With his feet planted, he looked enormous and powerful. Lauren wasn’t sure if she was impressed or intimidated. “Were you born this cocky?” she asked tartly.
“I’ve always had a lot of confidence.”
“Do you ever think it’s misplaced?”
His blue eyes heated, sparking. “Were you born this prickly?”
“I wouldn’t be prickly if you didn’t get personal.”
“It’s my fault.”
“Absolutely.”
He just grinned. “I’m not allowed to like you?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? You’re not married. Don’t have a boyfriend—” He held up a finger when she opened her mouth to protest. “And don’t try to pretend you do. Phyllis already told us you don’t.” He gave her a look. “So, why can’t I like you?”
Because he was too much. Too much size. Too much power. Too much personality. Too much energy.
People like him annihilated people like her. Not intentionally, perhaps, but ambition, need, desire, greed—who knew what it was—turned some folks into human bulldozers, leaving destruction in their wake.
She knew. John had been one.
The sound of shattering glass saved her from answering him. “I have to go,” she said, racing to the kitchen to discover that the window over the big stainless sink was broken, with shards of glass sparkling on the floor.
“What happened?” Lauren asked.
Bob went to the sink and carefully retrieved a wet baseball from a tub of sudsy water. “I was showing José my windup,” he said remorsefully. “The ball got away from me.”
Lauren shook her head in disbelief. What had happened here at Mama’s Café? Baseball fever had taken over. “You guys clean this up. Don’t get cut. I’ll call a glass company and get them out today.”
She headed back to the front and used one of the old phone books under the register to search for glass and window companies. She phoned two before she found one that could come out early afternoon to replace the window.
As she gave the address and cross street for the café to the glass company, Chris stepped outside to take a call, and she watched him talk on his phone, and as he talked, he paced a little, and she found herself studying his profile.
With his dark blond hair drawn back at his nape, you could see his features clearly. Straight nose, firm, full mouth, high cheekbones, wide brow. He was good-looking, possibly even better-looking than Boone, but he had a raw physicality to him that unsettled her.
But he wasn’t out of control. You could tell from the way he moved that he was supremely comfortable with his body, comfortable in his skin. It was obvious just looking at him that he was a professional athlete.
Maybe that’s what she didn’t like.
Maybe it was the fact that his muscles were so developed and that he exuded confidence, energy.
Sexual energy.
Which definitely wasn’t for her.
Boone left his table to come talk to her once she’d hung up the phone.
“Glass company on the way,” she said, smiling at him as she put away the phone book.
“Bette told us what happened,” Boone said.
“Bob has one impressive windup.”
Boone smiled. “You don’t seem angry.”
“How can I be? Bob has baseball fever. You guys have infected us by coming in to breakfast.”
Boone’s smile slowly faded. “So, are you going to go out with him?”
“No.” Lauren sighed. “What is this? Third grade?”
“I just think you’re a sweetheart. You need a nice guy—”
“Sorry. Wasn’t raised that way. My dad insisted my sister and I be self-reliant.”
“Okay, your dad is right, so let me rephrase that. You deserve a nice guy. Somebody who will be good to you . . . and will spoil you. Surely, that’s not a bad thing?”
No, it wasn’t a bad thing. All women wanted to be loved and cherished.
She looked past Boone to Chris, who was still on the phone outside. Her chest grew tight. She reached into her apron and felt for her notepad and pen. “I think Chris is funny. He makes me laugh. But—and please don’t take this the wrong way—he’s not my type. He’s . . . just too . . . everything.”
“What does that mean?”
Her shoulders twisted. “He’s over-the-top. Doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body.”
“Chris is funny, but he’s not a clown. And he’s no meathead either. Steir is one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met.”
Lauren rolled her eyes.
“In the off-season he goes to school,” Boone added.
“Trying to get his GED?”