"You have that look." She hands me the book. "Plus, you keep almost vibrating out of your skin every time your phone goes off."
"I don't—" The phone buzzes again, and I automatically reach for it.
"Tell you what." She crosses her arms under her chest. "I'll ring you up extra fast if you promise not to take any calls until you leave my shop."
I should be annoyed by her presumption. Instead, I push the phone deeper into my pocket. "Deal."
She leads me to the register, and I notice a small television mounted behind the counter, showing a weather report. The meteorologist wears elf ears and gestures at an ominous-looking mass of clouds.
"That's going to hit us hard," Noa says as she scans the book, glancing out the window where snowflakes have already begun to swirl against the darkening afternoon sky.
"It's fine." I give her some cash. "I'll be in Jersey before the storm arrives."
Her fingers brush against mine as she hands me my change, sending an unexpected jolt through my system. "If you say so." She slides the book into a paper bag and hands it to me with a dazzling smile. "Safe travels, Mr...?"
"Klein. Brian Klein." I slide the book into my briefcase alongside contracts that suddenly seem frivolous. What is wrong with me?
"Well, Brian Klein, drive safe."
I'm still thinking about the warmth of her smile as I return to my car and check my messages. Blinking snowflakes from my lashes, I see I've missed three from Rachel, two from my mother, and one from the airline.
My flight has been canceled.
I stare at the cancellation notice, my throat tight. I picture my mother and sister. My stomach squeezes in disappointment as I realize I’ll be spending the first night of Hanukkah alone in a Pittsburgh hotel room. I stab at the power button on my rental car…but nothing happens. I check my pocket, confirming I have the key fob, and press it again. Still nothing.
Now I’m stranded here with a very fancy electric car that has no charge.
Chapter 2
Noa
Storytime always wipes me out but in the best possible way. I stack the last few abandoned picture books on their shelf and roll my neck, grateful that most of my regulars arrived early today to finish their shopping before the snow.
The street outside is already dusted white, and holiday lights twinkle through the flurries. Time to close shop and head upstairs to my cozy apartment with a mug of tea and the new Chloe Petals romance novel. I can just feel my soft blanket and the cocoon of my sofa calling me.
I run my hand along the shelf of children's holiday books and give myself exactly five seconds to imagine reading one to a child of my own someday.
I'm counting out the register when movement catches my eye through the swirl of snow outside my front window. A man in an expensive coat paces next to an electric car, gesturing wildly with one hand while holding a phone to his ear with the other. Through the heavy flakes, his tall figure cuts an impressive silhouette—all long legs and broad shoulders in that perfectly tailored coat. Even in his agitation, there's something magnetic about the way he moves. Powerful.
I recognize him as the distractingly handsome older guy from earlier—Brian Klein, whose fingers zinged against mine when I handed him his credit card. "Older" is probably an insulting term, but he's older than me in all the best ways.
If I were reading one of those romance novels, I might say Brian Klein is a silver fox. Gray streaks in his hair, flecks in that perfectly groomed stubble... a carefully tailored suit.
He kicks one of the tires and immediately winces, shaking his fancy shoe. Even through the glass, I can read the curse words on his lips.
I shouldn't get involved. I should finish closing up and head upstairs. But I can't tear my eyes away from him. Earlier, I tried to be professional and not stare, but now I soak in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curls slightly at his collar, and the snow adding white to the sexy speckles on his head. His whole body radiates controlled power, like he's used to commanding rooms, closing deals. Making things happen.
But something about his desperation tugs at me—plus I'm pretty sure I know exactly what's wrong with his car. The public charging station on the block has been malfunctioning all week, according to my regulars. It's hard enough for people with street parking to find a place to charge. I should offer a charging station through the shop...capitalize on that captive audience. Hmm.
I grab my coat and unlock the shop door, letting in a blast of frigid air as I push it open. I shout into the wind, "Car trouble?"
He spins toward me, phone still pressed to his ear. In the fading daylight, his blue eyes appear even more striking than they did in the shop. "I'll call you back," he says to whoever he's talking to, then gives me a sheepish look. "The battery's dead. I've been arguing with the rental company for twenty minutes."
"The charging station's been broken."
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I see that now." He blows out a breath. "They're supposed to bring me a replacement car and tow this one, but the service rep seems to think it's reasonable for me to wait multiple hours for this nonsense." He purses his lips and seems to stare at me, waiting for a reply.
I watch his lips as he talks, noticing how expressive his face is despite his apparent attempt to maintain a professional demeanor. This guy is all man, a real adult. Definitely a fox. I see it now, the difference between him and the people I've dated before— the ones my sister mocks and calls man-babies. His hands, when they aren’t gesturing in frustration, are elegant—a businessman's hands, yet they show surprising strength in the way he holds his phone.
