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the check, handing it to him. His fingers linger against my own as he accepts the payment, triggering an eruption of goose-bumps up my arm. “So, when do you think Luanne’s truck will be ready?”
    “Should be ready to go by tomorrow morning. Is Luanne okay for transportation until then?”
    “Aw, hell, I can give ol ’ Luanne a ride if she needs one.” I jump at the sound of Jason’s voice. I've completely forgotten he's still in the room, and this is a man the size of a compact car.
    “She’ll be fine,” I say. “She’s not working again until Friday and I’ve already offered to drive her to her classes.”
    “Luanne’s in school?” Sam asks.
    “She’s in beauty school. She wants to be a hair and makeup stylist.”
    “Oh yeah? Maybe I can stop by the apartment sometime and get her to give me a haircut,” Sam says, pushing a hand through his thick, sandy brown hair. I briefly consider collecting the shorn locks of his hair to keep in my jewelry box. Surely that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do and not in any way creepy.
    “I’m sure she’d love the practice,” I say, unable to keep the smile from my face as I back away from the counter, clutching my purse to my chest like armor. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get going. I’ll be late for work.”
    “Well, let me walk you to your car,” Sam offers, coming around the counter toward me.
    “Oh, that’s so nice of you, but I actually walked here. I parked at work just around the block.”
    “Well then, let me walk you to work,” he insists.
    As he passes by me to open the shop’s door, I catch a whiff of what I can only describe as brute manliness. I call a thank-you to Jason and purposefully brush by Sam who’s holding the door open for me. I have this nervous habit of pushing hair behind my left ear. Mama used to tell me that my hair was going to fall out on that side of my head if I didn’t stop it. If that's true, I'm going to be half-bald by the time we make it to Brook’s Bath and Body Shop.
    “Thanks for offering to walk me back. It’s just around the corner there,” I say, pointing to the intersection up ahead.
    “It’s my pleasure."
    He’s walking so close to me that the hairs on my arm are standing on end as if from an electric shock. His arms are tan and muscular, and his chest is deliciously broad. I’m glad he’s so much taller than me. It makes it easier to hide the fact that I’m stealing sidelong glances at him. I wonder what he does when he’s not working on cars or saving damsels in distress from railroad tracks…
    “You okay? You look a little dazed.” Sam’s voice breaks my highly inappropriate train of thought and, yep, there goes the hair behind the ear again.
    “So, um, I never got to hear your story. How long have you owned the shop?” I say quickly, forcing my eyes to the sidewalk ahead of us.
    “It’s been about three years now. My dad was a mechanic and he worked at the shop until he retired five years ago. I guess being a grease monkey is in my blood because the minute I could hold a wrench, I was at the shop, helping Dad and learning the trade. I started working there myself right out of high school and when my old boss put it up for sale, I decided to buy the place. It’s worked out pretty well so far.”
    We turn at the intersection and I can see the Bath Shop just ahead of us. Would he notice if I slowed our walk considerably? Should I fake a leg injury?
    “That’s great,” I say. “It sounds like you’re doing what you love, which is more than I can say.”
    “You don’t love your job?”
    “No, I mean, it’s fine, but it’s not exactly my dream job.”
    “Then what is your dream job?”
    Sam stops walking and turns to face me, genuine curiosity in his expression. I look into his warm hazel eyes and find myself wanting to tell this man everything. Well, maybe not everything… The truth is that my dream job is to find my Happily Ever After with a gorgeous husband, two point five