She hadn’t figured on one Tanner James, who wasn’t old, but who was, with that come-get-me look, most undoubtedly experienced-in making women’s knees weak.

Not good. She needed to stay focused here. “Um…”

“You are Cami Anderson, right?”

“Yes.”

“So I have the right place.”

“Yes, but-”

“Good.” He shifted his big body impatiently. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

“What?” She pulled her blanket tighter around the body that had been a curse all her life. Too tall. Too curvy. Too everything. The everything part consisted of five pounds too much fat, which brought her back to the potato chip thing. Actually, it was also a chocolate chip thing. And an ice cream thing. And okay, it might have been ten pounds, but who was counting?

“Your town house? The work I bid on?” The man’s brow furrowed as he studied her. “You still want it done, correct?”

“Yes.” She let out a little laugh. She was an idiot, thinking he’d even noticed her as a woman. “Yes, of course. The work.”

“Good, then.” His face was carefully bland, as if he was afraid to upset the crazy lady. “Let’s get started. I hate getting going this late in the day.”

Alarm bells rang in her head-not good, given her already firmly in place headache. “Just out of curiosity, what would you consider a good start time?”

Noon, she willed him to say. She’d probably even hug him in gratitude.

“Six.”

She nearly dropped her blanket. “In the morning?”

“Yep.”

Oh, Lord. Not only was he damn distracting with all sun-kissed, light doe-colored hair and even more intense doe-colored eyes, but he was a morning person, too?

This was not going well, but she hadn’t had any caffeine yet and couldn’t cope.

So she led him into the foyer, beyond which was the living room, which had been sorely abused by the previous owner. The walls were puke green and the carpeting puke orange. The windows were in horrible shape, as well, and bare since she’d stripped down the obnoxious shades covering them the day she’d moved in.

And for some unknown reason, there were half walls in three places, turning what could have been a wonderful, huge, open, airy room into a monstrosity.

“Ugh,” Tanner said behind her.

“Yeah. I moved in last year, but I’ve been swamped with school and work until now.” Self-consciously she tugged at the blanket, making sure she was completely covered, not that he’d given her a second glance.

As they walked, she caught sight of herself in the tiled mirror hanging in her foyer…and nearly croaked on the spot.

Her hair stood straight up in spots, and yet was matted down in others, where she’d lain on it all night. The right side of her face had a lovely red spot smashed into it, obviously from her pillow. Her eyes were completely void of makeup, and puffy.

The only thing she had going for her was that she wasn’t drooling. At the moment, anyway.

Some ex-beauty queen. “I’ll…be back in a minute,” she said, amazed he hadn’t run from her screaming in horror.

“Take your time.” Clearly distracted, he pulled out the plans she’d sent him when he’d made his bid. “This is far worse than I remembered.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your town house.” He lifted his clipboard, which had a sticker on it that said, Life Sucks, Wear a Hard Hat, and started making notes. “It’s horrible.”

Feeling defensive, she halted. “Nothing a little fixing up won’t cure.”

“Oh, I know. Beneath your tacky paint job and ridiculous wall placement, this place has huge potential. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.”

“It’s not my tacky paint job,” she said, wanting to be clear on that, and also feeling a little…jealous at his confidence in his abilities.

“Uh-huh,” he said, not looking up from where he was scribbling furiously on his clipboard.

“And those walls? I had nothing to do with them.”

“Yep.”

She was standing there, practically buck naked, trying to convince the man that she hadn’t decorated the place this way, and he didn’t care.

She had to laugh at herself. “At least you’re honest,” she said to his back.

He didn’t appear to hear her, or if he did, didn’t feel the need to respond. Hunkering down, he spread the plans on the floor, oblivious to the way his shirt stretched over all his interesting muscles and how his tool belt tugged at his jeans, exposing a good inch of sleek, taut, tanned skin across his lower back.

Contractors were supposed to have beer bellies and too much butt crack showing.

Tanner had neither.

And what was he doing as she ogled him? He appeared to have forgotten all about her.

Wasn’t that just the crowning glory on her ego.

Sighing, Cami continued out of the room, thinking maybe it wasn’t so bad being single, really. She didn’t have to worry about bed head. Or clean clothes. She didn’t have to worry about her extra ten pounds. Much.

Besides, if she ever got herself a man-and if her mother had anything to do with it, she would-then she wanted a really great one, who could both laugh and think, maybe even at the same time.

Ha! There wasn’t any such man.

But if there were, and she did, it wouldn’t be Mr. Not-Even-Notice-Her, no matter how sexy she’d just realized a tool belt could be.

2

CAMI REALLY NEEDED pain relief, coffee and a shower, and not necessarily in that order. Then, and only then, could she perk up and be truly ecstatic about her future.

But she didn’t have time. She actually had a man waiting for her, not an everyday occurrence. Granted, he was her contractor, but he was waiting for her.

In her bedroom, she managed to pull on a blouse and socks. Then the phone rang. She continued searching for her pants, which had been on the floor the last time she’d checked, mostly because she never had an available hanger. What was that about, anyway? It ranked right up there as one of life’s little mysteries, next to why her keys were never where she’d last put them.

“Mew.”

“I know,” Cami said, on her hands and knees now, peering beneath her bed. “You want food. Go tell your new lover boy.”

Annabel shot her a snooty look as the phone continued to ring.

“Where’s my Advil? Hello?” she said into the receiver, just as she found her pants, but naturally they had a stain on them. “Oh, damn.”

“Young lady, what kind of language is that?”

Perfect. Her mother was half Italian and half Irish. They didn’t come any more bossy, stubborn or domineering than Sara Lynn Anderson, who alternated between attempting to run Cami’s life and praying for her daughter’s soul to keep it safe from the devil.

“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t know it was you.” Because if she had, she wouldn’t have picked it up.

“Never mind, darling. Look, I wanted to talk to you.”

Never mind? Cami had used a swear word and her mother had said never mind? All Cami’s problems vanished as she sank to the bed and clutched the phone.

Someone had to be sick.

Dying.

Or already dead. “What’s the matter?” she demanded, just as bossy, stubborn and domineering as her mother. “Tell me. I can take it.”

“Nothing.”

“Mom!”

“I just have a little favor, that’s all. Can’t a mother call her own daughter for one little favor?”

Cami was so relieved she let her guard down. A bad mistake with her mother. “Well, of course you can.”

“I need you to go out with-”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where this was going. “Not another blind date.”

Her mother had started this when Cami and her sister turned twenty-one and she hadn’t wavered in her single, solitary mission to marry her daughters off in order to get grandchildren.

“It’s just one little date, Cami. One little favor. Just one little short night out of your life.”

“Too many littles.”

Maybe deep, deep down Cami had the same happily-ever-after dream for herself that her mother did, but she wasn’t going to admit it to the woman who had given her more blind dates from hell than any dating service ever could. Plus, truth told, Cami was terrified of finding Mr. Right. She didn’t believe in Mr. Right. “No.”

“Just because you think you’ve got it all together now that you’ve received your design degree doesn’t mean your future is set.”

“My future is fine.”

“Really? Is your laundry done?”

Cami glanced guiltily at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner behind the door. “What does that have to do with anything!”

“So it’s not.”

“No to the date. Double no. Triple no.”

“Oh, sure.” Her mother’s voice softened as she switched tactics, became vulnerable. Sad. “Turn me down in my time of need. I understand. I only spent twenty-four long, sweaty, torturous hours in labor with you and Dimi, and-”

“And we nearly killed you,” Cami said in tune with her mother, who was really getting into the story now, and had even mustered tears in her voice. “I know, Mom,” she said, rubbing her forehead and the ache that settled there every time she spoke with her mother. “I remember.” How could she forget when her mother pulled this story out at every turn?

“I’m going to die soon, you know.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Cami said with a laugh. “You’re going to outlive us all.”

“You never know.”

“Mom.”

“You’d really send me off to heaven, where you know I’m going to run into Aunt Bev and Cici, both of whom had daughters who gave them five grandchildren? Each?”

“Mom-”

“All I’m asking for is one little bundle of love to treasure in my final days, one grandchild. But apparently even that’s too much.”