Things Impossible - Susan Fanetti Page 0,64

They all had big grins. Then they started giving one of those hard-hatted, yellow-vested guys shit as he walked toward her, and she knew it was Alex before she could recognize him in his work disguise.

But when she did recognize him, oh, he was so hot. Tall and broad-shouldered, with lean hips and thighs that completely filled out his faded jeans. Scuffed tan boots and a black hoodie completed the look. Excepting the safety vest and hard hat, he was dressed pretty much like she’d seen him a hundred times. But now, now he was her boyfriend. And he was grinning brightly, obviously pleased to see her.

It hadn’t been a stupid idea.

“Hey, Lee,” he said when he got close, and right there, in front of all his work buddies, he hooked a hand over her hip and came in for a kiss. His hard hat bumped her forehead and slid back on his head. She reached up and pulled it off, and he took that as an invitation to slip his tongue into her mouth and take the kiss out of Disney territory.

The guys whooped and catcalled, and Alex tried to back off, but Lia wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

The bag she’d brought with her bumped his side, though, and he shifted his head, his mouth easing from hers. “What’s that?” he asked. His voice was rough with the same arousal she felt pressing into her belly.

“I brought you lunch.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. It’s just sandwiches, but you said you like meatloaf sandwiches, so …”

His grin changed shape, became almost misty. “You made me meatloaf?”

“No, no. Emilia made meatloaf last night, and I made you meatloaf sandwiches. I am capable of assembling a sandwich, but that’s where my cooking skills end.”

“That’s okay, I can cook—though I think there’s a law on the books that Italian women have to cook, so you might want to watch out you don’t get caught.”

“I’ll just plead the half of me that hails from the British Isles—the same half that makes me look zero-percent Italian.”

“But one-hundred-percent gorgeous.” With a sweet chuckle and a kiss to her nose, Alex let her go. “I hope you’re staying with me—did you bring enough for two?”

“I did. I brought half a sandwich for myself. There’s also fruit and sodas and a baggie of chips for you.”

“Excellent. I only have thirty for lunch. You mind if we eat in the break room?”

Lia looked around at the guys, most of whom had gone back to work, but they were still casting glances their way. She didn’t want to sit among all those gawkers.

Alex saw the direction of her attention. “I have a better idea. C’mon.”

He took her hand, and she followed him to a wall where vests—these were orange—hung on hooks and hard hats sat in cubbies. He gave her one of each.

“Really?”

“Really. No cooties, swear. You can’t go where I want to take you without ‘em.”

She’d dressed up cute for her surprise lunch date thingie, and hard hat and safety vest was not the aesthetic she’d created.

When he set the hat on her head, though, he laughed. “That is the cutest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.” He pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I need this picture. I don’t have a picture of you on my phone.”

“And you want one of me like this? No.”

“Yes! It’s perfect! You look amazing and cute, and you brought me a surprise lunch. I need it! Please?”

“If you put this on Insta, I will die.”

“I don’t do social media. This is just for me.”

A twenty-two-year-old guy without any social media accounts was like … nothing she’d ever heard of before. Even a defrosted caveman would probably have Facebook before his toes warmed up.

“None? Not even Twitter?”

“Nope. Not allowed.”

It clicked. “Oh.”

He lifted his phone, and Lia tried to make an enticing pose under the too-big hard hat and even bigger vest.

“Perfect!” he said, his grin so big it threatened to break his face.

~oOo~

The venue he’d chosen for their lunch was the top of a full pallet of shrink-wrapped boxes. He spread out a utility blanket, and they had something like a picnic in a dim corner of the warehouse.

At Alex’s first bite of his first sandwich, he rolled his eyes back. “God, this is great.”

“I’ll tell Emilia you like it. She’s famous for it at our house.” It was definitely a fan-favorite. She did her meatloaf Italian-style, with plenty of oregano and garlic, and a marinara sauce, but the real secret was crushed

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