Meddling With Maverick (Matchmaking in Granville #1)

Chapter 1

A man is like wine. Let him age a little to avoid a headache…

— MATCHMAKING MAMAS

Maverick

Happy Hour at Taco Loco was packed.

Upbeat Mexican music poured from the speakers, yet it barely covered the clamor of conversation and laughter echoing through the restaurant.

Silas waved from a table near the bar, catching my attention. Jamie sat across from him, a bright red strawberry margarita in his hand.

I crossed the terracotta tiles and dropped into the empty seat they’d saved for me. “Sorry I’m late.”

“We ordered for you.” Silas pushed a margarita on the rocks toward me.

“Oh, bless you!” I took a gulp, the tart lime flavor bursting on my tongue. “Delicious as always.”

“We plowed through all the chips without you though,” Jamie said, wrinkling his nose. “Sorry.”

Silas hopped up. “I’ll go ask the bartender for more.”

Jamie snorted as he went. “He’s hoping to score a hookup with the new guy in town.”

“Just a hookup?”

“You know Silas. He doesn’t try for anything else.”

“Always the wedding planner, never the groom,” I singsonged.

“It’s sad,” Jamie said, frowning after him. “Silas deserves happiness. We all do.”

“Wishing won’t make it happen.”

“Maybe not, but giving up isn’t the answer, either.”

I glanced over at the bar where Silas was flirting over a bowl of refilled tortilla chips.

The bartender was all right, if you went for that sort.

His sandy hair was a little long, and the tattoos appealed to some, but he was a little rough around the edges for my tastes.

I liked my men to be groomed and cultured.

The opposite of my pain-in-the-ass neighbor, Damon. That man wouldn’t know art if it bit him in the ass, and he had so much stubble on that perfectly square jaw of his that it was venturing into scruff territory.

Still, it would feel delicious rubbing along my neck—

No. Bad Mav.

I did not need to think about my asshole neighbor that way. For any positive attributes he had, he had dozens of annoying ones to counterbalance.

Like that time he put a bunch of plastic flowers into my award-winning flowerbeds after I complained he was letting too many weeds grow along the fence line.

He trampled one of my tulips for that stupid prank! Not to mention the embarrassment if anyone had seen that. I was a florist! I had a reputation to maintain. He could have messed with my livelihood.

And then there was the time he set up the sprinkler so it sprayed all over my side of the driveway—and me—when I headed out to work in the morning. Ugh, and the time he’d filled my yard with pink flamingos! I’d been so confused until I learned it was a symbol swingers used. Then I’d been mortified.

My mother lived in this town, after all.

I didn’t take it lying down, of course. I had to retaliate by placing a Caution: Manhole sign in his yard.

With spray paint and a little creativity, the sign soon read Manwhore.

Damon stormed over to ask me where I’d stolen the sign from and warn me that I was endangering lives.

I’d happily told him that I got it off the Internet, no harm done, and there were plenty more where that came from.

By the end of the week, his yard was littered with construction signs and he’d wanted to ring my neck.

It was fucking sweet revenge.

Until he’d put a fake snake in my rose bushes and scared the bejesus out of me. That man had laughed until he cried when I shrieked and jumped so hard that I fell right the fuck over.

That reminded me, I still owed him for that one.

“Mav? You still with us?”

I blinked. Silas was waving a tortilla chip in my face. “Wake up and smell the salt!”

I snagged the chip and crunched into it. “I was just distracted. Busy day.”

“Why were you late, anyway?” Silas asked as he retook his seat, casting one last flirty look toward the bartender.

“Oh, actually it was pretty funny,” I said. “Percy came in.”

“Oh god,” Silas groaned, “who died now?”

Percy Helix ran Helix Final Homes with his family, so Silas wasn’t just being an asshole. Usually, when Percy needed flowers, it was bad news.

“No one died this time,” I said with a chuckle. “He was headed out on a first date, and he wanted help picking out flowers.”

“On a first date? That feels a little cringe.”

“Percy going on a date at all is cringe,” Silas said.

Okay, now he was being an asshole. But it wasn’t as if Percy hadn’t brought it on himself. He had a bit of a reputation.

“Well, I guess it’s better than trying to recycle his funeral flowers,” I said.

Jamie spluttered on his drink of margarita. “What now?”

“You haven’t heard that story?” I said. “He went on a date with Clark a couple of years ago and he showed up in a hearse and took him funeral flowers!”

“What?” Jamie’s eyes widened. “Clark, as in the guy who married the hunky Hunter Rhodes?”

“Iola’s grandson, and her so-called success story on the Matchmaking Mamas website.” Silas rolled his eyes. “Aunt Lula told me Iola didn’t have anything to do with that match, though. It’s just good marketing, and Clark didn’t have the heart to tell his nana to take down the testimonial.”

“He’s probably too happy living his fairytale to care about that,” Jamie said with a swoony sigh.

Silas and I exchanged a look.

“Actually, that’s why Percy had a date tonight,” I said. “The Matchmaking Mamas set him up.”

“With who?” Silas asked.

I shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Maybe your bartender,” Jamie teased.

Silas snorted. “As long as it’s not me. Aunt Lula has been making some noise about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wants the Mamas to set me up,” he said. “I keep telling her I’m not interested. It’s a waste of time.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re a wedding planner.”

Silas shrugged. “Why do you think I’m so jaded? My couples tie the knot, but way too often, it comes unraveled. Love is messy.”

“Well, I’m thinking of signing up,” Jamie said. “I’m tired of being single.”

“You’re gorgeous and sweet and you can go find a guy on a dating app. Why would you want the Mamas to interfere?” Silas asked.

Jamie dipped a chip in queso and took a bite. “It’s hard to meet a nice guy that way. It’s all sex and hookups. I want romance.”

Silas grimaced, so it was up to me to pat Jamie’s back. “Well, if you think the Mamas can help you, then you should sign up.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah? You should sign up too!”

“If I thought there was any hope for me, I would. But I am the worst with dating.”

“Worse than Percy?” Jamie asked.

Well, he had me there. There was no one worse at dating than Percy Helix. I snorted. “My luck, I’d get set up with Percy. Could you imagine?”

“Well, at least you could make sure he brought you the right flowers,” Silas joked.

I laughed. “Yeah. He almost bought some lilies. I told him those would be better for a funeral.”

Jamie cringed. “Poor guy.”

“Then he was going to get roses, but that’s a little too intense for a first date. I set him up with a nice friendly bouquet of daisies.”

“Well, he owes you a big thank you.”

“And his date owes you an even bigger one,” Silas said.

Jamie swatted his arm. “Don’t be mean. Percy just wants to find love like the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Silas said with a shudder. “I’ll stick to planning your funer—er, weddings.”

“Maybe you and Percy should hook up,” I teased. “The jaded wedding planner and the hopeful funeral director. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

Silas flipped me the bird, then went over to the bar to flirt some more before ordering another round.

We got some food, and by the time I left I was sober enough to drive and feeling lighter than I had all day.

These Happy Hours with my two best friends kept me sane.

Between opening my little flower shop just last year, taking on heaps of debt, and working long-ass hours to run the business by myself, I was stressed and overtired.

I barely had time to maintain my flowerbeds at home, much less think about dating. Not that I’d met anyone who I’d want to date. Not since— Well, there was no point thinking about the last guy I’d had feelings for.

He’d been straight and unattainable—and he’d strung me along for far too long. No, I was better off sticking to my flowers. At least I understood the messages they sent.

I drove my Mini Cooper down the block, slowing as I approached my driveway, then cursed.

“Not again. I oughta take a baseball bat to that fucking monster truck.”

I pulled to the curb, slamming my car into park and cutting the engine.

Because I couldn’t pull into the driveway I shared with my neighbor. Damon had parked his huge-ass pickup dead center again, leaving no room for my little car.

He pulled this shit every other day, and I was sooooo over it.

I got out of my car and stormed up the porch steps then veered left toward his door. An empty beer bottle sat on the porch because of course it did.

I snatched it up and banged on Damon’s door. When he didn’t answer immediately, I leaned on the doorbell for extra satisfaction.

“Okay, already!” he called from inside.

The door whipped open. Damon stood there in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. Son of a bitch. Did he do that on purpose? Because he looked good enough to take for a ride.

I stared for a long, tense moment, my eyes drinking in his drool-worthy body without my permission.

His chest was broad and furred with dark brown curls.

They thinned into a mouth-watering trail that led directly to the treasure behind his waistband.

His shoulders and arms were bulked up from all the construction work and decorated with tats I’d love to trace with my tongue…

Then he opened his mouth and reminded me why I wanted to strangle him instead.

“What’s your problem now?” he asked.

I huffed. As if I was just making up problems when he kept creating them!

“You hogged the driveway again.”

He craned his head to look past me. “Just park on the right. Your car is tiny. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! I can’t fit on the driveway. I’d have to park on the edge of my grass.”

“So park on your grass then. Who cares?”

“Why don’t you park on your grass? You’re the one with the behemoth gas-guzzling macho truck.”

“Stop drooling over my truck,” he drawled. “You can’t have it.”

“What? I’m not—”

“I’m in for the night,” Damon interrupted. “Just deal with it, all right? You’ve already parked on the street and it didn’t kill you.”

“My car is too nice—”

He started to shut the door in my face. I shoved my foot into the gap, and the edge of the door slammed into it.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Well, you didn’t need to stick your foot in there!”

“You’re such a jerk!” I shoved the empty beer bottle against his chest. And no, I did not notice the hardness of his pecs at all. “And take out your trash!”

His voice followed me as I stormed back to my door.

“I keep tryin’, but you just keep coming back!”

His deep drawl made even his insults sound charming, which was just so infuriating.

“You’re such a snake!”

“Oh, should I leave another one in the garden for you? I know how you like them.”

I turned in my doorway, glaring back at his shit-eating grin. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a comeback. And as usual, Damon had the last laugh.

I slammed the door on his annoyingly hot face with its too-thick stubble that made me weak in the knee—

Nope. No. Hell no. Damon was not my type. Not groomed or cultured at all.

He was a nuisance. A scourge on my perfectly nice neighborhood.

But he sure knew how to wear a pair of gray sweatpants.

Ugh. Straight guys were the worst!