One Night Charmer. Maisey Yates

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ shook her head and walked up the steps to the porch. She paused at the front door, swallowing hard before gathering her courage to knock. For some reason, no matter how often she saw him, an encounter with Ace felt like a whole event.

      She could hear his footsteps as he approached the door, each one leaching a little more moisture from her throat, leaving it dry as sandpaper by the time the door swung open.

      And...oh dear Lord.

      He was wearing that typical lumberjack uniform of his. Flannel with well-fitted jeans. But his shirt was tucked in, and he had on a belt with a big buckle. And he was wearing a hat. A cowboy hat.

      She was so done. She was a sucker for a cowboy, always had been. But put her favorite-least-favorite bartender in a cowboy hat and all the blood in her body rushed to her extremities.

      “Good morning,” she said. “Afternoon, I mean. Noon?”

      “Morning to me,” he said, stepping away from the doorway and back into the house. “You want some coffee?”

      He disappeared without waiting for her answer. Or maybe he’d seen it in the glint in her eyes at the prospect of caffeine. After he retreated, she continued to stand there on his surprisingly homey porch, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

      She poked her head in the doorway and blinked. The rest of the house was not as the porch had her believing. It was...pretty, sure. The natural wood beams and large windows gave the place a rustic charm, but it was...empty.

      Well, not empty empty, but it contained little more than a couch and a large, rough-hewn table that looked like he’d straight up carved it out of a log. There were no photographs on the walls, no art, no mirrors.

      There were empty beer bottles, standing sentry on every available surface like empty vases waiting for a daisy.

      Unsurprisingly there were no daisies anywhere.

      Ace returned a moment later, holding two coffee mugs in his hand. They didn’t match. One was black with a chip around the rim, and the other was shaped more like a soup bowl.

      “I will take the industrial-sized one.” She reached out, flexing her fingers.

      “Ladies’ choice,” he said, extending the mug in her direction.

      “The lady chooses to have a tankard.” She wrapped her fingers around her bowl-o’-coffee and lifted it to her lips, looking around the sparse room. “I see what you mean about not being very big into decorating.”

      “It’s serviceable.” His gaze followed her own, clearly taking stock of his surroundings.

      “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway. You have swatches and samples and things?”

      “You sound way too excited about that.”

      “I am. Fabric choices get me hot under the collar.”

      He laughed. “Excellent. This is my new strategy with women. Come back to my place and look at my flannel.”

      “That would...” She looked him over and tried not to let her mind go to very bad places. Like what it might be like to look beneath his flannel. “Work. That would probably work.”

      “Okay,” he said, walking across the room and heading over toward the couch, toward that big, striking table. “This is what I have.”

      There was a stack of fabric samples on the table. Little square pieces of different material attached to cardboard. She walked over to them, crossing her arms and studying all the options. “Okay, what vibe are you going for?”

      “Is there a particular fabric that says I want to spend my money on the most expensive alcohol in this place?”

      She laughed, looking down. “I’ll tell you right now,” she said, reaching for one of the samples, “it isn’t this.” She ran a finger along the red-and-white checked fabric. “Unless you’re going for overpriced picnic by the sea.”

      “Not so much. Look, I’m not a frilly guy. So this is all kind of beyond me. I sort of know what I want it to be.”

      She looked around the room again. “Simple.”

      “Yeah.”

      “I like your coffee table,” she said. “I don’t see why you can’t go with something like that. Handmade furniture with some softer details.”

      “What do you mean by softer details?”

      “Lace. Lace with natural wood would actually be really nice.”

      “I’m not... Lace?”

      “Yes, lace. Unless you’re serving no one but lumberjacks you’re going to have to have something pretty. But I do think that we should do something with the rest of things that you like.”

      He snorted, sitting down on the couch, propping his foot up on the coffee table they were currently discussing. “There’s only one way I like lace.”

      “And that is?”

      “As women’s panties.”

      Heat shot down her spine like a lightning bolt. “Well, you are not using my panties for your curtains. But I assure you that lace has other uses. Picture it. We can do tables made with natural wood, I bet we can coordinate with some people in town. Who all have you helped out, Ace?”

      “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” He rubbed his chin, the sound of his palm scraping over his stubble making her shiver a little. She held more tightly to her coffee, hoping that its warmth would erase the chill, or whatever it was, that had just raced through her.

      “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I see you at a lot of different functions. And even when you aren’t there, your drinks are there. I know that you donated beer and soda for Connor Garrett’s barn raising. You also provide drinks every year for the Fourth of July barbecue. I think there are a lot of people who’d be willing to return the favor, people whose skills you could make use of. Your brewery would be a showcase for local talent. And I’m not suggesting you go around asking people to give things to you, but I think you could probably get some handcrafted furniture for decent pricing.”

      He clasped his hands and raised his arms, placing them behind his head. “That isn’t a terrible idea.”

      “Please, you have to be more careful, Ace. You’re going to inflate my ego beyond all recognition.”

      “Then you’ll be insufferable.”

      “Absolutely.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m already planning on the best method to make your life a living nightmare.”

      “Suggesting I use lace curtains in my brewery is actually a good place to start.”

      “Don’t be a drama queen, Ace. Nobody likes that. Or so I’m told. Frequently.”

      “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. But I actually like the idea about using local furniture, art, whenever we can. Because if the point is to give tourists a great place to get СКАЧАТЬ