He flinched the slightest bit, or perhaps she'd only imagined it, and then he tipped his glass toward her before he took another drink. “Are you enjoying your work with Mrs. Carter and her …tenants?”
The way he curled the word turned Kizzie's stomach, and she already felt a little sick. The chicken pudding tasted delicious, so she hoped the nausea didn't originate from Mrs. Candler's excellent cooking.
Perhaps she was just tired.
Or sick of George Lewis’ glares.
She knocked the thought away.
Sorry, Lord.
“I've learned so much and am grateful for the position. She's a good businesswoman, and I'm happy to help her get her books back on track.”
“Books?” He lowered the glass, more slowly this time, and sat up.
“I'm her bookkeeper as well as shop assistant.”
“Kizzie's a wonder at numbers.” Victoria gestured for Mrs. Candler to bring in some sort of dessert. Kizzie's stomach took another turn. She frowned. She loved desserts.
“Gayle Carter raves about how Kizzie has already started to economize and get the finances of the store back on track after her husband's death.”
“It seems you've fallen on your feet,” Mr. Lewis said. “How convenient for you, given your newness to our town.”
Ooh, she didn't like him, and she had enough of her daddy in her to have to nearly bite her tongue in half to keep from showing that side.
“Why don't you tell us about your recent trip to Charlotte, George? Is it truly as large as people say?”
Mr. Lewis blabbered on about tall buildings and paved streets. About electric lights and buildings so tall a person could see the whole city from the top of them. The idea of folks crowded on top of each other like ants didn't entice Kizzie at all. Living on Main Street in The Hollows was as crowded as she cared to be. And someday, she hoped to live away from the town enough to have her own yard and garden. Space to breathe and a room with a view of the mountains.
Kizzie ate very little of her dessert. The sweet smell of the apples bothered her stomach for some reason, or perhaps it was just the presence of Mr. Lewis—she fetched Charlie from his nap.
“Oh, dear, Mrs. Candler wrote down the recipe for chocolate chip cookies you'd asked about last week.” Victoria rose from the table. “I'll have Taylor call the carriage while I find it for you.”
“Thank you kindly.” Kizzie wrapped Charlie in a blanket in preparation for the ride. “I think Mrs. Carter could do with selling a few in the store.”
As Victoria disappeared down the hallway, Mr. Lewis moved closer to where Kizzie was standing at the threshold of the dining room.
“I'll see Miss McAdams out, Mother,” Mr. Lewis called.
Every hair on Kizzie's neck stood on edge, like she'd just heard the cry of a coyote in the forest.
A hunter. Looking for prey.
“That's very kind of you, Mr. Lewis.” She tugged Charlie close. “But I can see myself out, and Case will help me and Charlie into the carriage.”
“Nonsense.” He gestured for her to walk ahead of him. “Since Noah isn't here to do the job, it will be my pleasure.”
She reached for the door, and he placed his palm against it, stopping her escape. “I don't know why you're in such a rush, but I'd be happy to drive you home to get to know you better.”
She studied him before creating a little more distance between them. “I'm sorry to say this, Mr. Lewis, but I'm not sure I want to know you any better.”
His brows shot high, and then his smile slid wide. “Ah, tossing away all pretense, are we? How resourceful. No wonder you're such a goodshopkeeper.”
She tugged at the door again, to no avail. With Charlie in her arms, she couldn't use both hands. “All the more reason for you not to dirty your nice clean reputation by riding into town with the likes of me. And I'm sure your fiancée wouldn't appreciate it at all.”
He leaned closer, his gaze roaming her face. “Oh, I know how to play by the rules quite well enough to keep Beatrice happily ignorant and my tastes …” His gaze trailed down her. “Fully satisfied.”
“I don't think there's a woman in all the world with enough to satisfy you, Mr. Lewis.” She pushed him back and reached for the door. “And I'm not your kind at all.”
