The Downstairs Flirt (#1 Love Place)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

HAZEL

After the longest day in the history of long days, I glance at the clock and breathe a sigh of relief.

Two minutes left until I can escape for the day.

Honestly, my job isn’t hard, and I actually love it.

Most days. But today, I’m PMS’ing, and the Corner Mart was out of gummy Nerd clusters. No further explanation needed.

By three after five, the last stragglers make their way out the front door, and I lock up behind them, ready to head over to Nonnie Laine’s house for our usual Sushi Tuesday.

I make it outside, into the thick Texas heat, and instantly start sweating in unmentionable spaces.

My thighs are sticking together, my curls are already escaping the bun like rats from a sinking ship, and I’m pretty sure my deodorant is having a hard time keeping up.

But for some reason, I can’t stop grinning.

Tuesdays at Nonnie’s are my favorite. We inhale spicy tuna rolls and watch reality TV in an apartment that smells like vintage books and Chanel No. 5.

Walking the two blocks over is basically my cardio for the week, and by the time I get to The Happy Chopstick, my blouse is sticking to my back, and the escaped curls are staging a full-scale rebellion. The AC in there is set to penguin habitat and, oh my God, it’s heaven.

First thing that hits me: fried rice. Sharp and hot and salty, straight to the brain.

My mood? Instantly better. My order’s already waiting on the counter, exactly where it always is, and I make a beeline for it.

I flash a quick wave to Mr. Yamada, who’s on the phone but still manages a tired smile.

I hustle back the three blocks to #1 Love Place.

Nonnie doesn’t have a car, so I always park in her assigned parking spot in the apartment garage.

It’s close to work and our favorite sushi spot.

It’s honestly the only way I can afford sushi twice a week because downtown parking in Worthington Hills is criminal.

I step into the busy lobby, balancing my tote, the takeout bag, and my phone, and promptly collide with a brick wall. Except it’s not a wall. It’s a man.

Correction: it’s the man I’ve been secretly lusting after for weeks. Tall and broad and so real he basically blocks out the sun. My face is like two inches from a perfect chest in a suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. I look up, way up, and oh my God.

He’s so freaking unfairly handsome. His jaw is all angles and stubble, square and stubborn, the kind of jaw you see in cologne ads.

His lips are full and smirking, and I could write an essay about his cheekbones alone.

But it’s his eyes that kill me. Ice blue.

Intense. They lock onto mine, and I swear I stop breathing.

Those eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins, like he’s in on some private joke. And suddenly, my pulse skyrockets. I’m honestly shocked my knees don’t buckle. We’re standing so close, I can smell his dark, expensive, and scandalous cologne.

He leans in, his hand still wrapped around my upper arm. Warm. Steady. Capable of lifting me with one pinky finger, probably.

“You okay?” His voice is unfair. It’s deep and smooth, total command in three syllables.

I try for an actual sound, but what comes out is closer to a frog in a blender. “Yeah. I’m just—I mean, you’re really tall.”

Nailed it, Hazel. Real smooth.

His smirk kicks up. “And you’re… adorable.”

I’m not sure if the word adorable is a compliment, but I’m taking it anyway.

My cheeks are on fire, and I literally forget how to move. We’re just standing there, blocking the lobby, my takeout dangling from one hand and his fingers still curled around my arm like I might bolt if he lets go.

Oh, God. Say something, I order my frozen brain, but nothing happens. Zilch. Nada.

He’s staring at me like I’m dessert. Like he could skip dinner and just eat me up in one bite.

My heart is doing gymnastics, Olympic-level stuff, while my brain short-circuits.

I blink. Once. Twice. My tongue is apparently glued to the roof of my mouth, which is awesome for me, because I have absolutely no idea how normal people talk to men who look like literal sin in a Tom Ford suit.

If there’s a world record for awkward silence, we’re shattering it right here in the middle of the lobby.

He’s still watching me like he’s trying to figure something out. His grip is gentle but firm, and it takes a legitimate second for my brain to reboot.

Words. Right. Those would be good right now.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I finally manage, waving my sad little sushi bag between us. “For, um, running into you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He grins, slow and predatory, and it feels like the whole air shifts. “Best collision I’ve had all week. Hell, best part of my day.”

Oh. Wow. My ability to speak flips over and dies right on the spot.

He’s one hundred percent enjoying this.

I try for dignity, which goes about as well as you’d expect. “Well, uh. Glad to be of service. I mean, I wasn’t planning on knocking anybody over, but you were in my way.” Oh my God, kill me. “Not that you look like you get knocked over a lot. Sorry. I’m going to stop talking.”

He laughs, and it’s unfair. Like, genuinely illegal. Deep and rough, the rumble causes electricity to flow down the center of my body and straight to my core. “Please don’t stop. Listening to you is the highlight of my day.”

I should go. I should keep walking, get to Nonnie’s apartment before the heat zipping back and forth between us cooks my sushi.

But instead, I’m frozen, weirdly aware of how close we’re standing in the busy, echoey lobby.

My brain does this insane, slow-motion zoom on the depth of his eyes.

He’s staring at me like I’m some combination of forbidden fruit and the last cookie in the box.

If I don’t escape now, I will absolutely make a fool of myself in ways that cannot be undone.

My skin is tingling, and my insides are melting, but my survival instincts kick in.

I finally jerk my arm free, holding up the takeout bag like a desperate shield.

“I have to go,” I blurt, voice wobbling. “I’m late for dinner.”

I spin and power-walk down the hall, cheeks blazing, leaving my dignity smoldering in my wake. Before I make it to the elevator, his voice reaches me, low and smug and way too amused.

“We’ll have to run into each other again sometime.”

I turn and give him a little smile. At least it comes off as a smile, then I hop in the elevator like my ass is on fire. When the doors slide shut, I finally allow myself to exhale. God. Sushi Tuesday really took a wild turn.

I let myself into Nonnie’s apartment, hands still shaking and cheeks blazing. My brain is busy replaying the collision in the lobby on a ten-second loop. That jaw. Those hands. That voice. I might actually combust.

Nonnie pops her head around the corner, blue eyes sharp and a little worried. “Hazel! I was starting to think you’d forgotten about Sushi Tuesday.”

I close the door behind me and try to act normal, which is hilarious, because I’m pretty sure my grandmother isn’t going to fall for my act.

She’s already got her arms crossed, one eyebrow doing that skeptical Nonnie thing. I set the sushi on the kitchen counter and try to keep it casual, even though I’m still vibrating like a hummingbird on cold brew.

“Sorry, Nonnie,” I say, peeling myself out of my sweaty shoes and setting them on the rack in the front hall closet.

“The last patron at the library would not leave. Then I stopped for sushi and…” I trail off, heat rising in my cheeks as my brain replays Mr. Wall-of-Man in the lobby, all suit and smirk and hands.

I cough. “I kinda ran into somebody downstairs. Literally. But I survived.” Her eyes narrow, and I see the matchmaking engines firing up behind her smile.

Abort. Abort. Time for a quick change of subject.

“So, how was your day?” I ask, yanking open the fridge.

I find my favorite flavored water sitting right in front and grab a can.

Nonnie’s already on my case, eyes twinkling behind her glasses, like she knows exactly what kind of chaos I tripped over downstairs.

“My day was good, honey. I beat Aggie at gin rummy and finally convinced the super to fix the light in the laundry room. But never mind me.” She zeroes in, all laser focus and grandmotherly menace.

“Who’d you run into? And why are you blushing like you just got caught with your hands in the cookie jar? ”

Oh my God. I try for casual, but my voice comes out two octaves too high. “It was nothing.”

Nonnie isn’t buying it for a second.

She pads over, crossing her arms, pinning me with that full-grandmother death stare. “Hazel, darling, when you say ‘nothing’ in that squeaky voice, it’s always something. Spill.”

“Nothing to spill,” I mutter while busying myself with unpacking our dinner. Chopsticks. Tiny soy sauce packets. The ceremonial placement of the spicy mayo. Maybe if I move fast enough, I can distract her with spicy tuna rolls.

Nope. Not happening.

Nonnie just leans on the counter like a detective in a cashmere cardigan, watching me with her “all-seeing” eyes. “Uh-huh.” Oh, man. I’m in big trouble. I need to get things under control.

“Okay.” I pop a dumpling into my mouth and chew, giving myself a few moments’ reprieve.

She watches me patiently as I swallow. “Here’s the whole story.

” Or at least as much as I can tell my grandmother.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I accidentally ran into one of your neighbors.

” At least I think he lives in the building.

Who knows? “He caught me before I could fall, and I thanked him.”

“And?” Nonnie uses her grandmotherly laser stare to wear me down.

But I hold strong. “And nothing.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “I apologized, and that was it.” Well, mostly it. Okay. It was a little bit of what happened.

I try to look innocent, but my cheeks are telling the real story. I’m sweating guilt.

Nonnie just keeps staring, her mouth twitching like she wants to laugh, but she’s holding out for maximum effect. “Hazel Rose Winslet. You’re a terrible liar. Did you get his number at least?”

My chopsticks freeze mid-air. “It wasn’t like that. He was just… being polite.” Sort of. If polite means holding on to my arm like he owns me while looking at me like I’m the last cupcake at a kids’ birthday party.

She shrugs, totally unimpressed by my effort. “If you say so.”

I let out this stupid nervous noise and focus on the sushi, like spicy tuna is going to save me from Nonnie’s radar.

She just grins, all smug grandmother, then sits down and pours us jasmine tea like she didn’t just psychoanalyze me for sport. “So, I guess he was super hot?”

I almost choke on my dumpling. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my grandmother, but he was smoking hot. Every detail of his hotness is burned into my retinas for life. My insides do another mortifying backflip, and my cheeks go hot again.

“Uh. Yeah. He was…” I wave my chopsticks helplessly. “Really hot.” No use trying to get one past her.

Nonnie’s already dialing up the sass. “And?”

“And… really—that’s it. Really hot and tall.” I shove another piece of tuna roll into my mouth. Chew. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t admit you could describe the exact width of his shoulders from memory. “That’s all there is to tell you.”

She makes this little pfft sound. Like she’s not buying a single syllable.

Nonnie gives me this huge, knowing grin that’s half mischief and half grandmotherly menace. “Uh huh. If you say so, Hazel Rose.”

I focus really, really hard on my tuna roll. Like, world-record level concentration. “It was no big deal.” My voice is all squeaky and desperate, which I regret instantly. “I just want to eat my sushi and pretend my thighs aren’t currently glued together by Texas humidity.”

“Girl. I feel you.” Nonnie fake shudders. “This humidity is no joke.” And in that instant, I thank the universe for stepping in and allowing Nonnie to let the subject drop. Phew, that was a close one.