Male Call. Heather Macallister

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      He’d lean against his Bronco and sip coffee from a familiar tall paper cup with a brown cuff around it. Though it was nearly May, the mornings were still cool and he’d wrap both hands around the cup. She could practically taste the coffee he gingerly brought to his lips. She’d think about it all the way into work and then have to stop in at the Starbucks next to the Carnahan building.

      Early this morning, the two-man construction crew had been stripping the house to the insulation. Now they were cleaning up for the day. A large flatbed truck was parked on the street and the men threw the old wood and debris in it. Marnie stopped and watched them work. Actually, she watched one of them work because the foreman was right in there with them. His denim jacket and clipboard were on the hood of the Bronco and only a T-shirt was between him and the cooling evening.

      A nicely filled out T-shirt. And jeans. Mustn’t overlook the jeans that emphasized a flat, taut stomach that clearly didn’t have a cold meatball sub sitting in it.

      A broken two-by-four hit the side of the truck, bounced off and landed near Marnie. Startled, she jumped.

      “Watch it!” The foreman approached her and Marnie’s eyes widened.

      He was so much…more up close. Muscles and sinews worked in perfect rhythm as he strode toward her. Sawdust and other bits of old house dusted his shoulders and clung to his hair. Testosterone clouded the air. Everything about him shouted I am man and I do manly things. And the subtext which was, of course, I demand a woman who does womanly things.

      Marnie doubted writing computer code counted as a womanly thing, but was willing to try to convince him.

      He came to a stop in front of her, his shortish sun-kissed hair ruffling attractively in the wind. He wore gloves and swiped the back of his wrist over his forehead before resting his hands at his waist. His stance indicated that he was used to being in charge.

      Marnie sighed a little. He could be in charge of her any time.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      She managed to nod. This was a lot of man and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do.

      Apparently she didn’t have to do anything. He picked up the board and tossed it into the truck bed. “It’s dangerous to stand this close.” Then he walked back to the pile and picked up more wood. He raised his eyebrows until Marnie realized he was waiting for her to move on.

      Way to go, Marnie. Talk about vibeless.

      Couldn’t she have managed to come up with something to say? One measly conversational opener? She worked with men all day long and she couldn’t figure out an approach?

      Talk about seriously rusty. The fact that he was a completely different type for her was no excuse. So his in-your-face masculinity had rendered her mute. Clearly, she needed help.

      Disgusted with herself, she hunched into her ski parka and buried her nose in her woolen scarf as the wind picked up. Where was spring already?

      She crossed the street, which brought her right by the Victorian with the two-day rent sign in the window. But she wasn’t looking at the sign—she was using the window’s reflection to watch the construction guy some more.

      That was one serious hunk of man.

      And she hadn’t even pinged his radar.

      But to be fair, guys like that had never pinged her radar, either. She’d always gone for cerebral types, and the foreman was more the “hunka hunka burnin’ luv” type.

      As Marnie stood there thinking that maybe the cerebral types she knew could use a testosterone transfusion, the door to the Victorian opened and two tiny, long-haired dogs—the kind that barked in annoying little yips—led a tall, thin man down the steps. The doorman.

      “Slow down or you’ll strangle yourselves, you irritating little twits.”

      The dogs ignored him and struggled to descend the stairs. Once down on the sidewalk, they sniffed at Marnie’s shoes.

      The doorman pulled at the leash. “I’d say heel, but they’d only think I was suggesting another part of your foot.” He looked up at her. “Oh, it’s you. Have you decided about the apartment?”

      “Uh…” Marnie stepped back and the dogs yipped in protest. “I was just…” She trailed off.

      Wait a minute. She was just having a pity party because Barry had rejected her and she’d been thrown for a loop by the construction guy.

      She needed to make some changes and here was an opportunity being handed to her. Just because it was attached to a couple of high-strung dogs shouldn’t distract her.

      The bottom line was that she wanted a boyfriend. A serious boyfriend. A potential husband boyfriend. There was even a technical name for that—fiancé. With her commute, it was hard to date either in the city or in Pleasant Hill. Renting this apartment would give her a temporary base in the city.

      She’d just about decided when the sound of gears grinding announced the imminent departure of the flatbed truck. The construction foreman was still there sweeping leftover debris off the sidewalk.

      Oh, yes. And as an added perk, she’d wake up to him outside her window.

      Marnie looked back at the doorman, who’d been remarkably patient when she sensed that he wasn’t the patient type.

      “Yes, I’d like to rent the apartment for two days a week.” It was the first impulsive thing she’d ever done.

      He pulled on the dogs’ leashes. “Monday and Tuesday is all that I have left.”

      Those weren’t date nights. “Monday and Tuesday will be fine.” She’d make them date nights.

      “Fabulous! But as you see, I am otherwise engaged. When can you come by to do the paperwork?”

      “Tomorrow morning?” Marnie still couldn’t believe what she’d done.

      “How do you take your coffee?”

      Marnie blinked at the question. “Large and strong.” Kinda like the construction guy. She almost giggled.

      “Understood. Until tomorrow then. Onward, dogs!” The doorman proceeded up the street, fortunately in the opposite direction.

      Okay. She’d done it. Now how was she going to tell her mother that she’d rented an apartment in the city for two days a week? Marnie started walking when a whistle pierced the air. Not from the man with the dogs, but from the crew in the truck.

      Instinctively, Marnie knew it was a different whistle than the ones the construction workers used to signal each other. Glancing across the street, she saw two women walking, heads bowed against the wind just as hers was when she walked.

      That was the only similarity. Where Marnie was dressed in clunky hiking boots, jeans and appropriately warm clothing for a San Francisco spring evening, these stupid females were wearing heels and skirts which blew every which way as their long blond hair whipped about their faces.

      What was this? Blonde Day? And why were they all dressed alike?

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