She's brilliant. Capable. Funny. Everything I didn't know I was looking for.
And I'm her employer who made things weird by confessing feelings on her first day of work.
Fuck.
"River?"
I blink. She's watching me with her head tilted, concerned. "You okay? You've been staring at that paint can for like two minutes."
"Yeah. Sorry." I set down the can I don't even remember picking up. "Just thinking."
"About paint?"
"Sure. Let's go with that."
She studies me for a moment longer, like she knows I'm lying but decides to let it slide. "Lunch break?"
"Good idea."
We grab sandwiches from Maeve's bakery, and by the time we're done eating and laughing over small-town stories, the tension from this morning is completely gone.
The afternoon passes quickly. We film two more tutorial videos, and between customers, Bea edits on her phone with impressive focus.
By four-thirty, the light's fading and the store's quiet. Last customer left ten minutes ago.
"So," Bea says, looking up from her phone. "I had one more idea for content."
"Yeah?"
"Mistletoe." She's got that scheming look. "We hang it near the register with a cute Brooks Hardware sign. Customers can take photos under it and post them. Free marketing."
It's brilliant. "Where are we getting mistletoe?"
"Already ordered it." She grins. "Should be in that delivery box from this morning." I head to the stockroom, find the small box she's talking about. Sure enough—fake mistletoe, surprisingly realistic, with a red velvet ribbon already attached.
When I come back, she's standing on the counter stool, hammer in hand. "I'll hold it, you secure it?"
"You know how to use that?"
"I'm not completely helpless." She brandishes it. "Dad taught Ben and me basic repairs when we were kids. Family tradition."
There's warmth in her voice when she mentions her family, that soft pride that comes from growing up loved and supported.
I climb up on the stool next to her, reach for the mistletoe. Our hands brush and electricity shoots up my arm. She feels it too—I can tell by the way her breath catches, the way her scent spikes with awareness.
"Here." I take the mistletoe from her, try to focus on the task instead of how close she is. How good she smells. How easy it would be to just?—
No. Professional.
I hammer in the hook, hang the mistletoe carefully. It dangles beside the register, looking festive and exactly like the kind of photo op that will probably actually work for bringing in customers.
"Perfect." Bea hops down from her stool. "Now we just need to hang the sign."
She's already pulling out a handmade Brooks Hardware sign she must have made earlier—cute lettering with little holly leaves drawn around the edges.
"When did you make that?"
"During lunch. Took five minutes." She's moving her stool, positioning it beside the mistletoe. "Can you help?"
