Read Online Mr. Write (Sweetwater) by Lisa Clark O'Neill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Clark O'Neill
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Putting that thought out of her mind, Sarah took a breath, determined to keep this civil. “I was just suggesting to Doug here that this might not be the best place to put your dumpster.”
Tucker stopped on the opposite side of the crushed oyster shell drive on which the truck idled. “This is my property.”
“And this.” She forced a tight smile. “Is my property. You’ll notice how close the dumpster would be if you put it over here . ”
Tucker scratched the dark stubble along his jaw. “This is my driveway. And that,” he pointed toward the shiny black pickup Sarah had seen him driving the past few days “is my truck. If I put the dumpster over there , I won’t be able to move my truck in and out of the driveway.”
“That,” she pointed to the Dust Jacket’s back porch , strewn with their charming new bistro tables “is my business. This,” she gestured to the dumpster “is an eyesore. If you put that eyesore right next to my business, it’ll be like a big, steaming pile of dog doo right in the middle of the parlor rug.”
Behind her, Bran snorted out a laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough when Tucker glared at him. Jimmy Stratton leaned out of the cab of the truck. “Are we puttin’ this dumpster down or not?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Tucker transferred his glare to Sarah.
“Look, I’m not trying to be unreasonable,” she said in what she hoped was an equable tone. “But our grand opening is next week. We’re bringing in extra tables to take advantage of the garden, and surely you can understand that a big construction dumpster isn’t exactly the kind of ambience we want to convey. Now, if you put it over there in that pine straw, on the other side of that tree, you can get your truck in and out, you won’t have to worry about it killing your grass, and it’ll still be convenient for your people to get to.”
He seemed to find that mildly amusing. “My people.”
She waved her hand, and h is gaze went sharp, gray eyes tracking the movement of the coffee cup. “Your contractors.”
She shifted the cup . His gaze followed. She brought the cup to her mouth and took a sip.
Interesting.
“Would that be a problem for you, Doug?” she said to the young man.
“Huh?”
“The dumpster?”
The kid ’s head jerked up. Then ducked nervously toward his clipboard when Tucker’s brows crunched in a mighty scowl. “Um, yes. I mean no. It wouldn’t be a problem to put the dumpster over there. That’s to say, if that’s where you want it. Mr. Pettigrew. Sir.”
Tucker snatched the clipboard from Doug’s hands. “Fine.” He scanned the printed page, scrawled his name along the bottom. Then sneered at Sarah. “Look Ma. No Pictures.” And slapping the paperwork back at a startled Doug, turned on his heel and left.
“That was fun,” Sarah grumbled, thanking the Stratton s before she turned around. And saw unbridled delight dance across Bran’s face.
He patted a hand to his heart. “I haven’t seen that much testosterone in one place since the high school locker room after a football game.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. And refused to admit that she’d definitely noticed. “Did you see him checking out my coffee? Drool was practically rolling off his chin. Maybe that’s why he’s so damn grumpy.” She took another sip. “Lack of caffeine.”
Bran’s chuckle was low, and just a little evil. “I don’t think he was fixated entirely on the coffee.”
Sarah opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, then terrible realization dawned. “Oh no.” She looked down, to where her unfettered breasts shifted beneath her thin camisole. Her very, very thin camisole. “Crap. I look like little orphan Annie doing a burlesque.”
“I don’t think the Stratton boy minded. Neither did your Pain In The Ass.”
“He’s not my anything.”
“If you say
Putting that thought out of her mind, Sarah took a breath, determined to keep this civil. “I was just suggesting to Doug here that this might not be the best place to put your dumpster.”
Tucker stopped on the opposite side of the crushed oyster shell drive on which the truck idled. “This is my property.”
“And this.” She forced a tight smile. “Is my property. You’ll notice how close the dumpster would be if you put it over here . ”
Tucker scratched the dark stubble along his jaw. “This is my driveway. And that,” he pointed toward the shiny black pickup Sarah had seen him driving the past few days “is my truck. If I put the dumpster over there , I won’t be able to move my truck in and out of the driveway.”
“That,” she pointed to the Dust Jacket’s back porch , strewn with their charming new bistro tables “is my business. This,” she gestured to the dumpster “is an eyesore. If you put that eyesore right next to my business, it’ll be like a big, steaming pile of dog doo right in the middle of the parlor rug.”
Behind her, Bran snorted out a laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough when Tucker glared at him. Jimmy Stratton leaned out of the cab of the truck. “Are we puttin’ this dumpster down or not?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Tucker transferred his glare to Sarah.
“Look, I’m not trying to be unreasonable,” she said in what she hoped was an equable tone. “But our grand opening is next week. We’re bringing in extra tables to take advantage of the garden, and surely you can understand that a big construction dumpster isn’t exactly the kind of ambience we want to convey. Now, if you put it over there in that pine straw, on the other side of that tree, you can get your truck in and out, you won’t have to worry about it killing your grass, and it’ll still be convenient for your people to get to.”
He seemed to find that mildly amusing. “My people.”
She waved her hand, and h is gaze went sharp, gray eyes tracking the movement of the coffee cup. “Your contractors.”
She shifted the cup . His gaze followed. She brought the cup to her mouth and took a sip.
Interesting.
“Would that be a problem for you, Doug?” she said to the young man.
“Huh?”
“The dumpster?”
The kid ’s head jerked up. Then ducked nervously toward his clipboard when Tucker’s brows crunched in a mighty scowl. “Um, yes. I mean no. It wouldn’t be a problem to put the dumpster over there. That’s to say, if that’s where you want it. Mr. Pettigrew. Sir.”
Tucker snatched the clipboard from Doug’s hands. “Fine.” He scanned the printed page, scrawled his name along the bottom. Then sneered at Sarah. “Look Ma. No Pictures.” And slapping the paperwork back at a startled Doug, turned on his heel and left.
“That was fun,” Sarah grumbled, thanking the Stratton s before she turned around. And saw unbridled delight dance across Bran’s face.
He patted a hand to his heart. “I haven’t seen that much testosterone in one place since the high school locker room after a football game.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. And refused to admit that she’d definitely noticed. “Did you see him checking out my coffee? Drool was practically rolling off his chin. Maybe that’s why he’s so damn grumpy.” She took another sip. “Lack of caffeine.”
Bran’s chuckle was low, and just a little evil. “I don’t think he was fixated entirely on the coffee.”
Sarah opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, then terrible realization dawned. “Oh no.” She looked down, to where her unfettered breasts shifted beneath her thin camisole. Her very, very thin camisole. “Crap. I look like little orphan Annie doing a burlesque.”
“I don’t think the Stratton boy minded. Neither did your Pain In The Ass.”
“He’s not my anything.”
“If you say
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