Last Chance At The Someday Café. Angel Smits
“I can see. I’ll call if I find anything.” The sound of rustling papers came through the line. “Anyplace else she might have applied for a job?”
“There’s not much here. Retail. The diner. That’s about all she’s qualified for.” He tried to envision the small town in his mind. “Maybe a couple of bars.”
“Check ’em out.” Jack’s voice was tinny all of a sudden.
“Did you put me on speaker?” Morgan hated not knowing who could hear him.
“Yeah.” Jack laughed. “One-handed typing sucks, so get over it, bro. I need your help with these numbers.”
For the next few hours, they worked on financials and tried to figure out budgets for the next six months. The places Morgan was going to check would be open well into the night, so he could afford to give Jack the time.
The rain was relenting and letting the clouds temporarily part when he finally stumbled out of the cab. He needed to find something to eat before he continued his search. Morgan thought about going to the diner, but besides the distraction it would prove, he did need to look elsewhere. While the sidewalks in this town practically rolled up at night, there were a couple bars.
Sylvie had been a party girl when they’d met, and settling down hadn’t agreed with her. Was she back to her old habits?
He’d just rounded the corner when the wind picked up and raindrops fell again. With a muttered curse, Morgan turned up his collar as he headed toward the flashing neon lights.
Suddenly, something—someone—plowed into him. He found his arms full of soft, damp, sweet-smelling woman.
TARA GASPED, STRUGGLING not to drop everything in her arms. No such luck, as her purse and groceries tumbled to the ground. She didn’t suffer a similar fate only because Morgan caught her.
Morgan.
“You okay?” His voice was deep, his arms warm, solid bands through her jacket. His breath brushed her cheek and she wasn’t sure how long his gaze held hers.
“Uh, yeah.” She hastily pulled away once her brain kicked into gear. Cold replaced the warmth of his arms. Trying not to look at him or think about how close they were, she bent to gather her groceries. They’d scattered clear across the wet sidewalk. One of the plastic bags had torn.
“Let me help.” Morgan crouched beside her, and Tara couldn’t help noticing his thick, muscular thighs right there in front of her—or the enticing curve of his biceps as he easily took on the weight of the canned goods. What items she could grab, she shoved into the remaining bag before facing him again.
His arms were full of her groceries. And he was smiling at her. Damn. She’d wondered earlier what that smile would do to her. Now she knew. Her stomach did one of those annoying little backflips. Karma was a bitch. Hastily, she reached for the last few items and shot to her feet, berating herself for letting him distract her. She’d sworn she wouldn’t let that happen again.
When she’d bought the diner, she’d also found a sweet little apartment within walking distance of both work and downtown. What she hadn’t taken into consideration tonight—besides slamming into a solid, brick wall of a man coming around a corner—was weather. The fact that it had been raining on and off all day had made the trek long and cold. And wet. Very wet.
She knew her hair was plastered to her head, and she was sure she looked like a drowned rat. Maybe the late-day shadows would disguise her at least a little. Self-conscious, she tried to deflect the focus away from herself. “I—I thought you’d be leaving town.”
“Still working on that. Good thing, too. Looks like you need my help.” He winked.
He seemed entirely too happy about that fact. She scowled and fought the answering smile. “I can take—” Glancing down, she realized she couldn’t take any of it. The other bag was ripped beyond salvaging, and she only had two arms. Surely, there was a way to stack it, cram everything into the one bag.
“Where you headed?” he asked, settling the canned goods more solidly in his arms.
“Home.”
“Point me in the right direction.” He was still smiling. “I’ll help.”
Tara shivered, as much from the cold of the rain as the realization that she had no choice but to show this veritable stranger her home. Either that or leave her groceries sitting here on the curb.
“Come on.” She headed toward her apartment building, knowing that at least some of her neighbors were home. Mrs. Walton across the hall was always home. If Tara screamed, someone would hear her. But would they do anything?
She mentally rolled her eyes. She was being ridiculous.
Morgan walked beside her, his height and bulk blocking some of the rain, and Tara gave up resisting the urge to look at him. He was as soaked as she was, but why didn’t he look like a drowned rat? If anything, he looked better all wet.
His jeans drew her gaze. The damp denim plastered to the hard contours of his leg muscles. Definitely a bodybuilder, he had a grace most hulking guys didn’t. The T-shirt he wore was a dark color, so the damp didn’t look as obvious, except to make the definition of those muscles clear. Six-pack abs. Pecs that were solidly defined and wide shoulders that flexed with the flow of muscle, broad and strong.
Tara doubted she could circle those biceps with both hands... The idea of touching him so intimately sent a flush from her head to her toes and back again.
Thankfully, they reached their destination, and she hurried to the protection of the porch. The rain intensified, and she dodged the cold drops falling down her neck. The patter of the raindrops on the veranda’s roof seemed loud and insistent.
“Nice place.” He looked around with interest when he joined her. “How many apartments?”
“Six,” she explained as she opened the door of what had once been a great Victorian house. Much of the grandeur still clung to the facade, but the inviting hominess of the place had long faded. “I’m upstairs.”
Stepping inside the foyer, she gulped as his size overwhelmed the tiny space. His broad shoulders nearly brushed the sides of the narrow doorway.
Once the door was closed and the patter of the falling rain muffled, silence pressed in on her, making her question again the sanity of bringing him to her home.
“If you’d feel better, I’ll just leave these things here. They should be safe enough. You can come back and get them.”
She stared. “How did you know?”
“That you’re nervous about bringing me here?” Morgan laughed, but it wasn’t a teasing laugh or a laugh that mocked her. It was almost self-deprecating. “You’re not stupid, Tara. You should be cautious. I appreciate that.”
Carefully, he stacked the cans on the small side table by the metal mailboxes in the wall. He’d wrapped a couple pasta boxes in the torn plastic bag, and, pulling them out now, he examined them to make sure they were dry. One looked the worse for the wear. “Sorry about that.”
He turned to go, nodding at her as his hand curled around the old-fashioned door handle. “I’ll be on my way.”
He’d almost reached the other side of the porch before she broke out of her stupor and called after him. “Wait!”
Morgan looked over his shoulder at her.
He stood on the edge of the rain, the streetlight’s bright glow falling over him the same way the raindrops did. So close. He was so close. Body-heat-sharing distance. Tasting the scent of him, she almost sighed at the rawness of him mingling with the damp night. She didn’t want him to leave. There was so much more to him, and she