"I'm surprised you didn't come out waving a shotgun."
"Shit, I'm just as surprised about that as you are." He flashes that cocky grin of his again. "Or worse. You should be glad I came out wearing drawers. I could have come out naked as a jaybird."
The thought of this man walking out of his house and greeting me stark naked makes me flush warm.
Oh, hell. I'm turned on by this brash, arrogant pretty boy who lives by the river with his dog in a trailer. I officially have the world's worst taste in men.
"Well." I tear my mind away from the thought of him naked and somehow find my voice again. "I'm glad you didn't. There's no sense in embarrassing yourself."
"Oh, there's nothing embarrassing about me naked," he assures me. He's leaning with his arms on the top of the car door casually, like he does this every day. "That's for damn sure."
I roll my eyes. "Well, we'll have to agree to disagree, I suppose. Are you satisfied now? You know my name. If you don't mind, I actually have things to do today."
"Like what?" He doesn't even pretend to move away from the door. Obviously, this guy doesn't understand subtlety. Maybe I should put the car in drive.
"Like, what do I have to do today?"
"Like, what do you have to do today? That's better than talking to me?"
"Pick anything."
"Wash your hair?" he suggests.
"Wash my hair??"
"Isn't that what women do?"
"I hope that's part of most male-grooming routines too," I say. "Take shower, wash hair, scratch balls… that kind of thing."
"I meant, isn't that the standard excuse women give when they're too busy for a date?"
"Yeah, if this were 1952," I shoot back. "Wait. Are you asking me out?"
"What?" He scrunches his face up like he just stuck his finger in a light socket. "I'm not asking you out on a date. There is no fucking date-asking going on, lady. And for the record, I don’t date."
"All of a sudden I'm ‘lady’ again? You're like a broken record. You're the one who brought up date, not me."
"I didn't bring up date," he argues. "You're not my type. You're like, the exact opposite of my type."
Damn, he's on my last nerve again. I guess you really can be that pretty and that damn annoying at the same time. "Yeah, I didn't figure you were the type of guy that went for gorgeous, brilliant women."
He laughs. "You're good-looking, I'll give you that. But I don't do high-maintenance."
I bristle at his words. "I don't know which part of that statement is more insulting."
"What do you mean? I said I'd concede that you're good-looking."
"That's very generous of you."
"Why did you show up at my place, anyway?"
"I can't, for the life of me, think what in the hell possessed me to come out here," I say, putting the car in drive.
He stands up and grins at me again. "I've heard your memory goes when you get older."
I press the gas pedal and pull out around him, kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road as I drive away. When I glance in the rearview mirror, he's laughing and shaking his head as he stands there watching me.
What an irritating, arrogant prick. I'll just have to find a foreman the old-fashioned way.
By the afternoon, I'm grumpy and no closer to finding a foreman than I was in the morning. One of the orchard workers I trust says he has a cousin twice-removed (or something) a couple of towns over who might be a good fit, but other than that, I'm coming up blank.
And I realize, hearing Olivia begin her end-of-nap cry in the next room, that I've just run out of naptime too.
"Hey, baby doll. How was your nap?" I chatter to her as we go downstairs and I make her a snack while she tries unsuccessfully to open every cabinet door in the kitchen she can reach. I set down a pan of uncooked rice and some measuring cups in the middle of the floor for her to play with while I take ingredients for dinner out of the fridge.
When the doorbell rings, I scoop Olivia up before she can protest and yank it open, expecting one of the guys working out in the orchard. But it's not. "You."
"Aw, now, you're not the least bit pleased to see me?" Luke Saint gives me that half-grin, the one I bet drives all the women his age wild.
"What do you want?" I ask. "Look, I have a pot of water boiling in the stove, so you need to walk and talk." I don't wait for him, but he follows me to the kitchen where I set Olivia back down to play with her cups and rice.
"I thought you were busy today with all your things to do, like… wash your hair."
My hand immediately goes to my head. "I did wash my hair, thank you very much. I also showered, for your information. Which doesn't always happen, actually, not with a toddler." Do I not look like I showered? I'm about to sniff my armpits just to make sure, but he laughs.
"I believe you," he says. "You look clean."
"Uh… thanks.”
"Your kid is playing with uncooked rice. On the floor."
"No kidding," I say. "It keeps her entertained while I cook dinner."
"What if she eats it?"
"I'm mostly positive she won't die from eating raw rice," I say.