“What made you want to open your own shop? Instead of working in one or in a library?”
“I always loved books.” She leaned a hip against the table, facing him, at ease. “I dabbled in writing for a while.” A faint blush touched her cheeks. “It didn’t stick. But my love for the world around books did.”
He thought of the words she’d written in that note. Simple…yet they’d reached into his ribs and tugged at his heartstrings the way those kids pulled the strings on the table.
“I love the idea of writing. It just wasn’t for me.” She waved a hand at the table. “This is how I can contribute to the world of publishing. Putting other people’s words into the hands of readers. Connecting people with stories that matter to them.”
He nodded slowly, chest tight. It made perfect sense.
Her voice dipped. “Now I worry I can’t save the store at all.”
He moved toward her without thinking. “What if that happens? Worst case. Where do you see yourself then?” He swallowed. “Would you leave Willowbrook?”
He didn’t even know ifhe’dbe sticking around. But the thought of her leaving brought a tight ache to his chest.
Her eyes widened. “No. Never. My sister’s here. And the ranch. This…this is home.” She searched his face as if seeking to make him understand. “My shop might not survive. But I love this town.”
He did too. Especially with her in it.
Unable to stop himself, he touched her arm, skimming his fingertips over her bare skin, satisfied when he saw the wake of goose bumps he left with this touch.
“You ever think about taking the shop online? You’re good at curation. People eat that up on the internet.”
She exhaled. “I did consider it. But then I had to let my employees go, and how would I both run the store and ship things?”
He curled his fingers lightly around her elbow. She swayed toward him as if she couldn’t stop this pull between them either. “You’re not alone. You have me now. You want help with shipping? Carrying boxes? Driving to the post office? I can do that and more.”
Her eyes went shiny for a second before she looked away, blinking. “You say that like it’s no big deal.”
“It’s not. Not to me.”
“I thought you were the newest member of the Black Heart Security team.”
His lips quirked. “More like temporary assistant. Nothing official.”
“Still, I’m glad Carson has you to rely on. You’re obviously a natural.”
He wasn’t a man who ran off praise. What ego he’d had was drilled out of him in the military. But her words sent warm sparks through him.
“I mean it, Gabe.”
“I meant what I said too—about helping. I want to be there for you.”
He could see it sinking in, rearranging her beliefs. That someone was willing to step into the gaps and shoulder the burden before she ever had to ask.
She swallowed and then, as if suddenly aware of how close they were getting to raw emotions, she stepped back slightly. “Okay. That’s enough existential bookshop talk for one festival.” She glanced at the sky. “What do you say we pack this up and go see the rest of Mayfest? I’ll even let you buy me a funnel cake.”
He huffed a laugh. “You will? You’ll let me?” She offered to pay him for installing locks and cameras in the shop, and again for lunch. Maybe this was progress—Felicity taking without worrying about what she might owe.
It did things to him too. Being allowed to do small things for her was like a rare gift. Buying her food, hauling boxes and standing between her and the world added up to something that felt a hell of a lot bigger than fried dough dusted with powdered sugar.
He helped her load the books into boxes and carry them back into the shop, then they broke down the table and stowed it away too. When they finished, they joined the flow of people on the sidewalk.
He automatically shifted her to the inside. Safe.
“You just moved me to the inside.”
He reached for her hand as they skirted a group of people watching a local artisan blow glass. “Habit.”
