Summer Lovin'
by Donna Cummings
"So, Bootsie, why do you think hunky neighbor guy is washing that car all day long?"
Mia turned the puppy around to face her, and he tilted his head, as if he was seriously considering her question. Or admiring his reflection in her oversized sunglasses. The Bichon was tiny, a cotton ball's worth of white fur, but he had the most expressive dark eyes. Not to mention a big personality.
Bootsie barked, twice.
"You might be right. Maybe he's a chauffeur."
Mia resettled the pup in her arms, stretching her bare legs out on the lawn chair. There was a lot to be said for the leisurely life of a dog-sitter.
Such as the neighbor with dark flowing hair and enviably tanned skin. He wore cargo shorts and flip flops, and a faded blue T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest. When he bent over to scrub the sporty BMW's hubcaps, Mia bit her lip.
She didn't know whether to admire his well-developed calves or the nice curve of his backside.
After the past few years stuck in a windowless office, running her brothers' business, she had decided it was time to do something else with her life. Dog-sitting for the next two weeks was the perfect opportunity to figure it out.
Mia sipped her iced tea, holding it away from the puppy's curious paw so she could set it on the plastic table next to her. "I wouldn't have expected chauffeurs to be so muscular, but he is getting a pretty good workout with that wax on, wax off routine." She lifted the puppy. "See how his arms flex each time he washes the hood of the car? I know! Maybe he's a music video stud."
The car washer/chauffeur paused, the sponge gripped in his hand.
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