So Wright (The Wrights 1)

Drive in together tomorrow?

Her thoughts turned toward the work site where she’d spent every weekend for the last ten months, and her shoulders slumped. But in the next instant, she remembered her past. A little fatigue was the least she could deal with to provide relief and security for others who were struggling. The kind of relief she’d wished someone had been around to offer her all those lonely, uncertain years ago.

Still, Miranda would be crushed by the time she got home, falling face-first into her pillow without another thought until her alarm dragged her out of bed in the morning.

“You’re quite the hero.” His voice registered immediately. Even though she’d never heard it before, Mr. Mystery’s deep, smooth timbre matched the intensity of his stare.

Miranda took a long breath before turning her gaze on him. As soon as their eyes clicked, the chemistry simmering between them grew to a boil.

“Or,” he added, “I guess heroine would be more accurate.”

“As a woman, it’s my duty to spare my comrades-in-arms the irritation of guys like Cody.” Miranda sauntered toward him. “And, because I’ve known Cody since high school, I know his behavior deteriorates as his bar tab escalates.”

His brows lifted. “Since high school, huh?”

“He purposely burned me in chemistry and nearly took off a few of my fingers in woodshop.” She gave a shrug and smiled deeper at the memory. “But I evened up the score in welding class.”

Mystery dropped his head back and laughed. The deep, rich sound of it wrapped around her stomach like a swarm of butterflies.

At his table, Miranda crossed her arms and rested her shoulder against the wall. “You’ve got my coworkers guessing.”

“About?”

“Your profession, where you’re from, what you’re working on.” She glanced at the paperwork on the table. She saw lots of columns with numbers and notes. “I have to admit this is a strange choice as an office away from the office.”

“When there are three boys under the age of four at home, this is serene.” He immediately added, “Nephews, not sons, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she lied.

His grin deepened, drilling a dimple into his left cheek and brightening his eyes. Miranda was glad she was supported by a wall.

“What’s your guess?” he asked. “About my profession, where I’m from, what I’m working on?”

“I’m not the bettin’ kind.”

“Humor me.”

“Not in my job description. But…” Miranda drew out the last word and pushed off the wall, slowly rounding his table. And while she surveyed him, he returned the gesture. The direct, appraising heat of his gaze made her whole body warm.

He was trim, with the unmistakable definition of muscle pressed against a crisp white button-down. Open at the throat, rolled up at the sleeves. His black slacks were fitted. His dress shoes shiny.

“Northerner, definitely, but I hear a faint lilt. You can take the boy out of the South, but not the South out of the boy.”

“Amen.”

The way he let his accent deepen with the Southernism made her laugh. “You’re a little slick for DC, but I bet you fit right into the Manhattan scene.”

He sat back, openly smiling. “Well done. What else?”

“Miranda,” Steve yelled over the noise. “Little help here.”

“Sorry, handsome,” she told Mystery without acknowledging her coworker. “I don’t have time for guessing games tonight.”

“Miranda,” he said her name, slowly, thoughtful, trying it out in a way that told her he liked it. “I’m Jack.”

“Well, Jack”—she stepped back from his table—“it was nice to meet you.”

“Do you ever get a break?” he asked before she turned. “I’d like to buy this hardworking bartender a drink.”