Seeking Single Male (16 page)

don't have time for a man."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh, what?"

"Uh-oh, that's when love always knocks you down—when it's least convenient."

She scoffed. "I'm firmly on my feet." Okay, Greg had had her on her back for a few seconds last night, but everyone was

allowed one mistake. "So, Rich, what's
your
story?"

He shook his head. "It's not a bestseller."

"Try me."

After a gulp of tea, he shrugged. "Lots of failed relationships with women. I admitted about a year ago that I'm gay."

"And how's that going?" she asked mildly.

"Admitting I'm gay is one thing, but entering into a relationship is something else. I'm not ready."

But she recognized the longing in his voice. Loneliness had the same address regardless of a person's reasons for being

there. She sighed. Was that why she'd clicked on a primal level with Greg Healey—was he also lonely?

Rich stood and walked to the window, then turned back with a broad smile. "But I have a good feeling about Lexington,

Lana, like something significant is going to happen for me here."

She returned his smile. "Then it will." The man truly was handsome, she acknowledged. Handsome and…comfortable. She

sighed. Why couldn't all relationships be like this? Sexual tension ruined everything by tying tongues, quickening tempers,

sensitizing erogenous zones.

Lana sipped her tea. She wasn't looking forward to seeing Greg Healey again today. Really, she wasn't.

"What's his name?"

"Greg," she blurted, then realized her gaffe. "I mean, who?"

"The man you're not thinking about."

She frowned miserably. "Greg Healey."

"Nice name."

"
Not
a nice guy."

"So why bother?"

She could have said she'd been forced to work with him on the rezoning project, but councilwoman Wheeler had given her a

choice. There was something about the man…She shook her head, at a loss. "I honestly don't know."

"Can I hazard a guess?"

Lana shrugged.

"You think that, deep down, everyone is good, and you like trying to tap into that goodness."

"What makes you think that?"

"From talking to you, from looking around your shop and seeing the causes you care about. It's refreshing," he added quickly.

"But it also sets you up for disappointment when people turn out to be…themselves. What does this guy do for a living?"

Her frown deepened. "He's an attorney."

Rich gasped and covered his mouth. "How dare he?"

She laughed. "I don't have anything against attorneys in general. It's just that
this
attorney seems to only want to use his power

and money to get more power and more money."

"Sounds personal. You're not the least bit attracted to this guy?"

In the short time she'd known him, she'd observed Rich Enderling display uncanny insight into the people around him. The

man missed nothing. The creamed tea curdled in her throat as it went down. "I think what I feel for Greg Healey is the morbid

fascination one has with a person who can destroy one's life as one knows it. And for the record, I do take my livelihood

personally."

"Maybe he truly believes the rezoning plan will be good for the city."

"Whose side are you on?"

He grinned. "Yours—because if you lose your job, you might lose this great apartment, and then where would I be?"

"At the Y."

"So all I'm saying is that I think you're right—that there's good in everybody. For some people, though, it takes a special

person or the right circumstances to bring that goodness to the surface." He shrugged. "Who knows? You might be the person

who brings out the best in Greg Healey."

She winced. "I haven't told you how he and I really met."

"Now I'm intrigued."

She glanced at her watch. "It's a long story, and I have to open the shop. How about lunch on me?"

"I never pass up a free meal or a good story. But then I have to drop off the U-Haul trailer."

"Okay. Just one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Um, Greg Healey is working in the shop today."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"
Only
because I challenged him to get to know the business owners better before he rezones us all out of a job. So if he

drops by while you're there, ip zay your ip lay."

Rich walked over to Harry and put his arm around the doll's shoulder. "Harry, man, it's been nice knowing you. But don't

worry, the food's great in Chicago."

GREG DROVE AROUND
the coffee shop three times looking for a parking place. Regret for his hasty response to Lana's

challenge last night had built in his stomach since the minute he awoke this morning from a fitful sleep. He chewed on the

inside of his cheek—he'd simply go in, dispense a few cups of coffee, and get out. Quick and painless; one hour, tops. And no

way was he going to wear an apron.

The worst part had been trying to explain to Will why he was going to "work for Lana" today. He'd been tempted to lie, but

lying to Will was difficult any day of the week, and impossible on Sunday while hanging outside Christmas lights. Watching his

brother's childlike reaction to the twinkling decorations when they'd finished had reminded him that it was a good thing he'd

fielded Lana's ad for his brother, or else Will would have fallen head over heels for the woman.

Greg pulled into a cramped parking spot and squeezed out the door. Blaming his accelerated heartbeat on the extra cup of

coffee he'd needed to get going this morning, Greg pushed open the door to the shop.

His gaze went first to Lana, who looked long and lush in a straight, blue velvet jumper that fell to her ankles, and a white

turtleneck. Nearly every inch of her was covered, but the image of her naked to the waist overrode the present. With much

effort, his gaze next went to the man seated on a stool in front of her. Kissing Man.

Greg set his jaw. What the devil was
he
doing here?

They both turned in his direction, and Lana didn't even have the good grace to look sheepish. Instead, she offered up a

guileless smile. "Hello there. I figured you'd changed your mind."

"No. Although I can't stay more than an hour or so."

She glanced at the clock, one of those bird clocks that were annoying as hell. "It'll get busy soon. Come on around, and I'll

show you how things work."

He walked behind the bar, supremely self-conscious. Kissing Man watched him carefully.

"Rich Enderling," the guy said, thrusting his hand over the bar.

"Greg Healey," he said, returning a firm handshake.

"Rich is a friend of mine," Lana interjected, but she was talking fast and her voice was artificially high. "He was just

leaving, weren't you, Rich?"

Rich seemed amused when he looked back to her. "Yeah. I'll see you tonight?"

She seemed exasperated. "Yes. Goodbye."

"Thanks for lunch." He glanced back to Greg. "Nice to meet you."

Greg gave him a curt nod.

Lana's gaze followed the man until he left, her movements suspended until the door closed behind him. Then her body

relaxed, as if she'd just escaped some near miss. A chime sounded—the same noise that had interrupted them last night,

seconds shy of making love. His body warmed, and from the color that bloomed in her cheeks, he assumed she was

remembering, as well. "Excuse me," she said. "That'll be Andy from the soup kitchen."

"Soup kitchen?"

"I give them my day-old pastries."

Of course she did. "Let me give you a hand."

"No, the boxes are stacked by the door. I just need to let him in. If you get any customers, dazzle them for a few minutes with

brilliant conversation."

The swing of her hips as she hurried away sent a spasm of lust surging to his midsection. Greg gripped the counter, cursing

his curious weakness where she was concerned. Thankfully, the bell on the front door rang, announcing a customer. Feeling a

little foolish, Greg prepared to stall the person, until he realized it was Rich Enderling returning.

"Lana's in the back," Greg said with a jerk of his head.

"Would you let her know that I'll cook dinner this evening when I get home?"

Greg blinked. "Home?"

The man nodded.

His stomach knotted. "You two
live
together?"

He nodded again. "I moved in last night. She's a real catch, isn't she? See you around, Craig."

The man gave him a triumphant little salute, then exited with a spring in his step. Greg scowled after him and muttered,

"That's
Greg.
"

16

LANA WAVED GOODBYE
to Andy, then paused a moment to calm the beating of her heart. Good grief, after his humiliating

near accusation last night that she had men all over the place, she had hoped to be appropriately irritated with him this morning,

or at least indifferent. Instead she had a weird tingling, breathless sensation that she didn't want him to leave the room.

Holy hormones, what was wrong with her?

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, then reminded herself that this little "shadow" exercise today was to make Greg feel

invested in the area. Too many people were counting on her for her to let herself be distracted by last night's misguided

encounter. So she pasted on a professional smile and returned to the front of the shop, steeling herself against him.

Greg was standing with his back to her, leaning one hand on the bar, looking out the window as if he wanted to be anywhere

but here. Dark slacks hugged slim, muscular hips she recognized as part of a runner's physique. A sparkling white collarless

dress shirt spanned his broad shoulders—shoulders that bowed slightly as though under the pressure of something. Was it this

rezoning project? Personal demons? She couldn't guess because the man was so unreachable. Last night she'd thought he'd

relaxed a tiny bit on the ride over from the restaurant. She might even have ventured to say they had fun. But today…well, after

last night…

Perfectly creased and starched—indeed, Greg looked as if he belonged anywhere but here. The differences in their lifestyles

and their futures couldn't have been more apparent.

"I have an apron with your name on it," she said with forced cheer.

He turned, and she blinked at the dark look on his face. "I'll pass on the apron if it's all the same to you."

She shrugged, wondering why the man didn't have whiplash from his sudden mood swings. "Then I guess the Santa hat is out

of the question."

He frowned more deeply.

She tried to laugh. "That sour face of yours will scare off my customers."

"I'm not much of a people person."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

"Your roommate came back."

She couldn't hide her surprise or her alarm. Rich suspected she was developing feelings for Greg. Had he said something?

"Wh-what did Rich want?"

"He said he'd fix dinner this evening."

"Is that all?"

He nodded, then gestured to the bar and laughed awkwardly. "Look, this was a bad idea."

"Then why did you agree to do it?"

His mouth tightened and his gaze pierced her. "I wasn't thinking straight last night."

She swallowed. "That makes two of us."

He ran his hand down over his face. "The sooner we hash through this rezoning plan, the sooner we can get back to our own

lives."

"You mean the sooner we can forget we ever met?"

He shrugged, and his nonchalance squeezed her heart painfully. She hadn't realized how much she had hoped…That rich and

powerful Greg Healey would fall so hopelessly in love with her that he would change his whole outlook on life? For a woman

with an above-average IQ, she could be so dim.

"You're right," she managed to say. "Why don't I see if someone can cover for me today, so you and I can take a walk around

the Parkland area and meet some of the other shop owners?"

"Whatever speeds things along," he said in an uninterested voice.

Fighting an ache of frustration, Lana called Wesley first, then Annette. Annette's ankle was better, and she agreed to come in

as soon as possible. In the meantime, Lana showed Greg how to work the coffee dispensers. Supremely out of his element, he

moved stiffly with a frown pulling at his face. Last night's encounter hung in the air around him, like a song she couldn't put out

of her head, compromising her focus.

He seemed as cagey as she, reluctant to draw closer than an arm's length lest whatever had come over them last night strike

again. But the space behind the bar was tight, and, truthfully, he was in the way more than he helped. She was constantly

brushing past him, reaching behind him, or stepping around him, every movement bolstering her throbbing awareness of his

body in close proximity to hers.

In her rush to wait on an impatient customer, Lana tripped over Greg's feet and fell into him. He steadied her, but not before

hot coffee sloshed over the cup she was holding and down the front of his pristine white shirt. He gasped and held the fabric

away from him, leaving her with the bad feeling he'd have a third-degree burn in the shape of his undershirt.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, dabbing at the runaway stain halfheartedly. The shirt was ruined—and she doubted that he'd

bought it on a clearance table.