I reach into my satchel and remove the clean, folded chef’s jacket. “I wanted to return this.”
“Uh, thanks.” He scratches his ear. “So what happened with the class? I’m sorry you couldn’t finish the semester.”
“I talked to Natalie, and she offered me a prorated refund,” I explain. “Or she said I can put the money toward next semester’s class.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Tyler looks at the floor. “Did she tell you I’m not teaching the class next semester?”
“She did.”
“The instructor is a great chef,” Tyler says. “Lila Hampton. She owns two restaurants in Rainwood and one in Chicago. She’s a four-star chef. You’d learn a lot from her.” He pauses, then adds, “I wish you’d take the class again, Liv.”
“You do? Why?”
“You just… I don’t know. You seem to have changed so much since that first day. Kind of… kind of blossomed, you know?” He flushes. “And even though I… well, I guess it’s obvious I’m attracted to you, but even if I wasn’t, I’d be impressed with how you’ve improved. You’ve gained confidence. You should have seen the way your face lit up when you made the perfect soufflé.”
That was a damn good feeling.
“You should take the class again, Liv,” Tyler says. “Not for anyone else. For you.”
“I’ll think about it,” I promise. “And if everything you said is true, then it’s also because of you. You’re a great teacher. I’m glad to have known you.”
He smiles faintly. “That sounds… final.”
“It is. I came to thank you, Tyler.” The tension around my heart loosens a little. “And to say good-bye.”
Tyler nods, rubbing one finger against the counter. “I wish…”
Before he can say more, I step forward and take his hand in mine. “Thank you. I wish you nothing but the best.”
“You too, Liv.”
Our hands tighten for an instant, and then we both let go. I leave the classroom and head through the kitchen store toward the parking lot. Racks of stainless steel pots and pans gleam around me, stacks of white dishes, shiny expensive blenders and mixers.
My breath is easier now, knowing this closure is final. That Tyler Wilkes is in my past.
I stop before a display of baking equipment and pick up a large porcelain dish with fluted edges.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” A salesgirl looks at me expectantly from behind the register.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll take this, please.”
I walk to the counter and hand her the soufflé dish.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
December 22
hese are all returns.” Allie blows a curl of hair off her forehead as she dumps another box beside the front counter. “The UPS guy will pick them up tomorrow.”
“Hey, have you thought about adding a section for used books?” I suggest. “That might help draw in customers.”
“Maybe.” Allie puts her hands on her hips as she studies the dwindling number of books on the shelves. “Or I was thinking of expanding the toy section to bring in more kids. Except there’s that huge toy store over on the other side of town that I probably can’t compete with. Definitely have to come up with something, though.”
She heads back to the office while I mull over a few other ideas for her—selling local artwork, adding a café section, working out some programs in conjunction with the library. I do some Internet searches to find out about what other bookstores are doing to improve business.
As usual whenever I’m on the Internet these days, I check my email to see if there’s a message from Dean. As usual, there isn’t. We haven’t even acknowledged that Christmas is just a few days away.
The bell over the door rings. I glance up as a handsome young man with curly, light brown hair enters.
“Welcome to The Happy Booker,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“Hi there. Is Allie around? Are you Liv?”
“Oh, you must be Brent. Nice to finally meet you.” I give him a quick once-over. “Hold on, I’ll get Allie for you. Is she expecting you?”
“Nope. I just got off work and thought I’d see if she wanted to grab a late dinner.”
I go to the back office where Allie is working at the computer.
“Brent’s here,” I whisper. “And he’s cute. I approve.”
She grins. “Good. How do I look? Do I need lipstick?”
“You’re gorgeous. Just get that smudge of ink off your cheek.” I grab a few tissues and hand them to her. She does a quick primping before we return to the front counter where Brent is leafing through a car magazine.
“Hey, Allie.” He smiles at her, his eyes lighting up with an affection that makes her glow.
It’s nice to see. Makes me happy for them.
“Can you take an hour or so for dinner?” Brent asks.
“No, sorry.” Allie looks disappointed. “We’re open until midnight.”
“Go ahead.” I glance at the clock, which reads five past eight. Even with the bookstore’s extended hours, we haven’t managed to attract many last-minute Christmas shoppers.