“What crawled up your ass and died?” Max Vergaras asked, sliding his friend’s favorite cocktail across the copper bar top as Noah pulled a stool up to his favorite spot at his favorite restaurant, Frankie’s on the River. Frankie’s was Max’s pride and joy, the culmination of his career as a chef. Noah had been coming ever since his friend had opened the place.

Noah slammed the whole thing back, his throat working overtime, without stopping to savor the smoky undertones of Brennan’s Peated Irish Whiskey laced with plump, fresh blackberries from Max’s garden out back. “You would not believe the day I’ve had,” he replied, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know I love your cocktails, but I’m going to need the hard stuff tonight to wind down from the epic shit storm I’m drowning in right now.”

“That sounds ominous,” Max observed.

“You know the old Winthrop estate?”

“Yeah,” Max answered, wiping down the already gleaming copper bar. “What about it?”

“It finally sold.”

“No shit?”

“Yup. Which I couldn’t care about one way or the other, except the new owner decided to widen the driveway between our properties and the contractors she hired to remove those stupid fucking Concord grapes screwed up and pulled out three rows of my pinot noir grapes instead.” Noah shook his head solemnly. He could have lived without the viognier, but the loss of his prized pinot noir was a goddamned travesty.

Max dropped his rag and stared at Noah like he’d sprouted two heads. “You’re fucking kidding.”

“I wish I was, man. I really fucking wish I was.”

“How does something like that even happen?”

“Best I can tell, old lady Winthrop’s grandkids fucked up when they drew up the plans, and when the new owner signed off on the work, she didn’t bother checking to make sure everything was correct.” Noah rubbed the spot between his eyebrows in an effort to forestall the migraine that had been threatening to form all afternoon.

“Idiot,” Max replied, his brows furrowed in anger. “Let me guess. She’s some bored, rich housewife who thinks the world revolves around her? She probably wanted you to thank her for the work. Or worse, pay her for it.”

Noah could forgive Max the assumption. He’d been involved with a woman going through a divorce a while ago, and they’d even talked about getting married once it came through. But the moment the ink was dry on the paperwork, she’d dicked Max over by running off with her ex-husband’s richer best friend, leaving Max with an expensive diamond ring and a broken heart.

“Nah, she’s not like that,” Noah answered, knowing in his gut he spoke the truth. He didn’t know Angelica Travis, but he knew women, and he was sure she didn’t fall into that camp.

When Max raised a skeptical eyebrow, Noah continued, “Don’t get me wrong. She’s trouble with a capital T, but it’s more the natural disaster, force of nature variety than the scheming, lying bitch one.”

“If you say so,” Max responded doubtfully as he shook up another cocktail. Even though Max owned Frankie’s—named for the its notorious first owner, a bootlegger named Frankie McShane who’d started a speakeasy on this site during the Prohibition era—he liked to leave the kitchen in the capable hands of his sous chef one night a week so he could hang out behind the bar and chat with customers. “You know my stance on the fairer sex.”

“Yeah, and no one here blames you for it.” Resting his chin against his fist, he added, “I don’t actually know what her story is, but I can tell you she’s in way over her head out there. She’s remodeling the place with an aim to turning it into a bed and breakfast.” Noah snorted and leaned back, dropping his hands to rest flat on the copper surface. “She was wearing a pink fucking tool belt, for Christ’s sake!”

“Oh, that must have been cute.” Max laughed.

The thing was—and Noah hated to admit it—it had been cute. More than cute, in fact. Angelica Travis might be a menace to society, but she was the most mouthwatering menace he’d ever seen. Her blonde hair, porcelain skin, and high cheekbones were the first things he’d noticed about her, but then his eyes traveled downward to take in each rise and fall of her bountiful curves. In a plain white v-neck shirt and ratty, paint-splattered jeans slung low on her luscious hips, he’d had to do a double take. Simply put, Miss Angelica Travis—God, he hoped it was Miss Travis—was his wildest fantasy made flesh. And what lovely flesh it was.

“It was something, all right,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I won’t lie. She’s a beautiful fucking woman, and I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on her for a night, but she’s quite possibly the most aggravating person I’ve ever met as well.”

He looked up from his drink to find Max’s eyes trained on something—or someone—across the room. Noah swiveled on his stool to see what had captured his friend’s attention and let out a frustrated groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, tossing the rest of the whiskey down his throat. Wincing over the burn as it traveled down his esophagus, he said, “Not here too.”

Max laughed and poured Noah another shot. “I take it that’s the new neighbor?”

“In the flesh.”

“And what lovely flesh it is.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” With a grimace, he asked, “Why does someone so goddamned beautiful have to be so much trouble?”

“Good luck with that. By the looks of things, you’re going to need it.” Max strolled away, his eyes fixed on Angelica as he went.

Noah craned his neck to cast a covert glance her way and tried not to stare—too hard. Angelica had changed out of her work clothes and into a halter top that hugged her curves and a pleated skirt that skimmed just above her knees, giving Noah a small peek of her shapely thighs. She’d taken down her ponytail, and now her long, blonde hair cascaded down her back in thick, bouncy waves. If she was going for the whole Marilyn Monroe look, she’d nailed it perfectly.

With one final perusal of her ample assets, Noah swiveled back around and resumed imbibing his drink. He could admire her beauty, but that didn’t mean he wanted Angelica to catch him doing it. Besides, it was bad enough he would have to interact with her in a professional capacity; he didn’t want her invading his personal life, too. Noah loved living in a small town, but this was one of those times he missed the anonymity of San Francisco. Not that he had any intention of ever moving back to the city, much to his mother’s chagrin. So it was just as well then when Angelica settled herself at a small table on the other side of the restaurant, far away from him.

A stool scraped along the reclaimed hardwood floors and Sean Amory, River Hill’s resident baker, joined Noah at the bar. Sean’s family owned The Breadery, the bakery that was located across from Frankie’s on River Hill’s picturesque town square. Noah had been friends with him for years, but Sean had only recently moved home to take over the family business. Now, he and Noah made a point of meeting up for drinks at least one evening a week, usually when Sean didn’t have to be up before dawn to fire up his bakery’s ovens, and preferably on one of Max’s behind-the-bar nights.

“Heard about your drama earlier today,” Sean remarked, popping a small handful of nuts into his mouth and chewing.

Of course he had, Noah thought. “Fucking small town gossips,” he muttered as he took another sip of his whiskey.

“You could always move back to San Francisco,” Sean answered, hailing a bartender to order a beer.

“You and Max must have been clairvoyants in another life. You’re both mind readers tonight.”

“You don’t exactly have a poker face, man.”

Noah chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

Sean propped his tanned forearms on the copper bar top. “You’re not seriously considering moving back to the city, are you?”

Noah waved away his friend’s concern. “You know I hated living there. I was only thinking how much easier it is to enjoy a drink in peace when you don’t have to worry about running into someone you don’t want to. It’s easier to hide out in the city.”

Sean raised the bottle to his lips and threw back a swig. “And I take it you’re hoping to hide from the infamous new neighbor?”

Noah’s eyes darted to the corner of the restaurant where Angelica was busy reviewing the menu. “Among others,” he confirmed.

“You know who she is, don’t you?”

“You mean besides the world’s biggest menace?”

Sean laughed, his dimples forming deep hollows in his smooth face. He might have left L.A. behind weeks ago, but with gleaming white teeth and a hard, chiseled jaw, he’d forever look the part of smooth Hollywood playboy. He’d been a record executive in his former life, but he’d often been mistaken for a movie or TV star instead. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Noah shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”

“Dude. When was the last time you went to the movies, or turned on the TV?”

Noah twisted in his stool to face his friend. “You know I don’t have a TV.”

Sean’s eyebrow lifted while he waited for Noah to answer his other question.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Noah asked, “What year did the last Indiana Jones movie come out? The one with the aliens?”

Sean rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It was a crystal skull, not an alien. And because you didn’t know that was last decade, I’m guessing you also didn’t see the remake of Clueless a few years back.”

Noah’s head shot back in disbelief. “Why the fuck would they remake Clueless? The original was just fine. I mean, it’s no Hitchcock or Scorsese, but really? Clueless?”

Sean chuckled. “Yeah, and you’re probably not going to believe this, but your new neighbor played Tai in the remake.”

“No way,” Noah responded, trying to match the curvy blonde beauty he’d met earlier this afternoon with the awkward, homely character he remembered from the original movie. “I don’t believe you.”

“Here, see for yourself.” Sean pulled out his phone and brought up his IMDB app. Locating the remake’s listing, he passed the device to Noah and then hailed a waitress to put in two orders of the restaurant’s famous pork belly tacos with mango and papaya salsa.

Noah snorted as his eyes scanned the screen. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mused, passing the phone back to his friend. “That’s not what she looks like now, I’ll tell you that much for nothing.”

Noah had a hard time reconciling the human wrecking ball he’d met that morning with the gawky woman whose picture he’d just viewed. Angelica’s name had been listed next to a movie still, so he knew Sean was telling the truth, but she looked nothing like that today. He supposed if you squinted really hard you could make out the resemblance, but that Angelica was missing the luscious curves Noah admired so much, and her shiny blonde hair had been dyed a dull, dishwater brown. He didn’t even want to consider how they’d made it look like she’d permanently stuck her finger in a light socket.

“You don’t need to tell me.” Sean nodded. “Woman’s a chameleon. If memory serves, she made a career out of playing the dorky best friend or an awkward sidekick.” His brows furrowed in concentration as he took a bite of his taco. Chewing around his food, he added, “Haven’t seen much of her lately though, come to think of it.”

Noah’s head turned, and his eyes landed on Angelica who—much to his horror—was staring right back at him. With a gleam in her eye he could see all the way across the room, she lifted her glass of wine in salute. Noah nodded gruffly, turned back around. Eating his taco in large bites, he’d nearly consumed the whole thing when Max joined them.

“What are you two gossiping about?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the copper surface.

“I was bringing Noah up to speed on who his pretty new neighbor is.”

“Stunner, ain’t she?” Max asked with a raise of his brow.

Sean nodded and finished off his beer. “And exactly his type, too.”

“Fuck you,” Noah interjected. “I don’t have a type.”

“Hate to break it to you, man, but yes, you do.”

Noah crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. “I’m an equal opportunity lover.”

“If you say so,” Sean said, finishing off his food and pushing his plate away.

Noah glanced between his two smirking friends. Unable to withstand their unrestrained merriment, he finally bit. “Okay, fine. What’s my type?”

“Jessica Rabbit,” Max answered immediately.

“Christina Hendricks,” Sean added, not to be outdone.

“Ashley Graham.”

“Sofia Loren.”

“Rita Hayworth.”

“Kate Upton.”

The two men volleyed names of curvy actresses back and forth like a tennis ball until, in unison, they each shouted “Marilyn Monroe!”

Noah had no choice but to laugh at his friends’ good-natured ribbing. With a sheepish shrug, he said, “Okay, so I like ‘em real thick and juicy.”

“Ah fuck, he’s not quoting Sir Mix-a-Lot again, is he?” Max asked, pushing off the bar and pulling down a bottle of special tequila he reserved for nights when the three of them hung out at the restaurant together.

“What?” Noah asked with an impish grin. “The man knew what he was talking about when it came to tits and ass.” Noah gripped the edge of the bar and rocked his stool back onto two legs while Max poured them each a shot.

Sean shook his head in mock dismay. “You are the literal worst.”

When each of them had their shots in hand, they raised their glasses and tossed the smoky liquid back. When Max slammed his empty glass down, he said, “Speaking of tits and ass, she’s coming this way.”

It was all Noah could do to get the tequila down his throat without choking to death. As it was, he coughed so loud and hard that several patrons had turned their heads to make sure nothing was truly amiss. As Sean pounded him on the back, Noah heard the faint click-clack of heels approaching.

“Hello boys,” a voice smooth as velvet said from behind him.

Pulling in a gulp of air, Noah tried his best to inconspicuously wipe the wetness from his eyes. Mission accomplished, he turned to face her, catching a brief glimpse of Max’s smirk as he went.

“Hi, Angelica.” Noah glanced at his waiting friends, then grudgingly introduced the other two men. “This is Max—this place is his—and that’s Sean. He owns the bakery down the street. Guys, this is my new neighbor, Angelica Travis. She’s the one who bought old Mrs. Winthrop’s estate.” Noah hoped Max and Sean would play along and not give away the fact that they’d already known who she was well before his benign introduction.

Angelica notched her chin at each man in turn. “Max. Sean.” Then her gaze flickered between the three of them as the right side of her cherry lips hitched up in a coy smile. “A rugged chef, a handsome baker, and … a grumpy winemaker.”

Noah didn’t know why, but he’d been holding his breath as Angelica described what she saw when she looked at them, wondering what adjective she’d bestow upon him. When instead of lauding his appearance as she had his friends, she picked apart his personality based on their earlier meeting, he had to fight to control his disappointment. He was man enough to admit that both Max and Sean were good looking guys, but he was too, goddamnit. He didn’t like Angelica, but Noah wasn’t about to let how he felt about her as a person color his assessment of her looks. Clearly, the same could not be said for her.

For several more minutes, Angelica traded small talk with Sean and Max while Noah sat in mostly brooding silence. Lest she think she’d hurt his feelings, Noah made sure to inject himself into the conversation here and there, but he didn’t bother hiding his sigh of relief when she finally turned and strolled away, her mouthwatering hips swinging in temptation. No, Noah certainly didn’t like Angelica, but he definitely appreciated everything about her appearance.

“You want another one?” Max asked, drawing Noah’s attention back to the conversation.

“Nah, I’m good,” he answered. Between the cocktail he’d slammed back when he’d first arrived, and then the dram of whiskey and shot of tequila he’d had later, Noah had already pushed the limits of what was acceptable on a work night. “I think I’ll have another taco and then I’ll head out.”

“Good idea.” Max pushed off the counter and strolled to the window into the kitchen to place the order directly.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sean said, reaching across the bar to grab a fistful of peanuts. “I think your Sir Mix-a-Lot might be on to something.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Noah wasn’t following the sudden shift in their discussion.

Sean tilted his head to indicate the direction Angelica had departed and cackled. “Because that woman most definitely has an L.A. face with an Oakland booty.”

Noah groaned at his friend’s play on the famous rap song, but he wasn’t about to argue. Because the truth was, Angelica Travis was little in the middle but she had much back.