“The blonde at the door pointed me in this direction. You are Sarah Smith?”
Rosie’s shoe delivered a swift nudge against Sarah’s foot. Sarah knew that any second now, Rosie would be inviting him to join them for ornament making and pointing out Sarah’s ringless finger. With her stomach feeling fluttery, Sarah tucked her feet as far back beneath her chair as they’d comfortably go and attempted to use telepathy to get the woman to hold her tongue.
No doubt fully aware of Rosie’s soccer tryouts beneath the crafting table, Maybelle laughed. “Looks like your ad in the paper worked this time, Sarah, and found you a man, after all.”
Sarah knew where Maybelle’s mind had gone. It wasn’t on help-wanted ads or house repairs. Ugh.
“This one looks as if he can take anything you dish out at him,” Maybelle continued, all innocent-like.
Sarah gave Maybelle her best glare. She hadn’t dished anything out to the other handymen. She’d expected them to do their job. Hamilton House deserved better than a messy, thrown-together restoration.
If she was lucky, this guy could finish the needed remodeling to the downstairs suites and the other repairs she needed to get done prior to her Grand Opening of Hamilton House on Christmas.
“Let’s hope he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty,” Rosie piped up from across the table.
Sarah’s gaze dropped to the stranger’s hands. They did appear capable of anything she might ask of him. Sturdy, slightly calloused, with bluntly cut clean fingernails. Ringless.
Ringless?
Now why in the world had she noticed that? Because of her friends’ earlier suggestions? Or because his blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes and held intelligence and intrigue that made her want to dig deeper? Because his strong chin beneath high cheekbones indicated determination and resolve, while the tiny scar above his left brow hinted he was a man who didn’t back down when things got tough?
She didn’t need to feel Rosie’s shoe nudge hers again to know exactly why she’d noticed his bare finger. Had her friends been nowhere around, she still would’ve noticed the handsome stranger. He wasn’t a man a woman could ignore.
She’d have to be careful not to encourage the Butterflies, or they’d really be playing Cupid.
Even if she’d been interested in meeting someone—which she wasn’t—a man who had yet to smile wasn’t her type. No matter how handsome he was.