He wiped his hands on his pant legs, realized what he was doing, and immediately adopted a cool and composed air. “Do you want to dance?”
“Oh no, no, no. No thank you.” She delicately lifted her glasses higher on her nose. “I don’t dance.”
“What do you do?”
“I sell brownies.” She indicated the piles of individually wrapped brownies.
“Did you make them?”
“I did.”
“And what does the money do?”
“It buys prizes for the summer reading program at the library.” She took a deep breath. “Most children drop one or even three reading levels over the summer because they are no longer immersed in the written word. If we can keep them reading, then they have a higher success rate in school the following year.”
“Sounds like a worthy cause.” He found his wallet. “How much?”
“It’s a dollar per brownie.”
“No, how much for the lot of them?”
She got to her feet. “Well, there’s 54 brownies left.”
He handed her three twenties. “Keep the change.”
She clutched the money to her chest. “Really?”
The way she said the word, like she was half-dreaming, touched a tender chord. He remembered when sixty dollars was a lot of money, when his mom had to track their spending at the grocery store to the penny, when they ate casseroles because two chicken breasts would stretch to feed the four of them if they added noodles.
She stared at the cash and then at the brownies and then looked frantically around. “I don’t have a bag.”
He folded his arms. “That’s a problem.” He liked seeing her off-kilter, because she’d had him off-kilter for over a week now.
“I—I can loan you the pan I brought them in with, but it’s in my car.” She pressed her palm to her forehead. Even flustered, she was cute.
“That sounds great.” He smiled, but kept his body tight. It was easier to hide his nerves when he stayed strong. “And now that you’re not selling brownies, you can dance.”
Her face paled. “I don’t dance.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Panic, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes. He didn’t want to pull this card, but there was little choice. “I’m your best customer and you should be nice to me.”
Her hand dropped to her side and she chewed her lip. “You’re manipulating me.”
He chuckled and held out his hand. “I prefer to call it charming you.” Though why he expended so much effort was beyond him. He could easily find a willing dance partner among the crowd. Heck, Tiffany would probably sell her left kidney for another dance with him.
But he didn’t want a Tiffany. Bree was far from easy to talk to, and yet there was a level of interest in her that he rarely felt around other women. It was almost like he knew they would be friends, though he didn’t know how he knew that. If the darn woman would just put her book down and dance with him …
She continued to chew her lip. “Okay. But only one dance, and when I step on your feet, you can’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Deal.”
She set a bookmark in the tome and came around the table. She was wearing a loose-fitting shirt with a wide neck, a pair of skinny jeans, and runners. “Is something wrong?” She paused next to him, waiting for the song to finish and another to start.
“No. I’m just wondering why I bought these boots when I could have worn Nikes. I’m ready to toss them to the curb.”
She stepped back and studied his footwear. “I like them.”
A thrill ran over his skin to hear her say that. “Then I’m keeping them.”