When he finished, he pulled out his phone to check the feed using the app. He tweaked the camera angle a bit to cover the entire parking lot as well as the stoop leading to the door. Then he climbed down.
“All set.” He held up his phone so she could see.
She looked it over. “I really appreciate your help, Gabe.”
“Not a problem.” He collapsed the ladder and leaned it against the side of the building.
“Are you sure I can’t pay you?”
He faced her, meeting her gaze directly. “I thought we already covered that.”
“Well. Okay. If you’re sure. I’ll drive you back to the ranch whenever you’re ready.”
“I can stay and help clean up,” he offered.
As if he’d reminded her of what was inside waiting for her, she swung toward the open door and stared at the mess. Books overturned. Paper everywhere. A store that once had a homey charm now looked like a bomb went off.
“I appreciate the help.” Her voice wavered then caught. She pushed on. “Really. But I can handle it.”
He caught her eyes again. “I’d like you to let me help you.”
She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t send him away either.
Together, they walked into the middle of the shop. He picked up the nearest book, a romance. Then he picked up another. Judging by the title, it was a mystery. He continued sorting them into stacks, creating new groups as he guessed by the covers and titles what genre they belonged in.
After he stacked ten books, Felicity fell into the rhythm next to him with her own small piles. Neither spoke—it didn’t feel necessary.
A few minutes later, he had several spots of the floor cleared. He took comfort in simple things—tuning an engine or taking messages for Black Heart Security…
Sorting books with a lovely and interesting woman.
“You can’t really be enjoying this.” Her voice had a throaty rasp that made him think of old movie actresses. It made him want to get her talking more just to listen. “If you need a ride back to the ranch—”
“It’s kind of like those pimple-popping videos.”
She froze, book halfway to the stack of historical fiction. “What? You watch those?”
He shrugged. “Not regularly. But I’ve seen them.”
She stared at him as if trying to decide if he was fooling with her.
“People watch them because they’re a quick, easy fix. Do this, and boom—clean skin.”
Her wispy brows rose in what appeared to be part disbelief, part amusement.
“Sorting books is like popping pimples?” A twinkle came into her eye but extinguished almost as fast as it appeared.
“Sorting books into genres is a quick, easy fix. With just a little time, we can put your shop back in order.”
She didn’t speak, but when she reached for another book, he noted that the set of her shoulders had relaxed.
She stacked another, then another. They fell into the rhythm again. Soon, they cleared a larger square of wood floor.
“Looks like we’re making progress.” She sped up—too fast—barely glancing at the covers before dropping them into whatever pile was closest. She grabbed a heavy volume and dropped it on top of a stack. It toppled in a slow slide.
“Damn!”
Gabe bent to pick it up, but she flinched—just a small twitch he almost missed.
