Mid Century Mayhem
Written by Bella Street
A free-spirited interior designer and a strait-laced automotive engineer find themselves in 1954 Michigan. They have no idea how they took this trip back in time, but it might have something to do with a wily salvage warehouse owner and her not-so-little shop of secrets.
Kyle Daniels pressed himself against the brick storefront behind him, his body just inches out of the sudden downpour. The slight overhang of the building, however, failed to stop the rain from splashing onto his shoes. He frowned. The shoes were new—as were his pressed trousers, which were becoming speckled with moisture.
That ridiculous door jingle sounded and he peered through the sheet of rain to see a customer leaving the salvage shop, umbrella poised high over her head.
Not just any customer. He’d seen that white-blond hair and lithe figure before.
Olivia Haugen—the answer to all his dreams, according to Great Aunt Constance.
Kyle had caught a glimpse of her a few times—usually leaving the shop—and every time he saw her, his impression was the same. She was artsy, high-strung, and flighty.
And he hadn’t even met the woman.
Just the way her pale hair floated around her face vexed him. How could she stand it getting in her eyes all the time? She drifted down the sidewalk in a vague, dreamy way—even in the rain. Didn’t she realize she could trip on the broken sidewalk? Or get mugged by a stray criminal? She seemed completely unaware of her surroundings.
And when he saw her climb into a yellow and blue Mini Cooper, painted with the bold lettering of House Whisperer Inc., he had all the information he needed to come to a reasoned, logical conclusion.
She was a nonstarter.
A pointless pursuit.
Besides that, he knew in his gut that she’d never give him the time of day. He’d come in contact with females of her ilk before, and knew a meeting with her would be accompanied by an amused yet dismissive look coupled with the usual disdain for his attire. Madras shirts and Dockers apparently provoked rolled eyes and barely suppressed snickers. Kyle figured she’d go for the type of guy in skinny jeans and V-neck T-shirts that revealed a bony sternum.
And there would be hair gel. Lots of it.
Sorry, Aunt Constance. This dream of yours will just have to crawl into a corner somewhere and die.
Connect with author Bella Street
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