Deep (Pagano Family #4)(8)

As if on cue, Mario poked his head in the door. “Bev, Chris is here for you.”

“Cool. Gotta go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” She kissed Bruce on the cheek and went out to the front, where Chris waited.

Chris Mills owned Cover to Cover Books, a little shop a couple of blocks down Gannet Street from the diner. He was her best friend, had been for more than ten years, and was the reason she’d decided to move to Quiet Cove the summer before. He grinned when she came out to the counter, his scruffy, normally hangdog face brightening considerably.

“You all set for this?”

He made a show of flexing his muscles. “Chris haul,” he grunted. “Chris heft. Chris smash.”

“Chris better not smash. Or get any kind of man grunge on my pretty white sofa.”

He scoffed. “Only a woman would buy a white sofa. And this woman should be nicer to the person who’s hauling and hefting said white sofa for free.”

She punched his arm lightly. “Not free. I bought you beer.”

He made another animal noise. “Beer? Chris happy.”

“Chris easy, you mean. Let’s go.”



oOo



Getting the sofa into Chris’s van was no problem. Getting it into the building was no problem. Getting it into the service elevator was no problem. But getting it around the hallway corner and to her door was looking potentially impossible. Bev had expected to be able to stand it on its end and swivel it around the corner, and from there, it was a straight shot to her door. But she had neglected to consider the quite firmly attached stained-glass light fixture hanging sturdily from the ceiling right at the corner.

And the door to the corner unit was right there, too. They’d crashed the sofa into it twice now. Hopefully, the tenant wasn’t home. He scared her. A little. He seemed really intense, from the little she knew.

Chris dropped his end of the sofa with a groan. They’d managed now to get the thing wedged against her neighbor’s door somehow. “This is hopeless. I thought you were all brawny and muscly, like Chyna.”

“Who?” Bev didn’t need to drop her end; it was wedged into the door.

“Chyna. Chick wrestler.” Chris eyed her neighbor’s door. “Even if we get this thing around the corner, how are we getting it into your place? That turn’s even tighter.”

“There’s no light right above my door.” She looked down the hallway to double check. The sofa cushions were stacked at the side of her door. “Nope. We’ll be good. We can tip it up down there.” She took hold of the armrest, ignoring the grey smudge from all the crashing. “Come on, we can do this. I am muscly.”

Chris whined a little, but he picked up his end. “Why did you have to get a sleeper sofa? It’s like it’s packed with rocks.”

“For someplace to put your drunk ass when you pass out.” They hefted and got just enough movement for Bev to feel a little hope—and to crash yet again into the door.

This time, it opened, and there her neighbor was, wearing nothing but a pair of plain black track pants and looking absolutely hot as hell. And not pleased. His posture seemed relaxed, but his green eyes flashed fire.

She smiled as brightly as she could. “Hi, Nick. Sorry for the noise.”

She’d never seen him shirtless before. Oh, good lord. His shoulders were—and his abs and—Bev swallowed. There was a thin line of dark hair rising up from his waistband and stopping at his navel and a light dusting of dark hair across his pecs. Realizing that she’d been staring, she shook her head sharply and looked away—and found Chris giving her a deeply sarcastic look. She resisted the urge to flip him the bird.

“If I may ask, what the f*ck?” Nick’s voice was deep and smooth, with a rough rumble at the edge. Not hoarse or growly, but almost like he didn’t use it much. Which could well be true. Their few meetings had not been anything in the vicinity of chatty.

“I bought a new sofa. I didn’t want to pay the extra for delivery—they really gouge you with that stuff—and Chris here was nice enough to say he’d help me get it home, but it’s a sleeper and really heavy. We didn’t have any trouble, though, all the way to here. But now it’s stuck in this corner, and we can’t turn it up on its end because of the light, and now it’s getting smudges on it—” Sheesh, she was blathering like a vapid tween. “I’m sorry, Nick. We’ll figure it out, and we’ll try not to bang on your door while we do it.”

Abruptly, he closed his door, and Chris and Bev looked at each other. Chris mouthed Rude and squatted to pick up his end again. Then the door opened, and there Nick was again. He looked at Bev.

“Step aside.”

“What?”

“Move out of the way. Your new furniture has me blocked in.”

Confused, she obeyed, taking several steps backward down the hall toward her own door. And then he did something that made her jaw drop open. He grabbed the top of his doorframe in both hands and hoisted himself up like he was doing a pull-up. He had great arms, too. In fact, his whole torso flexed, and Bev thought she might just pass out. He brought his legs up and swung himself over the end of her sofa, landing neatly in the hallway on his bare feet.

He could have climbed over, Bev thought. But she hadn’t minded the show at all.