Rugged(19)

“Sizzle reel. Los Angeles. Damn, I wish I could do all the legwork for Flint and go out there myself.” She throws her head back and laughs, the kind of frazzled laughter you sometimes hear from overtired moms. I realize she has a few Cheerios in her hair, and try to think of a way to tactfully bring that up.

The door opens again, and Flint’s body fills the doorway. It takes all my available willpower to keep from drooling onto my placemat. He’s got on a fitted denim shirt today, one that hugs his sculpted torso in all the right places, with the top few buttons undone. How does this man make even denim sexy?

“Ready?” he says to me. Has he got an actual Thermos of coffee in his hand? He doesn’t even look tired, the bastard.

“Ready. I’ll get the eggs to go,” I say, rising, but Flint waves me down.

“I’ll handle it. Jessa gets a little flighty sometimes.” He walks over, and his little sister immediately flings her arms around him. I smile. Normally, big guys like Flint—from my limited experience, of course—tend to be a bit awkward around women. It’s that sort of he-man, big muscles, ‘man things, you wouldn’t understand’ type thing. But Flint seems to really love his sisters. He swings Jessa up in an easy hug while she giggles, then chats casually as he waits by the counter.

“Flint’s a good one,” Callie says, smiling fondly at her brother.

“A little gruff at first, but you get used to it,” I say. Callie laughs.

“He was never a big talker.” She sighs. “I think this show is the best thing that could happen for him. He’s been brooding for a while now.”

“What’s he got to brood about?” I ask. “The hardware business?”

“Pretty much,” she says, but I sense her evasion in the way she glances from side to side, avoiding eye contact. Before I can ask more, Flint reappears with a paper sack.

“I have to warn you, I’m pretty sure she lied to the cook and got him to give you an all-vegan breakfast.” He stares at the sack like it’s going to bite him. “If I were you, I’d get a bagel to go.”

We get in his truck and drive out to the store. Rolling the window down, I can’t help but stick my head out a little. The wind blows my hair, bringing the perfect scent of fresh cut grass and autumn smoke in to meet me.

“You and Chance might be distantly related,” Flint calls, laughing. I’m glad our talk yesterday didn’t make things weird between us. We seem to be back to that comfortable vibe from the first night we met, and I hope it stays that way.

“It’s beautiful here,” I say, pulling myself back inside. “Almost makes me not want to go back to LA.”

“If you decide to stick around, I can set you up with a job at the store. You’ve got hands on experience now,” he says. Is it just me, or does he look me over very quickly before turning his eyes back to the road? Probably just wishful thinking on my part.

I’d better knock it off.

We pull up to the store, a big, beautiful wooden structure. The whole place resonates with old-fashioned charm. As we get out, I fire up the camcorder and train it on Flint’s face. He groans and rolls his eyes.

“Am I going to have to get used to this?” He stares into the lens as I focus.

“If you want to be plastered on billboards all over the Sunset strip, winking manfully at the Japanese tourists, yeah. Cameras are something you’re going to have to grow accustomed to.” I dodge back and forth in front of him. That makes him smile, but it disappears fast.

“You think this’ll help, right?” He jerks his head to the storefront behind us. “Keep this place from going under?”

“I think it’s one of the best chances you have,” I say, being completely honest. “These days, everyone needs new twists on publicity and marketing. Having a large chain isn’t enough. You need to use your assets, the special things that your competitors don’t have.”

“I’ve got tools. Hand saws, screwdrivers, hammers, bolts, nails. Everyone’s got those,” he says, leading me inside. I film the very exciting display of his back muscles as he walks. Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave. I stop, a little overcome by my own voyeurism. I’ve got to stop hanging around Hollywood people. The creepiness is rubbing off.

We go inside the store. There are a few shoppers milling around, but the place is mostly empty. A dark-skinned woman rings someone up at the register. When she’s done she turns, sees Flint, and breaks into a wide smile. She heads out onto the floor and right over to us.

“There he is. Thought you were up camping with Fido in the great beyond,” she says, laughing heartily as Flint gives her a bear hug.

“His name’s Chance, Jeanine. Chance.” He mock-shakes her, which makes her laugh even harder. “And no, the hiking plans got canceled.” He nods to me; I wave from behind my camcorder. “This is Laurel Young. She’s a producer from Los Angeles—”

He doesn’t even get to finish his thought. Jeanine’s already primping at her hair and sidling in front of my camera, flashing that huge smile. Very casual, oh yeah, very cool. “Looking for the next big thing?” she asks innocently, striking a pose, leg popped and arm in the air. I can’t help giggling.

“Got any special talents?” Honestly, this is perfect. Mountain man surrounded by a cast of quirky characters? Dynamite for the sizzle reel. I should’ve gotten some footage of Jessa back at the diner.