Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out

Could it?

Deciding that it indeed could, they’d agreed to get lives.

Separate lives.

So Dimi had moved out of Cami’s town house and into her own…all the way on the other side of the small complex, which constituted an entire fifty-foot walk. Silly, maybe. But at least Cami no longer had to share her razors, and there were always potato chips in the cupboard when she needed them, which was often.

Cami hauled open the door. “Thanks a lot for the hangover-”

Oops.

Not Dimi.

Not even female.

Male. Oh, most definitely male. Gorgeous male. “I- You- Um…” Cami let out an unnerved smile and started over. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the magnificent male said, smiling into her confusion. He looked at Annabel, who was leaning on Cami, eyeing him as if he were breakfast. “Hi to you, too,” he said in a voice that could have melted the Arctic.

Annabel, who hated everyone except Cami on sight, left her mistress without a word and rubbed against his legs. They were very fine legs, too, encased in denim. Above those fine legs, were lean hips around which lay a tool belt. Above that was the finest-looking torso she’d ever seen, covered in a blue T-shirt and an unbuttoned plaid work shirt. And that was only the beginning, because then there were wide shoulders, a strong, tanned neck…and his frowning face.

“Do I have the wrong day?” he inquired. “I thought you said Monday.”

“Monday? Oh!” Cami gaped at him, then winced and held her head because thinking was a big mistake on a two-glasses-of-champagne hang over. “Oh, no.” It was all coming back to her now. Today. Her life. What she and Dimi had been celebrating last night. “You…you’re-?”

“Tanner James,” he said, holding out his big, work-roughened hand.

Oh, God. How could she have forgotten, even for a second, that today was the first day of the rest of her life?

Somehow between the dinner celebration last night and the pounding in her head this morning, she’d managed to forget everything she’d ever wanted was about to come true. She’d truly done it, she’d graduated design school and was officially an interior designer.

At just the thought, she grinned widely. It hurt, because everything anywhere near her head hurt, but she couldn’t contain herself. The clown, the screwup, the Anderson everyone was certain would never amount to anything but a good time, actually had a career right in front of her, a career she wanted with all her heart.

Even if she didn’t have any clean underwear.

Now all she needed were clients. And since appearances were everything, she figured she’d start with her own town house, fix it up, make it her own personal showcase. It wasn’t a bad place to start. The small complex, which consisted of only four town houses, was in the town of Truckee, right on Donner Lake, a place not only immensely rich in western history but California legend, as well. The structure had been built in the late 1800s, which meant she’d have to deal with the historical society, but that was a minor detail compared to the challenge posed by the browns, greens and hideous yellows of the early seventies that dominated the place.

Needing a master carpenter, she’d sent out plans, taken bids and picked a contractor. She’d figured on someone older, someone experienced.

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.