“I was just browsing, getting a few things and?—”
“Which ones?” he interrupted sharply, his gaze fixed on her like a hawk on prey. Why was he so intense? Her feet shuffled back, a small instinctive retreat. His eyes narrowed, growing even darker. “I’m not gonna touch you, you know. I wouldn’t dare touch you, Nettie.”
“I know,” she said softly, though her nerves betrayed her in the tremor of her voice.Ouch…
“Then why are you acting like I’m some monster?”
Her throat tightened. But she found her courage, fragile though it was, and whispered, “Because you are acting like one to me. If you could be nice then…”
“Iambeing nice,” he shot back. “I’m being completely out-of-the-ordinary nice and shopping for some stupid yarn right now.” He grabbed a skein of pale pink angora, the feminine fluff looking absurd in his large, scarred hands. His grip was rough, as though he was holding something alive and slippery.
Nettie’s lips twitched into a nervous smile.
“What?” he snapped.
“You like… pink?” she asked gently, a hint of humor in her voice.
His lips parted in disbelief before he looked at the yarn in his hand. “No.” He shoved it back onto the rack, mangling the neat display.
“Do you?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes.” Nettie smoothed the yarn, rescuing it from its crushed state. “Pinks, lilacs, pale oranges. I love anything that feels light and pretty.”
“Well, of course you do.” He grumbled, but his hand went right back to the same skein, plucking it up again before pointing at her basket. “If you like light and pretty colors—why are you buying red, green, and gray?”
Her face heated, blood rushing to her cheeks. His eyes locked on hers, unrelenting, almost accusing. It was too much. Did he treat everyone like they owed him an excuse for existing? Or just her?
“Answer me,” he demanded, his voice softer now but still edged with command that came out more like a possessive whisper that she did not want to react to. No, he was everything that she didn’t want in a guy – or at least she’d been telling herself that for the last five years or so.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she whispered, braver than she felt.
To her surprise, something flickered in his gaze—approval. The tiniest curl tugged at the corner of his lips, so brief she almost doubted it. But it was there—a smile.
Heaven help her—Tate Cassidy wassmilingat her.
“It’s for work,” she blurted, the truth tumbling out despite her earlier defiance. That hint of a smile obviously affected her brain or some synaptic response in her system. Nooo, couldn’t end up with an eye-twitch, could she? Nope – it was just a whopping case of verbal diarrhea for the win. “I make the children each a little something for Christmas. Scarves, mittens, knit caps, just something homemade for them to open from me.”
His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. “I’m… impressed.”
And just like that, he walked away.
No goodbye, no lingering glance. He strode past her, out the door, and moments later, the low growl of his bike filled the air.She caught a glimpse of him through the glass—throwing his leg over the seat, helmet on, tires squealing as he peeled out of the lot, leaving only a puff of smoke and the echo of her racing pulse behind.
Nettie whispered aloud to herself, mentally reeling.
“What just happened?”
Ten minutes later, after standing in the checkout line and being harassed repeatedly by Melba, who she was going to forever remember her name now that she forgot it before, and nearly got caught – was questioning her repeatedly about Tate. Melba wanted to know if they were dating, if he was single, what was it like to date someone so broody and grumpy, commenting on his large hands, asking if he ever smiled… and the list went on and on.
Uncomfortably so.
Getting to the car, she flopped inside, threw her bag in the passenger seat, and dialed Gina immediately – who answered immediately. Usually, it was two or three rings because the girl loved her ringtone, but this time?
Seconds.
“Why is your brother so freaking weird?” Nettie blurted out as a greeting.
“You saw Tate? Where? Was he nice?”
