I winked at Rory. “Whipped cream?”
“Double duh.”
“Coming right up, bub.”
* * *
By the time we closed for the night, I should’ve been dead tired. Instead, I was buzzing with nerves — and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. For most of the day, I’d managed to put all thoughts of Cade out of my mind. But once the store emptied out, there were no more distractions. Nervous butterflies began to swarm in my gut as doubts raced through my head.
What was I getting myself into, here?
Why had I agreed to this in the first place?
I blamed the lip-brush.
(The man gave really good lip-brush.)
If I were smart, I wouldn’t dig myself any deeper. I would put down the shovel, pocket my earnings from the past two days, and head straight over to Puck’s garage. I would?—
Shit!
Was that the time?
I let out a small scream as my eyes snagged on the clock. Cade would be here in a half hour to pick me up and I still had a metric ton of cleaning to do before I could clock out for the night. The chairs were askew, the couch cushions were covered in napkins, the books were all out of whack.
I could hear the faint refrain of Flo’s off-key humming as she moved around the back of the shop, sorting crystals and candles, righting overturned essential oil bottles and rearranging incense sticks. Gwen had disappeared into the storeroom ten minutes ago to tackle an emergency inventory order. We were almost out of espresso beans, to-go cups, and gift bags — not to mention half our stock.
I set the last of the clean coffee mugs on the rack to dry, then rushed over to the local author table, which appeared to have been rocked by an earthquake, given the state of the books piled on top of it. My hands froze on a copy ofThe House of Seven Gablesby Nathaniel Hawthorne when the front door opened with a tinkle of bells.
“Read the sign!” I called without looking, reaching for another book. “We’re closed!”
“I’m not here for coffee.”
Oh boy.
The Scarlet Letterslipped through my fingers. I braced, but still felt my heart catapult up into my throat when I turned to face him. He looked good enough to eat — and not just because I’d skipped lunch. A navy sports coat was layered over his light blue button-down shirt, making the best of his eyes. His long legs were in a pair of dark-wash jeans that made him look even taller than his six-foot-three inches. His thick hair was falling perfectly over his forehead in a sexy way that seemed styled but I knew was a byproduct of winning the genetic lottery.
“You’re early,” I accused, but it came out breathy.
“I’ll wait,” he countered, coming toward me. I was physically incapable of moving as he leaned down and planted a long, deep, brain-scrambling kiss on my lips. By the time he was done, I was clutching the lapels of his blazer and couldn’t remember my own name.
He rested his forehead against mine for a second. “Been thinking about doing that all damn day.”
I swallowed hard.
That made two of us.
He pulled back a few inches. His eyes scanned down my body, freezing for a moment at the corset. His fingers lightly traced the laces that bound my midsection and I sucked in a sharp breath.
“I like this costume,” he said, his voice lower.
“It was Gwen’s idea,” I blurted.
“Yeah?” His blue eyes glittered with heat. “Remind me to thank her.”
Oh.
Oh boy.