed through the door. He released a deep breath when he saw the interior was fairly normal. A small tree of ornaments stood on the counter by the register, but aside from that and the front windows, The Pantry was Christmas-free.

      He made his way across the black-and-white-tiled floor to an empty seat at the counter. Sliding onto the red stool, he plucked a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser in front of him. He sniffed the air, and his shoulders unclenched a bit. At least he wouldn’t be deprived of good food that week. The main restaurant and the areas he could see behind the counter all looked clean, and the waitresses were tidy in black slacks and cream-colored smocks.

      Except for the woman chatting with a customer at the end of the counter. Even just seeing her profile, he knew it was her—that mess of a woman he’d helped the day before after she’d slipped and spilled her bags. He’d been distracted over his bike, but he remembered a round bottom, an obnoxious sweater, and a cute pink blush on her cheeks.

      Today, she didn’t look quite so messy. Her clothes weren’t fancy: tight jeans that fit her just right and a white V-neck t-shirt. Half of her platinum blonde hair was pulled off her face, with a long trail of curls falling down to her shoulders. The way she was resting on her elbows, Luke knew the customer she was talking to was getting a nice view of her cleavage.

      Luke pursed his lips. Maybe he’d been too hasty turning down her tour guide offer.

      She threw her head back and laughed at something the man in front of her said, her neck arching just the way Luke liked when he—

      She straightened and looked right at him. Shit. He tried to school his features. No need to be caught ogling the crazy bag lady. She nodded to her customer and made her way down the counter, stopping in front of Luke with her pad out.

      “What can I get for you?” Her smile was friendly, professional, and held no hint of recognition.

      Luke narrowed his eyes. What the hell? Had she hit her head when she’d fallen? Luke might not be a model, but he knew he was far from forgettable. Women came onto him all the time at his restaurant. Shit, he even got propositioned by men on occasion. Part of that might have been because of his position as head chef and owner of Le Cygne Noir. The restaurant industry had its own subculture of celebrities, fans, and groupies, and Luke Hamilton was one of its rock stars. But even before his fame, he more than held his own when it came to the fairer sex.

      So when a crazy bag lady—okay, a cute crazy bag lady—acted like he was as unremarkable as last week’s blue plate special, it kind of ticked him off—and got his competitive juices flowing, making him want to wipe that feigned indifference right off her face. It had to be an act. A woman didn’t flirt with a guy one day and forget him the next.

      Game on, lady.

      Then he remembered she was getting married. He drew his eyebrows together. Why had she asked him out if she was engaged? Was showing strange men around town something the residents of Pineville did automatically? Michigan’s version of being neighborly?

      His gaze flickered to her left hand. No ring. Running a restaurant, it was understandable that she might not wear one. And she did run this place; Luke could tell. She either owned it or managed it.

      “Do you need more time to look at the menu?” she asked. “I could get you some nuts while you wait. Maybe some almonds?”

      A slow smile curved his lips. So she did remember.

      She raised an eyebrow and tapped her pen against her pad, bored.

      Luke cleared his throat. That wasn’t the usual response he got from women. “What’s good today?” he asked, leaning in and upping the wattage on his never-fail smile. She was engaged, and his code wouldn’t let him plow in another man’s field. But he would at least charm her into a little harmless flirting or a sincere smile. Something. A coffee shop owner in Podunk, Michigan, wouldn’t be the one woman immune to his charms.

      Palms flat on the counter, she edged toward him, a hint of cinnamon and vanilla coming with her. “Honey, everything I do is good.”

      He chuckled. Sassy. He liked sassy.

      She lifted an eyebrow, her dark brown eyes glittering under the fluorescent lights, calling him on his bullshit. She would be no man’s pushover.

      “I like a woman with confidence in her work, but everyone has a specialty.” He glanced down at the menu. Solid comfort food, and all sure to clog the arteries by the time a person hit fifty. He wondered what type of oil she used back in her kitchen. “Or a recipe you’re exceptionally proud of. For a man who helped clean up your little spill yesterday, I’m sure you must have some good recommendations.”

      The slightest pink flush stained her cheeks, and Luke leaned back in his seat, savoring the moment. The blonde was cute when she was flustered, and if he couldn’t get a smile, he’d be satisfied with her blush. Knocking a woman off-kilter was always a definite advantage.

      Not that she acknowledged his advantage. She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You picked up a couple bags of candy. Get over yourself.”

      Luke glanced to his neighbor on the right, but the man kept shoveling food into his mouth, seemingly unsurprised by the woman’s snark. Luke could never get away with talking to a customer like that at his restaurant. But maybe she was only that way with him. He had wanted to provoke a reaction.

      The СКАЧАТЬ