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like to go out. On the contrary, she enjoyed going to live music shows and concerts and all sorts of things, but those things weren’t something Ashley enjoyed at all. Em wasn’t in town much, so they stuck to dinner and movies.
    Em looked out her living room window, thrilled with the big backyard that she shared with her neighbor. She made a note to go introduce herself later and discuss yard maintenance.
    Her eyes roamed over the backyard, resting on the detached garage. Besides the nine-foot-tall windows that lined one wall of the living room, she was most excited about that garage. It was set away from the house, so she still had to deal with the rain, but at least the car wouldn’t be iced over in the winter.
    She contemplated at the garage, debating the merits of an automatic garage door opener when she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye—and holy cow, what a figure he was!
    The very tall man was casually dressed in a pair of gym pants and Em could see his lean, muscled back through his thin t-shirt. Tattoos snaked around his arms and she could see the tips of color peeking from the collar of his shirt. His wore his longish hair pulled back, hidden under a slouchy hat. She couldn’t see his face, but when he turned to the side, she could see a strong profile, with a straight nose and a masculine jaw that was covered in a full beard.
    Em gaped at the man from her window, watching his arms flex as he raised the garage door. Surely this wasn’t the widower? Em decided that Mister Ideal was probably the son of the widower and was just storing the car in the garage.
    Em finished putting the cookies in a bakery box and dashed off a note, then secured the box with twine. She resolved to make some introductions the next day. Just maybe, she’d meet Mister Ideal.
    *****
    Mick had watched the movers take what seemed like a million boxes into the upstairs unit while the blonde realtor supervised things and talked on her cell phone.
    So many boxes! The apartment was going to be full. Mick wondered what was in them. He noticed that almost half of them were labeled “Glass.” Glass what? Drinking glasses? Shards of glass? Her last name is Glass? He was intrigued.
    He had marveled earlier that they were able to actually get the huge Victorian divan up the stairs and didn’t have to hoist it by crane through the French doors on the balcony. Impressive. The other furniture he saw was either white or rustic or both. It was very feminine, but not overly fussy.
    He couldn’t quite convince himself to go up and make an introduction. Mick was a solitary sort of man on a good day, and today, after yesterday’s whirlwind business trip to New York City to deal with a know-it-all rapper for whom he was building a studio, he just couldn’t stomach small talk and social niceties. He’d go tomorrow, maybe bring a plant or something to the new neighbor, maybe a potted violet. That furniture looked like it would belong to someone who would appreciate violets.
    His phone rang and he groaned when he saw Rory’s number. He debated letting it go to voicemail, but decided that it wasn’t worth Rory’s continuous pestering.
    “Hey Rory, whaddya at? You back to terrorize the southeast?”
    “Oi, Mick. Don’t forget I’m picking you up tonight for karaoke. And you’re absolutely not going to sit on a stool, nursing a whiskey, and keeping mum all night. I challenge you to at least talk to a woman, and not just the bartender or waitress or karaoke hostess.”
    “If I promise to show up, can I take my own car? Half of the time, if you drive, you meet a woman and I end up having to fold into your ridiculous vehicle or taking a cab home and then having to haul your ass back to the pub the next day.”
    “My car is not ridiculous,” protested Rory. “It’s not my fault that you’re six and half feet tall. But okay, we’ll meet there, but if you’re not there by nine o’clock, I’m coming to get you, and that’s not an idle