Blue was apparently in style. She debated among a dozen shades ranging from midnight navy to the palest robin’s-egg pastel before deciding to kick it classic, and picked up a deep, dark red that felt perfect for fall.

Next she grabbed the box of tampons—she really did need them—then she ambled through the book section. She mostly read ebooks, but for the occasional bubble bath, she preferred an actual paperback to avoid any technology mishaps and electronics in the tub.

Into the cart went three books. One about a billionaire’s fake marriage, another about a hot mayor who hooked up with a female firefighter, and the last about a Nashville singer who retreated to Nowhere, Louisiana, to have sexy times with a bad boy.

Lastly, she hit up the home goods section, maneuvering a massive package of paper towels into the cart, followed by a bottle of her favorite apple-scented all-purpose cleaner.

The checkout line was crazy-long, giving Lincoln even more time to work his magic, so by the time Daisy finally wheeled her cart out of the store, she braced herself for him to have female company.

She was right.

Daisy shook her head in bemusement as she noted not just one woman, but three. There was a girl who couldn’t have been a day over twenty-three wearing tiny weather-inappropriate denim shorts, a bona fide cougar in a boobtastic tank top, and a woman about Daisy’s age who looked, well…nice.

Then the blondie in the booty shorts moved to the side, and Daisy got a look at Lincoln. Her footsteps faltered, her breath hitched.

Until this moment, she hadn’t realized that when she’d said some women were suckers for the grease-monkey look, she’d apparently been talking about herself.

Daisy’d always considered herself the type that preferred Italian suits and golf polos to jeans and tight T-shirts, but seeing Lincoln now, playing up the whole handyman vibe, she got it.

His toned arms were just the slightest bit shiny, as though he’d taken her advice in faking some way to work up a sweat. She watched as he wiped an oil-streaked hand on the towel along his thigh as he laughed at something the cougar said.

It was perfect. He was perfect. He’d mastered the perfect combination of confident and aw shucks—alpha enough to be aware of his appeal to women, but modest enough to pretend that he hadn’t been prepared for all this attention while fixing his car.

Good Lord, she’d created her own Kryptonite.

She ordered her feet to keep walking, her dumb heart going into overdrive when he saw her out of the corner of his eye and then turned his full-blown smile on her.

“Hey babe.”

Daisy blinked. Babe?

Then he was moving toward her, digging the keys out of his jeans pocket as he hit the button to pop the trunk. Before she could register his intent, he slipped a hand around her back, brushing his lips against hers.

They both froze.

The kiss was meant to be casual and fake—part of the role he was playing, she knew that. Knew that he did too.

But there was nothing casual or fake about the electricity between them. His eyes searched hers, looking as bewildered and frustrated as she felt.

Then he stepped back and reached for the package of paper towels.

He was back to regular Lincoln when he glared at her with intent she understood immediately. You got me into this mess with these women—now get me out.

Daisy forced herself to snap out of it. “Hey hon, you get the car fixed?”

She reached for one of the bags and then stilled, looking at the other women as though just now spotting them. “Oh! Hello there.”

The cougar was long gone, experienced enough on the prowl to know a lost cause, but Ms. Short-Shorts and the brunette lingered as though hoping their conversation with Lincoln had been so stimulating that he might ditch his paper-towel-buying girlfriend for one of them.

Lincoln played right along, glancing at the women as though just now remembering they were there. “Oh right. Daiz, this is Holly and Melora.”

“Hello!” Daisy said in the perfectly pleasant voice of a woman who was secure in her relationship, confident that her man wouldn’t step out on her, no matter how short the shorts or how tanned and toned the legs. “I’m Daisy.”

The younger girl gave the fakest of smiles before fixing Lincoln with one last sultry gaze and then heading toward the store.

The other woman had a sweet face, and she smiled at Daisy, even as her gaze immediately went back to Lincoln with hopeful longing. “Nice to meet you, Lincoln. Thanks so much for the car advice.”

“Anytime, glad to help.”

The woman managed one smile before pulling her car keys out of her purse, winding her way through the line of cars toward her own.

“Were you actually any help?” Daisy asked as she dropped the bag into the trunk.

“I said the words engine, belt, and torque steer, so most definitely. You think I should have charged them?”

She laughed. “I’m not gonna lie, it kind of works for you.”

“What does?” he asked as he grabbed the last bag and dropped it into the trunk. “Car talk, huh? You like that, Wallflower? Your engines revved?”

She laughed. “Save it. But admit that I was right,” she said with a gloating smile. “Those women ate up the whole everyman mechanic routine. Don’t worry. I won’t rub it in.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t rub it in either,” he said with a grin as she slammed the trunk shut.

“Rub what in?”

He leaned forward, crowding her, but not uncomfortably so. “That your plan backfired. The whole dirty towel in the belt thing really did it for ya, huh?”