Chapter One
Lucas
“These are one of a kind. Aren’t they beautiful?” The older woman had the audacity to stare me right in the eyes as she fed me the bold-faced lie.
“One of a kind from China? I doubt that. Thank you for your time.”
She scoffed, but the rising blush in her cheeks gave her away. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? How dare you? This is a craft fair, one where you’re actually supposed to make something to show off and sell. Next time, make sure the Made in China stickers are removed from every item.” I pulled one of the smaller salad bowls from the bottom of the stack and showed her the flaw in her system.
“Lucas, what about those? They are exquisite.” My assistant Warren pointed out a display on the next aisle, but my attention was already on a set of handcrafted knives. “Go take a look and I’ll go look at these.”
“Deal,” he said and rushed over because Warren was just efficient like that
I quietly approached the table where a young couple stood over their goods. The man kissed the woman’s forehead and she blushed, then whispered something in his ear. There weren’t many products on their table, but what was there stood out.
“Do you make these?” I asked, surveying one, taking in the craftsmanship and quality.
“My husband does, sir. This is him,” the shorter, blonde one said. “Um, I’m sorry, but aren’t you Chef Lucas from that show, Cutting Board?”
There were two schools of thought on being famous. One, I deserved my fate. I put myself on television and therefore my salary and notoriety were a fair exchange for a lack of privacy. The second, that everyone should just leave me alone.
Most people tended to believe the first.
“I am. Can you make me a full chef’s set of these?” I picked up another, admiring the detail and quality.
“Yes, sir.” The other man, presumably the husband/craftsman spoke up. “It will take me a few months to do a full set. And the price…”
I waved him off. “Just tell me how much.”
He rattled off a number, not even close to what these knives were worth.
“No, you’re underselling yourself. I’ll give you a thousand dollars to make me a set that I won’t have to replace for a lifetime. Deal?”
We shook hands and I took his business card. I would ask Warren to put the information on the website—try to boost their business.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and when I opened the text message, it was Warren holding one of the bowls he went to see.
I started toward the table when I noticed a crowd had formed around me.
Almost twenty selfies and twenty autographs later, the craft show was ruined for me.
But I wanted those bowls.
I texted Warren back. Buy him out.
I snuck out the back before another mob surrounded me. Another text from Warren guaranteed me that he’d followed my instructions. When we found a true craftsman in our line of business, we bought every product they made and ordered more for the future.
I sat on a bench, waiting for Warren to load up the goods. I’d texted him where I’d be in the meantime. He knew the drill.
“Excuse me.” A man passed me with a loading cart full of empty boxes. As I looked up, his beard and tattoos caught my eye first.
My thighs pulsed. Beards and tattoos always made me lusty.
“Sure.” I moved my feet out of the way while he went past. He loaded the boxes into the back of an old 1950 something-looking truck, baby blue but in impeccable condition—much like the owner.
That’s when I scented him. Maybe the wind picked up or maybe he turned a certain way, but the distinct smell of cedar and campfire smoke tickled my nose and made a fire down in my belly.
“You missed one.” I jumped from the bench and caught his attention.
“Oh, I did. Thank you.” He got the last box and chucked it into the truck bed.
“I’ll take that back for you.” I grabbed the handle of the cart and mentally joggled around a way to get this guy to stay and talk to me.
“Look, I’m just in town for a while, but would you like to have dinner with me?”
Not my smoothest line, but a smile played at his full lips, so it must’ve worked. Please let it work.
“I was going to head home tonight. I’m not much on the city or hotels.”
“Well, we could have dinner at my place, if you want. I’m a good cook, and you could be on your way after that.”
He looked downright skeptical. I couldn’t blame him, but damn, I wished he’d considered the offer.
He looked like my kind of omega.
“I guess I could do that. I’m Harrison, by the way.”
A sexy-ass name if there ever was one.
He stuck his hand out to shake mine, and I reciprocated, but made sure to hold on a little too long.
“I’m Lucas. Here’s my number, or you could give me your phone.” He began to write the number on a piece of scrap paper he pulled from his front pocket.
He fished in his back pocket until he retrieved a dinosaur of a phone and handed it to me. I plugged in my number and texted myself while I was at it.
“I’ll text you my address. How about seven.”
Harrison smoothed his beard and stroked it for a long moment.
Damn. I wondered if he stroked other things in the same manner.
“Sounds good, Lucas. I’ll see you later, then.”
He got into that old truck and drove away.