Page 8 of Coveted By The Bear

But maybe I could be.

Chapter Four-Hope

Miles, orHottie McHottison,as I have been calling him since he walked into the auto shop in the wee hours of the morning, had insisted on waiting for my shift to be over before heading to the room I had rented him over my garage.

I sunk all my savings into buying my childhood home and my mortgage was pretty solid. It helped my mom live the life she deserved after Dad passed. I knew my brother, Honor, sent her money every month to help out. Just like I knew she hated taking it.

When I offered to buy the house, she was thrilled. Happy for me, actually.

“I am so glad you left Bruce, honey. He wasn’t the man for you. Come home and find yourself again.”

Those had been her words of wisdom when I’d let her know I was coming back.

Honestly, after all this time, I didn’t know why she hadn’t sold the house before. Maybe she’d been waiting for me to come to my senses.

Anyway, my job at the auto repair shop was good. I mean, I got paid a decent wage, and I even had insurance. But the cost of living was high and renting the room made sense.

Sure, it was sudden, allowing some sexy stranger into my home. Some would say careless. But I had a gut feeling Miles Orson was a good guy.

I know, I know. Not very smart.

I mean, I didn’t know the man from Adam.

He was big. Tall and wide, full of muscle. Handsome as sin, with electric blue eyes and a five o’clock shadow that just seemed to enhance his chiseled jawline and cheekbones.

But I wasn’t intimidated. If anything, I simply enjoyed the view. Barvale was full of big sexy men, though, so maybe I was just used to it.

Even though I knew better, being a true crimes docuseries addicted kinda girl, I felt fine with my decision to offer him a place to stay.

There was just something about him that just made me feel, I don’t know,safe.

He was certainly thorough, though. After we shook on it and I got to work, he spent the time organizing references and emailing them to me, along with his resume, and a copy of his license.

He also sent me two months’ rent using one of those bank apps, which I didn’t even know how he got my information, but my phone pinged when it went through, and I’d been shocked.

“What if you hate it?” I asked when six AM finally rolled around, and we were driving home in my old Chevy Blazer.

“I won’t.”

That was all he said. I noticed the small rucksack and frowned.

“There’s a washer and dryer in the back of the garage. It’s connected to the main house, but you have your own separateentrance to your apartment. You’re welcome to use it. Oh, and there is furniture up there, and appliances. Nothing fancy. An electric range, refrigerator, heat and air conditioning, counter with stools to eat at, a small sofa, and uh, a bed,” I murmured the last bit, suddenly feeling warm.

“It’ll be perfect. Thank you, Hope.”

I felt warm all over at the hushed tone and deep timbre of his voice. He spoke very little, and I was a nervous talker.

So, yeah, by the time we got to the house, I’d touched on every topic from favorite foods to which TV shows I was currently binge watching and who was the best frontman for Van Halen.

David Lee Roth. Change my mind.

“Okay, here we are,” I said, expelling a breath.

I caught sight of my face and rolled my eyes. I was such a mess. There was a smudge of grease on my cheek and, of course, I had on zero makeup.

I never bothered with the stuff when I was working. But still. I felt kind of embarrassed by my appearance. My hair was frizzy, curls were sticking up here and there.

I tried to tame them while he was distracted, gathering up his bag. I rubbed my left hand over my head quickly while I scrubbed the grease spot with my right.

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