Type again.
Mistletoe_Reader:Rhett, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to ghost you. It’s just that the entire holiday display collapsed. There’s glass everywhere and a huge hole in the wall.
I called the Town Council office since they fund all our building maintenance. They told me to just call a handyman and send over the invoice.
I hit send and immediately want to crawl under the circulation desk and live there forever.
I wasn’t trying to ghost you.
God. Of all the things I didn’t want him thinking.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and carefully start sweeping up glass, trying not to imagine him reading that message and deciding I’m already too much.
The automatic doors slide open while I’m scooping up a pile of glass but I don’t look up right away. I’m too focused on not slicing my finger open when a shadow falls across the mess.
“Hey.”
What does it say about me that I’d know that gruff and sexy voice anywhere?
Slowly, I turn and take a good look at him.
Rhett is standing in the middle of my library, tool belt thrown over his arm, sleeves pushed up, concern written all over his face. His eyes sweep over the damage once, twice—then land on me and soften.
“You okay?” he asks.
I swallow.
“Define okay,” I say, because apparently my filter has completely shut down today.
A corner of his mouth quirks up, but his gaze stays steady.
“Step back,” he says gently. “Let me take a look.”
I do. Immediately. Without argument.
Because somehow, just like that, everything feels a little less broken.
Rhett takes a good look at the wreckage.
“Good news first,” he says, turning back to look at me. “This is all fixable. Well, except for the shattered bulbs and bowls.”
I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Great. And the bad news?”
“You are not allowed to touch anything sharp for the next ten minutes.” The warm and caring tone in his voice makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
“That’s ridiculous, Rhett. I need to get this cleaned up.”
“And hurt yourself? Not a chance.I’llclean it up.”
“I can be careful,” I huff in defiance and cross my arms over my chest.
Rhett’s gaze falls to my bust, his eyes widen for a beat, and he swallows hard before very quickly meeting my gaze again. “Right. I can tell how careful you can be,” he says with a raised brow, then gestures to the glitter covering the hem of my skirt and my shoes. “Besides, I’m sure there are patrons who need your assistance.”
I bite my lip and take another step back. He does have a point there.
He hesitates for a second, like there’s something he wants to say or do. But then he shakes his head and fastens his tool belt around his waist before pulling out a pair of work gloves and slipping them on his hands.
Rhett crouches down and starts moving books out of the way, dusting them off as gently as possible, before he moves on to the rest of the glass and carnage. Once he’s gotten most of it tossed in the large trash can I wheeled out of the storage closet earlier, he stands and brushes his gloved hands on his jeans.
