Page 38 of Exposé

"No, just time-consuming." I braced my elbow on the table and crossed my legs, then rested my chin in my palm.

"Anything I can do to help?"

I squinted at my screen, slouching down behind it as my cheeks heated, my gaze lifting to his. "Not unless you can find a needle in a haystack."

The corners of his mouth lift into a charming smile. "I'm a killer at the crossword." He tightened the last screw on the door handle as we laughed. "Is there anything else I can fix while I'm here?"

Nate stood, his eyes meeting mine, sending a wave of ease through me. My shoulders dropped, and I leaned back in my seat, my hand falling into my lap. "I mean, there's the sink in the bathroom." I gestured behind me. "But that doesn't need to be done right away."

He wiped his hands on a cloth from his bag and glanced behind me. "I'll take a look. But, while I do that…" He reached into his bag and pulled out a set of dangling keys. "Why don't you check out the lock and make sure it's working."

"Are you sure you don’t mind?" I stood and reached for them as he drew closer.

My fingertips grazed the cool metal, and then he pulled the keys out of reach.

"Yeah, but on one condition."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what's that?"

His dimples deepened as he stepped closer, his body heat seeping into my skin. "Have coffee with me tomorrow morning."

"Coffee?" I tipped my head to the side, a slight smile growing on my lips. "What if I don't like coffee?"

He glanced towards the kitchen, where my three coffee mugs hung from the cabinets beside the coffee pot, and then back at me with a playful smile. "Then we'll find something you do like. How about breakfast? My treat."

My lips parted as his bicep flexed, moving the 'I got your six'tattoo inked on the inside of his upper arm with the number '22'inside the American flag where stars should be.

Prior military?

What does '22' mean?

I pinned the thought and reached a little higher, bringing me closer to his chest. "Okay. Breakfast sounds good."

Nerve endings tingled in my fingertips as they brushed his forearm, my stomach taking a trip on a merry-go-round.

He lowered his hand and placed the keys in mine. "Great. It's a date, then." With a lopsided smile, he skirted around me, his bag in hand, and into the bathroom. "I'll have this fixed up in no time."

I just agreed to a date…

I haven't had a date in forever.

The persistent rhythm in my chest turned chaotic as I rolled my lips and pressed them between my teeth.

Taking my new keys, I stuck them in the door, twisted the lock, and tried the doorknob. "It works."

Nate popped his head out of the bathroom, our roles reversed from when he'd first come in. "Great. I'm almost done here."

"Already?"

"Not ready to get rid of me yet?" He ducked his head back into the bathroom. "Love the Tweety Bird shirt, by the way. He was my favorite when I was a kid.Nobody better lay a finger on my puddy tat."

A burst of laughter escaped in a high-pitched revolt. "I think you did Bart Simpson in the Butterfinger commercial with a Tweety accent."

"Are you sure?" His laughter filtered out of the bathroom and hit me in the groan, my belly contracting as I leaned against the two-seater table.

"Positive. My mom used to quote that all the time when I'd touch her stuff." I paused, her memory drawing a heaviness into my chest. "He said,I tawt I taw a puddy tat."

"That was a good impression. Go on."

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