So she parked him in the fridge, dressed quickly, and downed a cup of cold brew coffee. Sunday brunch with her family was nonnegotiable and would start in less than half an hour. A slight hangover from last night’s nachos and rosé wine upstairs had Reena hitting snooze on her alarm one too many times, and she was now dangerously close to being late.

As she dropped her keys into her purse to head out, she noticed an unfamiliar man lugging a bike backward up the exterior stairs to her building, while struggling with a six-pack of what looked to be imported beer.

Her head tilted as the mystery man reached the top of the stairs and attempted to wedge the bike on the narrow porch before opening the door into the building. He wore shiny black athletic shorts and a gray muscle shirt. No dreaded Lycra, which told Reena either he didn’t take riding too seriously or had enough fashion sense to avoid those sorts of monstrosities. As he bent to put the beer on the porch she was treated to a peek of toned thighs and … yum, a spectacular ass. Ripped arm muscles flexed as he lifted the bike to rest it on the railing around the porch.

A brown Captain America. Nice.

She stepped closer to the door—outwardly to help the man, but really to get a better look. Plus, Reena had questions.

How did he ride a bike while holding a six-pack?

Did he live here, or (perish the thought) was he just visiting someone?

And most importantly, did his front come anywhere close to matching that fine back view?

Reena pushed the door open for him and finally got a glimpse of his face: smallish eyes, thick brows, and dark, floppy hair. Plus, a meticulously trimmed douche-beard a touch too trendy for her tastes. What a shame. He did have that nice sweaty-man smell, though. God, it had been too long.

“Thank you,” he said as he passed through the door into the tiny hallway, leaving his bike outside. “I’m not sure I could have managed that on my own.”

Mystery man had a British accent! And a deep, almost aristocratic voice. Totally unexpected. He put down the case of beer in front of the door across from hers and took a key out of his pocket before turning to Reena. He stared wide-eyed for several seconds before speaking.

“Oh, shit. It’s you. You’re my neighbor. You live here?” he said, pointing toward her door.

“Yes … why?”

“You’re the one.” Dark brows raised as his mouth widened to a grin. “The goddess who makes my apartment smell like a bloody French boulangerie!”

Reena’s eyes widened. Goddess? She’d been called elfish, pixie, and even a sprite once by a Renaissance fair-type boyfriend, but Reena Manji was never a goddess.

“It’s driving me fucking mad!” Sexy-voice continued, tilting his head and winking. Kind of flirty, this one.

Reena reassessed her first impression of his face. When he was smiling, his dark eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights of the narrow hallway, and his lips looked wide and expressive. And that voice? Kind of swoony. Couple that with the impressive physique, and Reena started to think today was looking better. Nothing like a little British Isles to spice up this building. Some fun, flirty banter with a sexy Brit to boost her self-esteem each day. Plus, he liked the smell of her bread. Double swoon. And, she glanced at his hand resting casually on his doorknob, he appeared single—no ring.