No Limos Allowed

Small Town, Big Grip

Griff

It was my second day on the job, and I'd realized something big. In such a small town – in this case literally an island – secrets didn't stay secret for long.

It's not like I'd been blabbing. Quite the opposite. Even with Maisie, I hadn't used my full name. But based on the number of curious glances thrown my way, it was obvious that my arrival – and my sudden employment – had not gone unnoticed.

Still, the shop itself was a decent place to pass the time.

While Maisie handled the front counter and customer drop-offs, I slipped into the back room where I could work in peace.

The air smelled like rubber and chain oil, and the moment I got my hands on a busted three-speed with a sticky shifter, I found my rhythm.

The work was easy, but that wasn't why I liked it. I'd forgotten how much I missed this – fixing something with my own hands. No meetings. No presentations. No media statements. Just parts, tools, and focus.

By late morning, I'd tuned two bikes, replaced a bent derailleur, and reorganized the toolbox just the way I liked. Was I overstepping? Hell no. The way I saw it, if this was going to be my domain for the next month, I'd clear away the clutter and get things humming.

A wide wooden door separated the front space from the back, and I'd been keeping it mostly shut while I worked. Already, Maisie had peeked in twice – once a couple of hours ago to offer coffee, and just now to offer lunch.

The coffee, I'd taken. But the lunch? That was a different story. Recalling yesterday's sandwich, I replied without pausing my work. "No thanks."

This made her frown. "But that was part of the deal. I mean…I don't want you working for free."

Yeah, and I didn't want to use Maisie's credit card to buy food. It felt wrong, even if it wasn't. When I made agreements, I stuck to them – which was why I was here. But yesterday's sandwich hadn't settled in more ways than one.

Call me old-fashioned, but I liked to pay my own way. I'd known this even yesterday, when I'd walked into that small-town café and paid with a card that wasn't my own.

Sure, I'd done it. But I hadn't liked it.

I'd walked out feeling like a world-class loser. Sure, I knew I wasn't. But knowing and feeling were two different things.

And then came the cranberries.

Fucking cranberries.

What were they? A regular staple around here?

To Maisie, I replied, "Yeah, well, I'm not hungry." It was utter bullshit, of course. So far, I'd been surviving mostly on those cranberry pastries, which were already halfway gone. Some might call this a blessing considering the heaping hell of dried fruit in every bite.

But forget pastries. What I really wanted was a ribeye the size of Texas and a baked potato so loaded it needed its own plate. While I was at it, I wouldn't mind a basket of homemade dinner rolls with extra butter. My mouth watered at the thought.

I recalled the bag of potato chips I'd purchased yesterday. I hadn't even opened it – not because I didn't want to, but because I was saving it for tonight, and I knew that once I opened the bag, those chips would be down my gullet before the bag hit the table.

Maisie edged closer to say, "But you will be hungry, right?"

Hell, I was hungry now . And yeah, we'd made a deal. But life was funny that way. Sometimes, things sounded good in theory but didn't jive with real life – or with people's personalities.

And my own personality? Turns out, I was a lot prouder than I'd thought.

I was still mulling it over when she added, "I mean, you will eat?"

Something in the way she said it made me smile. "Well, I'm not on a hunger strike, if that's what you're thinking."

Just then, the bell on the front door jingled, and a gaggle of female voices filled the front room. The connecting door was open just a crack, but their conversation carried loud and clear – like a gossip grenade with the pin already pulled.

"Is that him at the fence?"

"No, he's supposed to be working inside the shop, not outside."

"Yeah, and besides, he's taller than that."

"Well, Franny said he was mysterious. That one looks mysterious."

I stared at the connecting door, wishing it were fully shut, or better yet, chained with a good, strong padlock. When I looked to Maisie, she winced. She held up a finger and whispered, "Hang on. I'll be right back."

She turned toward the door, but before she could take a single step, it burst wide open SWAT-team-style, and a trio of older women barreled into the back room like they were storming a castle.

The tallest one gave Maisie a toothy smile even as her eyes zoomed in on me. "So, you've got a new helper, huh?"

Maisie raised her hands, palms out. "Yeah, but he's kind of busy."

"Don't worry," the woman laughed. "We just want to say 'hi.'"

Before Maisie could respond, the trio jostled her aside and scurried toward me, offering three big smiles and one aggressive handshake.

"I'm Beverly," the hand-shaker said. "This is Carol. That's Darleen."

"Damn it, Darleen!" Carol hissed loud enough to be heard on the mainland. "We agreed not to stare."

"I'm not staring," Darleen whispered back. "I'm assessing. "

Beverly was still gripping my hand and showed no signs of letting go. She leaned closer to say, "So, you're the mystery man."

If they only knew. I gave a one-shouldered shrug. "No mystery here. I'm just a guy fixing bikes."

Under her breath, Darleen murmured, "He can fix me any time."

Carol elbowed her in the ribs. "Darleen!"

Darleen gave her a disgruntled look. "Oh, please. Like you weren't thinking it, too."

I had never been a coward, and I wasn't about to become one now.

Even so, I glanced behind me toward the rear exit – the actual back door, not the one leading to the front.

It wouldn't take long to reach it – a few good strides at most. On the downside, I wouldn't be going alone – not with Beverly stuck to me like gum on a shoe.

I was still considering my options when she finally dropped my hand. With a throaty giggle, she said, "Oopsie. I forgot I was holding on."

Maisie hustled forward, claiming a spot between me and the women. Flashing them a small-town smile, she said, "Thanks for stopping by. It was super nice and all. But we've really got to get back to work."

Beverly gave another giggle. "Oh, I bet you do."

Maisie's face flushed, and she began to sputter. "I meant work-work. You know, with bikes."

From behind her, Darleen whispered to Carol, "I did it once in a Buick. Never on a bike though."

Holy hell. I gave the back door another glance. Maybe I was a coward, because escape was sounding pretty damn good.

I was still considering it when Maisie gave a loud gasp. "Oh, my God. Did you see that?"

Beverly jumped. "What?"

Maisie gestured vaguely toward the front of the shop. "I think I saw Rhett Kincaid."

They all whirled to look. Beverly gave a little squeal. "The movie star?"

Maisie nodded like she meant it. "I'm not absolutely sure, but it definitely looked like him."

I looked toward the front window. Outside, a steady stream of tourists milled along the sidewalk. I saw a few in sunglasses, but none of them looked worthy of an autograph. I stifled a chuckle. Yeah, right. Movie star, my ass.

While the women gawked, Maisie and I shared a look. She arched a brow, and her mouth twitched like she was fighting a laugh. As our gazes held, I fought a growing urge to grin like a kid who'd just raided the cookie jar.

But hey, I was no fool. No need to give away the game, right?

Beverly said, "Sorry, gotta run." And with that, she bolted for the front with the other two women hot on her heels. Soon, with a cheerful jingle of the door, all three of them were gone.

Maisie stared after them for several beats. Then, she turned to me with a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that."

"Eh, don't worry about it." Now I did grin. "Happens to me all the time."

She laughed. "Yeah, I believe it." But then, her laughter faded. "I was little worried she wouldn't let go."

Interesting.

So she'd noticed the hand.

And she was right about the grip. Beverly's hand had been torqued tight enough to leave a dent.

Slowly, I realized something. If it had been Maisie gripping my hand, I might not have minded. Hell, I might've welcomed it.

It was a nice thought, but that's where it ended. It couldn't happen.

I wouldn't let it.

I was here for only a month. No attachments. No complications. And no one-night stands to make me feel like an asshole.

And yet, thoughts of Maisie's hand in mine lingered like a middle school dream. I gave a silent scoff. What was I? Fourteen again?

I was still daydreaming when Maisie said, "But just so you know, Darleen's actually really nice." She gave a shaky laugh. "She might joke a lot, but it's not like she'd drag you into a Buick."

A Buick? At this, a nearly naked image flashed in my brain – not of Darleen, but of Maisie, sprawled out like a pinup girl in a vintage car ad. To nobody's surprise, I was in there, too. And let's just say there wasn't a lot of space between us.

The image wasn't half-bad, and I felt a tightness in my groin that sent off all kinds of warning bells.

Shit.

Maisie was still talking. "And I don't even have one."

I'd been too distracted by my own thoughts. "Have what?"

"A Buick." The blush returned, making her look cute as hell. "So, um, you're safe from me, too."

I almost smiled. "Yeah?"

"Sure. I mean…I've never even done it in a car.

" She froze, as if the sudden confession had surprised herself more than me.

She stood motionless for a long moment before finishing in a low mumble.

"They're not really allowed on the island, so…

" She shifted from foot to foot before blurting out, "You know what? "

I was more intrigued than startled. "What?"

"The whole Buick thing…" She shook her head. "It's totally irrelevant."

And just like that, the mental image was back, stunning me into silence. Of course, it didn't have to be a Buick. It could be a bed. Or hell, a blanket on the beach. Regardless, the images kept coming, each one more dangerous than the last.

In front of me, Maisie looked ready to bolt. "So we should probably just forget I mentioned it." She gave me a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Deal?"

It was funny, but I didn't laugh.

I couldn't even if I wanted to.

She looked like trouble and sweetness rolled into one – messy ponytail, curves wrapped in that now-familiar shirt, and the kind of eyes that could stop a guy dead in his tracks.

We were standing within arm's reach – close enough so I could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes and catch the faint scent of the hand lotion she kept under the front desk – vanilla with a hint of almond.

In that moment, if she had reached for my hand, forget pulling away. I would have pulled her closer.

And I would have regretted it – if not now, then surely a month from now.

So I shoved aside those thoughts and reached for a wrench. "Nope."

She blinked. "Nope what?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry, forgetting's not gonna happen."

She stared for a long moment before asking, "Seriously?"

I grinned. "But I can pretend to forget, if that's what you want."

"Fine. Yeah, that's probably a good idea." She cleared her throat. "You know what? I think I'll take out the trash." As she spoke, she made a beeline for the black trash bag in the far corner. She grabbed it and was halfway to the back door before I realized what was happening.

I called out, "Hang on."

In mid-step, she stopped and turned to face me. "What?"

I pointed. "That's not trash."

She frowned. "It isn't?"

"No." Now I was the one embarrassed. "It's um, my laundry."

Maisie gave the bag a wary look. "Oh."

"Don't worry, it's clean. I just did it this morning." Now that I had a bike lock, I'd done the Santa sack thing on wheels and discovered that it was fine as long as I kept my balance.

On the home-front, things were looking up. As of this morning, I had clean bedding and clean clothes in a clean garbage bag – meaning a new bag, because there was no way in hell I was reusing the bag I'd stuffed the dirty laundry in.

Even so, I hadn't had time to run the laundry back to the boathouse before beginning my shift, so I'd set the bag in the corner while I worked.

I'd figured no one would notice. I'd figured wrong. Maisie was still holding the bag like she didn't know what to do with it.

She looked so cute that I had to smile. "So, don't throw it out, alright?"

"Oh. Right." She lifted the bag higher, as if worried that it might touch the floor. Keeping it hoisted high, she slow-walked it back to the corner and placed it carefully where she'd found it, as if the bag contained family heirlooms instead of mostly bedding.

It was oddly thoughtful – even if totally unnecessary. For some reason, it hit me low and warm, like a sip of good whiskey on a cold winter's day. I gave a slow shake of my head. Small town girls – they were in a class all by themselves.

Or maybe it was just Maisie.

When she finished, she turned to me with a wince. "Sorry. I didn't mean to try to steal your clothes."

The blush was back, deeper now, like she'd been caught mopping her brow with my boxers.

I wanted to say something to ease her mind, but for the first time in ages, I couldn't find the words.

I could only stare.

She was so different from the women I'd been hanging with lately – or hell, maybe ever. My lips twitched with the threat of another smile. But I held it back – for her sake as much as my own. "Don't worry about it."

When the bell on the main door jingled, Maisie bolted for the front nearly as fast as Beverly had, shutting the connecting door firmly behind her. And yet, I could still hear her voice, sassy and sweet, charming the next customer.

Fuck.

If I wasn't careful, she'd be charming me.