Excerpt 1:
Hoping Carl would indeed wind up at her place, Sylvie had spent the morning in a cleaning frenzy, and her kitchen shone. There were fresh, fluffy towels in the sparkling bathroom, vacuum tracks on the carpet, and most importantly, clean sheets on the bed. Afterward, she’d collapsed on the couch. 

But then she didn’t like the placement of the living room furniture, so she’d arranged and rearranged it to look cozier, and placed candles artfully around the room. To say she was nervous was an understatement. Images of Carl naked and hovering over her had haunted her dreams. She had no doubt the reality would be even better. 

Part of her dream came true about twenty minutes later. 

Having told Carl to get comfortable, she’d gone into the kitchen to assemble a late-night snack. From the fridge, she pulled the cheeseboard she’d assembled that morning and the wine. And not her usual box of Okanagan Porchbanger. For this momentous night—at least she hoped it would be—she’d splurged on a higher-end bottle. On a waiting tray, she arranged the cheeseboard, plates, napkins, and two glasses of wine. 

Carl sat on the couch, one arm draped along the back of the cushions. She’d been right about the candles because the soft light made his dark eyes shine. Transfixed by the invitation in his smile, she walked into the living room and promptly tripped. 

Moving quickly, Carl leaped from the couch to catch the falling glasses, but not before the contents splashed across his face, to drip down his chest. Cheese, crackers, cornichons, and cured meats were scattered across the coffee table that Sylvie had relocated earlier that day. Holding the two glasses, Carl blinked drops of wine from his lashes. 

Sylvie’s mouth hung open as she stared at him in dismay. “Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he said, smacking his lips. “I like a good rosé.” He set the glasses on the tray and took it from Sylvie’s hands. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

Pain radiated from where her knee had connected with the stupid coffee table. It wasn’t bleeding, but she’d have a lovely bruise tomorrow. “No,” she replied, bending her knee experimentally. “I’m fine, but your shirt isn’t.” Soaked through in spots, the fabric was rapidly turning pink. 

He took the tray into the kitchen and returned, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from the waistband of his trousers. “It’ll wash. But do you have a towel? I’d like to clean up a bit.”

After guiding him to the bathroom and handing him a towel, Sylvie went to clean up the mess. The good news was that nothing had broken, and only Carl had gotten wet. The bad news was…she sucked at seduction. He probably had an Uber on the way, ready to make his escape. She scooped the remains of her carefully planned evening off the coffee table and got down on her knees to retrieve tiny pickles from under the couch. 

She turned to look when Carl returned, and her mouth hung open again. Hands shoved into his trouser pockets, and shirtless, he was a sight to behold. A smattering of hair covered his pectoral muscles and arrowed down his taut belly. The slopes and dips that defined the muscles of his arms and chest called to her, and she rose from the floor, knowing she was staring and not caring a bit. 

Excerpt 2:
His GPS led him to the Keeney Commons apartment complex, and he spotted a KBS truck backed up to a curb. Ali stood at the back of the truck, surrounded by people Carl didn’t recognize but assumed were Keeney Builds students. Grabbing his travel mug, he walked over to join them. 

“Good.” Ali greeted Carl with a nod and addressed the others. “Everyone’s here, and we can get started. We start with the furniture and then load the boxes. They should be well-packed, but handle them with care. Marcia will have my head if anything gets broken. Rex and Daveed, when the apartment is empty, you are the cleaning crew. Iris will give you the supplies and instructions. Scour that place until it shines and don’t dilly-dally. We only have today to do everything.” 

As Ali continued delivering instructions, Carl’s gaze traveled over the well-maintained buildings, wondering who was in a bind and had to move in a hurry. His job was to dismantle the bed and anything else that needed to be taken apart before being moved. Ali gave him a toolbox, and he hung back while watching the others file up the stairs and toward the open door at the end of the corridor. 

“You’ve got four students hauling boxes and cleaning. Is that really the best use of their time, or is KBS going into the moving business?” Carl asked. 

Ali shot him a cool look. “I don’t know about the company you’ve been working for, but at KBS, when a friend needs help, we’re there. If that’s not something you’re willing to do, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Thoroughly put in his place, Carl climbed the stairs and got into line behind the others. Standing beside an open door, Sylvie greeted each person with a smile and a word of thanks before her gaze met his. The smile wavered then firmed up. Red spots dotted her cheeks, though she held her head high. “Morning, Carl.” Radiating with thinly veiled tension, she whipped around before he could respond, and he stared after her, his eyes fixed on the swinging ponytail as she disappeared from sight. 

Being a smart-ass was second nature to Carl, but after Ali’s remarks and seeing the way Iris and Marcia treated Sylvie with kid gloves, he kept his comments to himself. Instead, he worked swiftly and efficiently, taking apart the dining table and media stand before heading to the bedroom. Daveed carried away the boxed-up bedding, and Carl muscled the mattress aside to prop it against the wall. A balled-up piece of neon green lay squished on top of the box spring. 

He picked it up without thinking. 

“Hey, could you—” With Marcia right behind her, Sylvie stood in the doorway, mouth hanging open, and her face drained of color. Her gaze was fixed on Carl’s hand. More specifically, the fabric. 

His cheeks flamed as he realized he was holding a pair of women’s panties. 

Sylvie left without saying another word. 

“I don’t think those are hers,” Marcia said, plucking the offending fabric out of his hand before leaving the room. 

“Oh.” He stared stupidly at the empty doorway, then back at the box spring. Taking a utility knife from his back pocket, he proceeded to methodically slash the fabric covering the box spring and mattress. Marcia returned to find him shoving the knife back into his pocket. 

“Oops,” he said blandly. “I tripped. Guess I’ll have to replace the bed.”

Marcia’s lips twitched. “Guess so,” she replied, equally as blandly.