He kisses me again, still gentle but firm, determined. He approaches kissing me like he does building: thorough and serious. I have never been kissed this way before. Like it matters. Like every touch is a stamp that will live forever on my skin. I let him lead, wait for him to change his angle and run his tongue across the seal of my lips, gently begging entry. My middle goes hot and dizzy, every atom of my body fizzing and alive. My hands trace up his sides, the soft warmth of his ribs through his flannel, the hard ridge of his spine. I am filled with fire and longing, and I almost want to step away from the pile of wood so it won’t catch and burn.
His phone beeps in his pocket, and he reluctantly pulls away.
“Did I mention I’m leaving because I need to give someone an estimate? I don’t think I’ve ever been late for that before, but I mind it a lot less than I thought Iwood.”
I laugh and lick my lips. “Still with the wood puns.”
“Well, when you’vegot wood…” He looks down briefly and smiles. “Not complaining. But I do need to go. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, if that works?”
“Firsure.”
He caresses my face and plants a kiss on my forehead. Right before closing the door, he says, “Pinefor me.”
And then he’s gone, the first person to best me when it comes to puns.
I have never minded anything less.
28.
As I lockup the video store, I’m absolutely giddy.
Finally, he’s not running hot and cold.
Just hot.
Very hot.
Hopefully talking through the magic issues and coming clean with Joyce means there’s no more reason for the Blakelys to associate me with Maggie’s foul deeds. Maybe I’ll get more eye crinkles and fewer tightened jaws, more wood puns and fewer tempests. A girl can dream.
It’s almost five, and I have an idea, but I’ll need help. And maybe on the way to my destination, I’ll catch a flutter of pink amid the changing leaves and get the chance to talk Maggie into coming back home.
The downtown streets are beginning to feel like a place where I belong. Lindy waves as I walk past the restaurant, and Barb stops adjusting a scarf on a mannequin outside her boutique’s open door to ask me when my store will have peanuts again.
“When I learn how to make them right!” I tell her.
“Well, hurry up, then,” she huffs, like she has a peanut deficiency.
I haven’t been to Shelby’s bakery before, and I smell it before I see it. It’s very cute, with a white-and-silver striped awning and white iron tables out front. The lady at the counter calls for Shelby, who appears in an apron with colorful dye staining her hands.
“I do all the cake decorating,” she tells me. “Are you here for a snack or girl talk?”
“Can’t it be both?”
She won’t take my money for a donut, so I put a five in the tip jar and we sit outside at one of the sunny tables.
“What’s up?” she asks. “Is it Hunter?”
Part of him was up when he kissed me earlier, but that’s none of her business.
“Hunter’s fine,” I say, meaning it both ways. “But no. Do you have a printer? My cockatoo flew away, and Hunter said I might have better luck finding her if I put up signs.”
Her eyes fly wide in worry. “Oh, honey, no! I’m so sorry! That’s got to be so scary for you. I do have a printer, so if you just send me a doc, I’ll get a stack ready to go. What’s your number?” She pulls out her phone, puts in my number, and sends a text, and my phone pings in response.
Chamber emergency: Rhea Wolfe’s bird got lost. Please report any sightings.
She looks up. “A group text is honestly the quickest way to get anything done in town.” Our phones both immediately report several text messages as Chamber members express their concern and Colonel claims he saw a turkey pecking at something pink inthe middle of the road today, but it turns out it was just an old sock.
“I wish we still had sp—Gurk!” I sputter.
