JJ rushes in with an arm lifted high over her head.“And that’s all for now, folks. Let’s give our final contestants, Maggie and Braxton, a big round of applause.”
They do, and I do my best impersonation of a good sport. Inwardly, I am fuming. Seething over the fact that Braxtonmade me look like a fool up here. One blotchy blush after the next. I’ve got to be redder than the balloons by now.
JJ takes the mic. “Okay, folks, put those pencils to good use and vote. Three of the four couples will return for next week’s event. Contestants will be notified. The rest of you will have to show up to find out who moves on.”
I do not look in Braxton’s direction, but from my periphery, I could swear I see a grin on his face.
9
Braxton
Sweat drips down my temples as I sand the edge of a freshly cut plank. Since I often cut on-site to get the measurements precise, I’m left with a bit of sanding work to smooth out the edges. I don’t mind; the smell of fresh wood is one of life’s finest gifts.
Also fine, not that I’m looking, is the maddening woman pacing back and forth, watching me as I work.
“Why do you wear the bandanna?” Maggie asks.
I continue sanding. “Keeps me from inhaling sawdust,” I say. “Occupational hazard, but I only have to wear it when I’m sanding. Sometimes I wear it while I stainthe wood too.”
“Hmm.” It’s a soft sound, but somehow, I manage to hear it through the repetitive scratch of sandpaper on wood. It’s increasingly this way lately, my growing awareness of Maggie’s distracting presence when she steps in to survey the project.
“I was wondering,” she says thoughtfully, “if you ever think about our story.”
My brow lifts. It’s been nearly a week since the storytelling event in the main shop, not that I’m counting, and the answer to her question is too embarrassing to admit. Yes, I think about it. I can’tstopthinking about it.
I shrug. “Kind of.” But my hand goes still because she is moving toward me. Closer. And closer still. Soon, I catch hints of her enticing scent—like sugar cookies with a strong side of freshly ground coffee, good enough to eat.
Her hand brushes my shoulder. “Mind if I…see something?”
I gulp, straighten, and turn to catch a look in her hazel eyes that I’ve only dreamed of seeing.Please tell me this isn’t one of those dreams.If it is, I don’t want to know. Not yet.
She reaches out, runs her fingertips over my covered jaw, and then loosens the bandanna with one light tug, exposing the lower half of my face.
Her heated gaze drops to my lips.
My mouth waters in response. I gulp again. The sandpaper forgotten as I lift my hand to trace the delicate curve of her silky neck, skin so soft I close my eyes to enjoy the sensations that rush through me.
I want more. I lower my head, eyes aimed at that pretty mouth of hers, and press a warm, lingering kiss to her lips.
Maggie surprises me by grabbing my flannel shirt to pull me closer. I happily oblige. I’m just getting into the rhythm when she pulls away suddenly. Before I can ask why, Maggie pushes me back and slaps me hard across the face. Her lips part, and I know she’s about to lay into me, but what comes out doesn’t sound human at all.
I jolt, eyes popping open, heart pounding, and peer into the darkness around me. A siren wails in the distance.
“Yep,” I rasp, “another dream.” I must be some sort of sucker to be dreaming about a woman who infuriates me as much as Maggie does. Especially one who hates me.
I grin at the thought because I’m not entirely convinced Maggiedoeshate me.
I admit that I’m dragging my feet on the project. I’ve caught myself purposely slowing down while burning through one task or another. I’m not paid hourly or anything, so there’s no harm in it. Still, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like having an excuse to see Maggie each day.
I groan. I hate when I’m blunt with myself. I’m better at being blunt with others.
I shrug onto my side and stuff a pillow over my head. The worst part is, Maggie and I got voted into the final round—a fact Chantel told me about while delivering a caramel macchiato on the house, which, I have to say, felt very much like a bribe:Want more of these babies? Don’t let Maggie down.
Tomorrow, that feisty redhead and I will step back onto that stage for the second storytelling event.I can’t help but wonder if this time will be as heated as the last. Anotherquestion pops to mind, the way it has a million times since we told the tale of that kiss between Braxton and Maggie—has she dreamed about it too?
10
Maggie
