Love On The Vine by Sally Clements

no one knew her history. Her friends back home were supportive, but she was sick to death of being pitied, of the unsettled feeling that filled her chest every time she got together with friends and hoped she wouldn’t bump into Joel and his new squeeze.
    She pulled on a thin, black jersey sweater, then stepped into her navy overalls. Thick socks and steel-toed boots next, and she was ready to face the day. She snagged the keys to her pickup off the table and pushed open the door. There was a full day of repairs ahead and she needed to get on the road. The sky was bright with early morning sun, but a chill lingered in the spring air, so she strode quickly around the side of the building to the parking lot, half-wondering, full-on hoping that the racing green MG would be there. She’d barely had a chance to look it over when she pulled in late last night, and with exhaustion and the need for a late dinner hastening her steps, had only stroked a hand over its hood, which gleamed in the moonlight.
    It must belong to Mark Jameson .
    Mrs. White, the widow in 1B, told her all about him the other day. She had leaned close and whispered, “Mark is a lovely young man,” as if he had ears like a bat and might somehow hear. “He’s a blond too, but not as light as you, dear. The Jamesons are one of Meadowsweet’s oldest families, and Mark is the...” She counted off on her fingers. “...third child. I reckon he must be about thirty now.” She crossed her arms atop her generous bosom and smiled as though imparting valuable information. “He’s a definite catch.”
    A mental image of a fat haddock hanging from a line had instantly flashed through Alice’s mind, and she’d smothered her smile with a cough.
    Why on earth she thought I’d be interested...
    Rounding the corner, Alice stopped dead. The MG sat exactly where it had been last night. A man was bent over, peering into the engine beneath the raised hood. It was rare to find a British classic in her little piece of Virginia. Rarer still to find a man wearing a sharp suit and dark, shiny, what must be Italian, shoes.
    This must be the haddock . Slowly, Alice walked closer. “Hi.”
    “What—” He jerked, banging his head on the hood, then straightened, showcasing an awesome pair of broad shoulders. His dark blond hair was businessman short, his white shirt accessorized with a red tie.
    Hazel eyes gazed into hers, and Alice’s heart raced.
    He grinned and rubbed the top of his head. “I didn’t hear you.”
    His deep tenor set a flurry of tingles racing up her spine. She flushed with warmth, despite the weather. He was as far from a fish as you could get. And in that suit? Maybe he was a shark. Alice stepped forward and peered into the engine. “Car trouble?”
    He hesitated, and then his gaze dropped to the image on her breast. “Are you...”
    He was only checking out Under The Hood’s logo, but her body responded to his gaze as if he’d reached out and stroked her.
    She swallowed. “A mechanic, yes. Your lucky day.” And mine.
    “I’m Mark Jameson. You must have just moved in?”
    “Yes. I’m Alice,” she murmured. “I live in 3B.”
    “Just below me, then. This really is my lucky day.” His smile hinted at a double meaning. His gaze travelled down her body, making her acutely aware of every inch of the silk hidden beneath her overalls. She imagined his hands gliding along her teddy, blazing the same trail.
    She turned abruptly and braced herself on the frame of the car, forcing herself to look at the engine. She had to find a way to control her reaction to this man. He stepped closer and placed his hand near hers.
    Strong hands.
    “I’m pretty sure it’s the battery. If you have jumper cables, I’d be grateful.”
    Jumper cables? Alice’s body was sparking with so much electricity that if their fingers touched the engine would start without them. She rubbed her hands on her overall-clad thighs. “No problem.” She smiled, reached into her