Tilly walks to the register and I follow, watching as she rings up the bottle.
“That’ll be fourteen dollars,” she says.
I pull out my wallet and hand her a twenty. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and I feel that same jolt from before. Her breath catches and the pink in her cheeks deepens.
She fumbles with the register, making change.
“Here you go. Six dollars back.”
I take the bills from her, letting the contact linger a second too long.
“I’m Ben, by the way. Ben Mitchell.”
“I know who you are,” she says quickly, then looks mortified at her admission. Her hands flutter nervously at her sides. “I mean, everyone in town knows who you are. The big fight tomorrow night... it’s all anyone’s talking about. Your retirement, too.” She tucks another curl behind her ear. “Not that I follow boxing or anything. I just... well, it’s a small town, and news travels.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
“Um, anyway, I hope Leo likes the spray,” she continues, words tumbling out faster now. “I actually modified the formula slightly last month. I added a touch more chamomile because some mothers reported their babies were waking up around 2 AM, which is when the initial sedative effects of the lavender typically wear off, and the body’s cortisol levels begin to rise. I did a whole study on sleep patterns and circadian rhythms during my post-doc—not on babies, of course, that would be unethical, but on adult subjects with sleep disturbances, and—” She stops abruptly and presses her lips together. “I’m so sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”
I make her nervous, huh?
My chest tightens with a possessive pleasure.
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I like hearing you talk.”
Her eyes widen slightly behind those glasses, and I find myself wondering what she’d look like with them off, hair down, laid out beneath me. The thought hits me with unexpected force, and I have to shift my stance to hide my body’s immediate reaction.
I glance around the empty shop. “You run this whole place all by yourself?”
“Yes. Just me.” She fiddles with a display card on the counter. “I opened about eight months ago.”
Just her. No mention of a boyfriend or partner. I shouldn’t care, but I do.
“No boyfriend doesn’t help out?” I ask, aiming for casual but hearing the edge in my own voice.
“Oh! No. No boyfriend.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t really have time for dating with the shop and all.”
Something fierce and primitive roars to life inside me.
Mine,it growls. This woman is mine.
I’ve never felt this instant, overwhelming attraction before. It’s like a fever, burning through rational thought. I want to know everything about her. I want to know what she likes, what she fears, what makes her laugh. I want to stake my claim before anyone else can.
Fuck.
I sound like a lunatic. I should take the bottle, walk out the door, and go back to the restaurant. I should focus on the fight tomorrow, on my retirement, on the cabin in Wyoming where I’m going to spend the rest of my life in peace and quiet.
Instead, all I can think is that I need to see her again.
“Do you like steak, Tilly?” I ask abruptly.
She blinks at the sudden change in topic. “Steak? I mean, I don’t eat it often, um, yes. I like steak. Why?”
I grin at her. “Because you’re having dinner with me tonight.”
Chapter Two
TILLY
