Page 25 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

That earned a small chuckle from her, and I let the bell-like sound chime against my ego. I may not have been the cleverest, or the most handsome, and certainly not the wealthiest, but making people laugh felt like an accomplishment worth being proud of.

“Yes, I imagine a son bravely battling the never-ending war against centrifugal forces weighs heavily upon any parental figure.”

“Centrifugal? Now that’s a five-dollar word.”

“Is it?” she drawled, her accent becoming more pronounced. “Well, that and a two-dollar-off coupon will get you an overpriced drink at Starbucks.”

“Starbucks? If I wanted to lose an arm and a leg on coffee, I would drop my thermos into one of these machines and try to reach after it while it’s running.”

Now she laughed fully, and I liked that sound even more. There was an easiness to it, and my pride inflated at the evidence that I was entertaining her. Because if I was being entertaining, then surely I couldn’t be annoying or awkward, right?

“Dismemberment seems to be a running theme in your life. Is that something I should be worried about, or just a risk of the trade?”

“Afraid it’s basically a requirement for most of us blue-collar folks. The more you talk about something, the less scary it is.”

When I first started woodworking as a teen, there were entire machines I didn’t dare use. If I’d been injured, it would have seriously complicated my mother’s life because she’d drop everything to take care of me. Perhaps I should have been more concerned about actually losing a limb, but whatever. Priorities. Never been very good at them.

The woman nodded sagely as though it wasn’t strange to talk so casually about life-altering injuries. “Makes sense. We have our own kind of humor like that in the office, but it mostly revolves around computers blue-screening and getting hacked.”

“Hah, I can imagine that would throw off your day.”

“Probably not as much as losing a whole limb would, but yes.”

I chuckled lightly. I wanted to say, for professional reasons, that we weren’t flirting, but I couldn’t deny the vibe between us.

Please God, if you’re there, do not let me be one of those delusional men who thinks a woman is hitting on him when she’s just being polite.

“By the way, I apologize, I’m not the best with names. You mentioned it yesterday, but I was distracted by the improvised attack missile you launched.”

“Oh! It’s Olivia. Nice to fully meet you, Keith.”

The way she said my name wasn’t fair. Maybe I should have told her to call me Mr. Insrym. Then again, the idea of her looking up through her lashes at me while murmuring that in her slightly raspy and musical voice was a little too appealing.

“Nice to meet you as well.”

I leaned forward, shifting my weight with the intent of posting my bulk against her workstation, like I was cool and effortless or something. And maybe I might have been, if I didn’t miss it entirely with my hand, my palm hitting air instead of solid wood.

Uh-oh.

I toppled to the side, and it was far too easy for me to envision myself eating total shit on the ground in front of the woman I was sort of trying to impress. I braced myself for the embarrassment that was going to hurt way more than the impact. But then two hands gripped the front of my thick overalls, and the next thing I knew, I was jerked upright.

What the hell?

I paused, trying to recalibrate. Olivia had caught me. Not only had she caught me, but she got me onto my feet without so much as breaking a sweat.

“Whoops,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over my chin.

Time screeched to a halt.

It was just the two of us, closer than we should be, those amber eyes of hers wide and a bright blush covering her stately nose, her hands still clutching my overalls.

She really was fucking beautiful.

“Thanks,” I managed to say before it got too awkward. “You’ve got quite the grip on you.”

Her blush intensified as she let go of me. “Uh, don’t mention it.”

“Are you into MMA? Do you lift?”