This was fascinating. He knew it wasn’t often that she allowed her feelings to show. Hell, he’d have said it wasn’t often that she actually felt anything. She was one tough, smooth cookie. She always had been, all through school, even when she faced off against the mean girls or the stupid guys who thought she’d put out just because of how she looked.
She’d gotten even tougher. Inscrutable.
But then he’d kissed her. He’d had her in his arms, and he knew damn well she’d been feeling plenty.
So had he.
But today it was more than lust. He was making her nervous, and he decided he liked that, too, much more than he should.
Mostly because she made him a whole hell of a lot of things, including—of all the ridiculous possibilities—jealous of a happily married pastor. He had to wonder what the connection was between Mike and Aubrey. The list?
And why did he care so much? The answer to that was unsettling, to say the least. She was getting under his skin—big-time.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
She was wearing a pretty dress, some silky forest green wraparound thing that hugged her curves and brought out her eyes.
And Christ, how it was that he was noticing such shit, he had no idea. She was a job to him right now, nothing more, nothing less.
Which didn’t explain why he couldn’t take his eyes off her mile-long legs when she turned and put some distance between them. She walked to the open space between the last row of bookshelves and the closet he’d removed and then squatted down and began to set out a bunch of squares.
A layout, he realized as she arranged them. She was working on a layout now that she had the funding she’d so desperately needed.
He looked around and realized something else. After he’d made a bit of a mess last night, she’d swept up. Dusted. And gotten rid of the last of the shit lying around from the old bookstore. She’d been working hard.
Really hard, he realized, getting a closer look at her, seeing the signs of exhaustion beneath her eyes and in the tightness of her mouth. Exhaustion and worry. “You’ve been busy,” he said.
“Why do you sound surprised? It’s my store.”
He didn’t know why he was surprised, exactly. “I guess I don’t see you as the local friendly merchant type,” he said.
“Should I even ask how you do see me?”
He knew better than to touch that one.
At his silence, she made a low sound of annoyance. “You don’t know me, Ben,” she said, making him feel like an ass as she went back to her little squares, toeing some things around, giving off an I’m-very-busy vibe.
But he did know her. Or he was starting to. He knew how very much this store seemed to mean to her. Knew that whatever that list was, it, too, meant a lot.
And he knew she kissed and tasted like heaven on earth.
Not that she wanted to hear any of those things from him. “Are you sure you want things so open?” he asked, and she jumped, clearly startled to realize he was right behind her now, looking over her shoulder down at the arrangement.
“I want to encourage socializing,” she said stiffly. “I want people to have a place to go.” She didn’t look at him. “I want people to feel comfortable hanging out here so they won’t be alone.”
This made his heart squeeze, because he thought maybe she was the one who felt alone. “Why do you think people are so alone?” he finally asked, sincerely curious.
“Everyone’s alone at some point.” She glanced back at him. “You know that.”
Because he’d lost Hannah. Holding her gaze, he gave a slow nod. “And you think a bookstore can make people feel…not alone?”
“I think having a place to go can help.”
“Getting unlonely isn’t about a physical place,” he said.
“Well, I know that.” Breaking eye contact, she once again went back to her layout. “But it’s a start.”
He watched her play with the arrangement of the squares for another moment. “Why such a wide path between the seating areas?” he asked. “You could have more merchandise in here if you close it up, even a little.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah? Care to share?”
“I’m going to be hosting bingo night. And the knitting club. And the cookie and book exchange. And, I hope, a whole bunch of other stuff. A lot of that includes seniors, and they need the extra space to maneuver with canes and wheelchairs and things. The other day, Mr. Elroy took out an entire book display with his cane and then blamed in on Mr. Wykowski. They nearly came to blows, like a couple of twenty-year-olds, but Lucille stepped in, telling them they couldn’t have any cookies if they didn’t zip it.”
Ben smiled. “Remember the time that you danced at the senior center and put three seniors into cardiac arrest?”
“Near cardiac arrest,” she said, correcting him. “And it was a beauty pageant. I wasn’t dancing. I was baton twirling for the talent competition.”
He fought a smile and lost. “Whatever you say, Sunshine.” He stepped into her space then, all the more amused when she went still, like Bambi in the headlights, unsure of whether to move clear, or stand firm.
She stood firm.
He pushed the squares around a bit. “How about this? You get an extra wall, which we’d make a half wall, as you wanted. That divides up the space so you can have two different groups at the same time and yet still gives you an open feel. Also, if you make the wall a shelving unit, you acquire additional product display or storage space.”
She stared down at the squares for a long moment, saying nothing.
“Or not,” he said with a shrug. “Your space.”
“No, it’s…good. You’re good.”
“Sometimes.”
Her gaze jerked to his, and for a moment, hunger and yearning was heavy in the air between them.
Then she rolled her eyes. “And so modest, too.”
He smiled, then pulled back the edge of the carpet, revealing what he’d discovered last night—hardwood floors beneath.
“Oh, my God,” she said, and dropped to her knees, bending low to see the wood more closely. “Score!”
He eyed the way her dress pulled tight over her perfect ass and said, “Definitely.” He tore his gaze off her. “I’ll pull up the carpet for you tonight if you’d like.”
“I’d like.” She stood up, dusted her hands off, and pulled out a stack of paint samples. “I was thinking this one for the walls, and this one as an accent color.”
He spread out the samples and nudged two colors over the top of her choices.
She stared down at them. “Lighter?”
“Yes. It’ll make your space appear bigger.”
“Warmer, too,” she noted.
“You wanted comfy,” he reminded her. “Your word, not mine.”
She stared at his colors for a long moment. “You going to help me paint?”
“I can do it myself,” he said, thinking a little space between them might be warranted.
“I want to be involved.”
Perfect. “Painting’s messy,” he said.
“I’m good at painting.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. If she was willing to get burned, why the hell wasn’t he?
“Besides,” she said. “I don’t tend to get messy.”
He smiled, a real one. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, and was rewarded by her blush.