That’s when I glance down and see her shoes.
She’s wearing white canvas sneakers covered in drawings of chemistry beakers and test tubes.
A smile tugs at my lips.
I’ve always had a thing for women who march to their own beat. And even though I haven’t even spoken a word to her, there’s something about this woman—the mismatched outfit, the nerdy shoes, the way she moves in her own world—that pulls at me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
Maybe ever.
I move through the shop carefully toward her, navigating the narrow aisles between fragile displays. With my build, one wrong turn and I’ll send a hundred dollars’ worth of bath products crashing to the floor. As I get closer, I catch a scent that rises above the shop’s competing fragrances. It’s something sweet and floral, and I realize it’s coming from her.
I clear my throat, but she doesn’t hear me. That’s when I reach out and tap her shoulder gently.
“Excuse me.”
The woman spins around with a startled gasp, fumbling the bottle in her hands. I react on instinct, my hand shooting out to catch it before it can shatter on the floor. My other arm steadies her elbow.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, yanking out her earbuds. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s okay.” For some reason, my voice sounds deeper than normal. “Are you Tilly?”
She blinks up at me through wire-rimmed glasses that magnify warm brown eyes.
“Y-yes, I’m Tilly.” She swallows hard and a pretty blush rises to her cheeks as she takes me in. “Can I, uh, help you?”
“I’m looking for a lavender spray. One that helps babies fall asleep.”
Tilly reaches up to straighten her glasses. “Oh! Yes, of course. That’s one of my bestsellers. Follow me, I’ll show you where it is.”
She turns and starts walking toward the back of the shop. I follow, my eyes dropping to the sway of her hips. The view from behind is even better now that I know what the front looks like.
“Is this for yourself, or a gift for someone?” she asks over her shoulder.
“It’s for my nephew. He’s currently having a meltdown at the diner across the street. My sister-in-law says your spray is the only thing that helps to calm him down.”
She glances back with a knowing smile.
“Let me guess. Is your little nephew named Leo?”
I grin back at her. “You know him?”
“I certainly do. Audrey has come in every week since Leo was born.” She pauses at a shelf, scanning the rows of purple bottles. “She’s one of my best customers.”
“She swears by this stuff.”
“Most parents do, once they try it.” She reaches up for a bottle on a higher shelf, rising on her tiptoes. The movement makes her cardigan ride up, revealing a sliver of soft skin at her waist. “I spent three months perfecting the formula. The trick is getting the ratio of lavender to chamomile exactly right, and then I add a hint of vanilla to round out the sharper notes.”
“You make everything in here yourself?” I ask.
She pulls the bottle from the shelf and turns to face me, a flicker of pride crossing her features.
“Most of it. I try to source the ingredients locally when I can. The lavender comes from a farm about twenty miles outside of town.”
“That’s impressive.”
“It’s obsessive is what it is.” She laughs, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “My friends back in New Haven used to say I’d rather spend Friday night with my beakers than at a bar.” Then she giggles and lets out a little snort. “They weren’t wrong.”
Fuck, this girl is adorable.
