Page 19 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“You can do better,” I shrug. “Don’t race there, okay? We’ve probably got enough in our account to cover it.”

“Just go on,Handy Man, I’ve got this.”

“See you in a bit,Brat,” I wink as the use of our ancient nicknames melts some of the ice threatening to form around my heart.

In a matter of seconds, she shoots away in her SUV as I follow her out of our neighborhood and click my signal in the opposite direction ... to go bail out my twelve-year-old daughter.

Jack and Diane blares through Daddy’s ancient radio speaker from the open window of the hut-sized shed as I approach. Thatch had been quiet at dinner, only looking at me once the whole time we ate. He’d been polite to my parents and spoken to them with ease. It was easy to recognize he felt comfortable around them. But he still had a slightly on-edge air about him, too. As if he was ready to leave on a moment’s notice or be asked to.

Opening the squeaky door, I catch sight of Thatch pulling the level from Daddy’s toolbox as if it’s his own. As he places it atop a piece of wood he’s measuring, I take in his long-sleeved thermal, worn jeans and boots, which are almost exactly like mine. When I first saw him, I was blindsided. With his insane build, the view I currently have of his back side is no less mouthwatering. His muscular frame straining the material of his shirt and tapering down to his trim waist. His ass fills out his jeans to the point his shirt is hitched up a bit because of it.His thighs are just as impressive, bulging the denim, as are his calves. From what I can see, he’s all muscle.His strawberry blond hair is a beautiful blend. It’s on the redder side, but not obnoxiously so, and wavy. To the point it looks as if it would be curly but seems to be purposely cut exactly where it might start to.

“Looking for something?” he sounds up, his voice deep, gravelly before his jade-green eyes bolt to mine over his shoulder. Instantly stunned by the feeling of his full attention, he rolls his eyes down me briefly before shifting his focus back to the workbench.

“Thought my dad would be out here.”

“He’s picking up Whitney and Brenden from the movies. He announced it right after dinner,” he glances back again, brow quirked, “remember?”

“Oh ... yeah,” I say, my neck heating a little as I swallow.

“So?” He stands to his height as I again try to guess his age. He’s got to be in his twenties. I just can’t place where. He seems too mature to be in his early twenties, but looks it.

“You were quiet at dinner,” I tell him, stepping inside and leaning against my stacked palms on the wall of the shed behind me.

“Yeah, well, you talked enough for both of us,” he quips, his insult delivered with a grin as he keeps his eyes on the two-by-four he’s measuring. “Off carbs, still debating on accounting or a business degree. Are over winter already. Not a fan of the dorm roommate because she’s a slob. And you will ‘just die if Wretched Gretchen comes to visit this Christmas ... oh, and you’re positive Whitney stole your favorite jeans. Did I miss anything?”

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes, moving to step back out of the shed.

“You could just come out and ask me,” he says, turning his back against Dad’s workbench. The full view of him is too much to absorb in one pass. My eyes bounce from his muscled pecs to his bulging biceps, which I decide comes second to the rugged cut of his jaw and stunning jade eyes. His lips are a little mismatched in size. His top lip slightly smaller than his overly full bottom lip. One he rakes now as I follow the movement.

“Ask you what?”

“My age, Serena. You’ve been hinting around to it all night.”

“Have not,” I lie. During dinner, neither of my asshole parents were helpful at all on that front. Both knowing what I was subtly getting at, and neither giving me a clue. But something about tonight had me thinking that they invited Thatch over specifically to meet me. Especially with Whitney and Brenden at the movies. Too coincidental. Surprisingly, I’m not grossed out by it, not at all with the man standing in front of me. By the time I come out of my thoughts, he’s already turned back to the workbench, measuring again.

How long did I space out?

Obvious much, Serena?

Growing uncomfortable with his effect on me, I simmer where I stand while trying to gain my bearings. I’ve gone back and forth with a decent share of hot guys, but there’s something about this guy that’s both appealing and irking me.

“Instead of standing there, you could make yourself useful.”

Shaking my head, I step back in. “You so sound like my dad.”

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together since we finished the deck,” he offers.

“Don’t have any friends your own age?” I ask, closing the space.

My reply is a glimpse of perfect white teeth. “And what age would that be?”

I shrug. “No longer curious.”

“Uh huh. The handful I considered my friends back when are earning a degree. So, I guess you could say they left me behind.”

He’s college-age. Good enough. “And you didn’t go, why?”

“That’s personal, isn’t it? Hold this,” he states, screwing some metal into the wood as he runs a pencil down it before jotting some measurements.

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