Page 30 of Her Favorite Fumble
Lucy lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I didn’t do anything in Las Vegas but have a cup of coffee with a man who lied to me about his name.”
She said it loudly enough for the chatty women at the table to hear, speaking clearly.
“I’m not looking for any kind of attention, and I don’t want it,” she continued. “I just want to serve drinks.”
He considered for a moment, then nodded once. “We’re open eleven thirty to nine until the season starts, then we’re open to ten.”
Lucy struggled to keep a straight face. Where she came from a lot of people were just heading out for a night on the town at ten.
“We’re closed on Tuesdays,” Billy continued. “Come in Wednesday night and we’ll see how it goes. Jeans and any shirt you want as long as I can’t see your nipples, armpits or belly button. And wear flat shoes. I don’t want to listen to those heels clacking around behind my bar all night.”
Lucy smiled. “So I should save the stilettos I like to wear when I’m on my feet all night for when you’re out recovering, then?”
His booming laugh turned heads. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. They’re cutting on some tendon in my hand, so I can’t pour. But I’ll be here.”
“Okay.” Lucy had won over one grump in Wayward Harbor. She could do it again. “I’m looking forward to it because I bet you’ve got the best stories.”
He laughed again. “You know it. See you Wednesday.”
* * *
“You got a minute?” Beck asked while Nick was clearly in the middle of figuring out why he’d cut a board a sixteenth of an inch short when he was confident he’d measured it twice. Maybe.
“Well, it’s been about forty-five minutes since the homeowner’s called me for something ridiculous, so I’ve got ten to fifteen before the next one. What’s up?”
“I saw you try that board and then I heard all the swear words you managed to string together without even taking a breath. That’s not really like you, so I’m checking in to see how things are going with you and Lucy Macauley.”
Startled, Nick dropped his pencil. At least bending over to pick it up gave him a few seconds to blank out his expression before facing Beck again. “With me and Lucy? No clue what you’re talking about, dude.”
Beck looked confused, and he wondered if he’d overdone it. “You’re just off in some way, and I realized it’s been like two weeks living with some woman you don’t even know. So I wanted to say, if it’s an issue, you can come home. I can sleep on the couch, you know.”
Nick breathed out a subtle sigh of relief. His brother thought Lucy was annoying him and had no idea the real reason her presence was costing him sleep.
“Lucy’s fine. We get along fine, so there’s no reason for any of us to sleep on a couch.”Except Lucy, his guilty conscience coughed up.
“Are you sure? We can make it work if you staying at Helen’s is a problem.”
“I said I’m fine.” When Beck just kept staring at him, he frowned. “What?”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ll be miserable if you think it’s best for me, and for my kids. So I can’t really trust that when you say you’re fine, you’re actually fine.”
He wasn’t wrong, but Nick hated that doing the right thing by his family seemed to be making his brother feel even worse about it. “I’m really fine. Lucy and I get along well enough. But I hate thatshe’ssleeping on a couch even though she says it’s fine. If we could all focus and maybe get on track, I could leave a little early each day. I can use the extra time to get the smaller bedroom done so she can sleep in a proper bed.”
“We’ll do that, then. And if you need help at the cottage, just shout. We can figure that out, too.”
Nick nodded, although he probably wouldn’t just shout. His brothers had enough going on. “I’ll have to grab Gray at some point for the electrical finish work.”
“Okay. I better get back to it, then.”
“Hey, I left the specs for the hallway arch in the pocket of my sweatshirt, which is over by the door. Can you grab it for me before you go?”
Beck walked over and picked up the sweatshirt, shaking some sawdust off before digging in the pocket. “You finally getting used to these new hoodies? I thought you’d wear the one old one you have until it literally falls apart in the washer.”
Nick scowled down at the obviously inferior sweatshirt he’d thrown on that morning. “Next time we place an order, I want the old ones back. I don’t care if I have to pay the difference out of my own pocket.”
