The nerve of this man! “That’s whyyou’rehere.”
“So, to be clear, there’s no boyfriend. What’s the status of a girlfriend?”
“Are these questions you ask all your customers, or just the ones that look like me?”
“No, no, no.” His eyes open wide, and his face is devoid of color. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t implying anything, just trying to see where I could save you some money.”
“My relationship status has nothing to do with my spending account.”
“I know. I . . . I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry I said anything.”
I don’t respond. Guess back home isn’t the only place people judge with just a glance.
“Is that everything then?” He asks after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.
I take another look at him, debating if I should send him on his way, but think better of it. I don’t need him spreading word around town that I’m difficult to work with. It might deter customers. “Would it be possible to make decorative arches over the door jambs? And, on that wall,” I gesture to the main wall. “I want an arch from one end to the other, with spotlights under it, and shelves beneath that.”
“You want an arch? On the wall?” He looks confused.
“Yes. I’m using that section to highlight my goods.”
His eyes trail off to the side for a moment as his face changes. I’m not sure how to read that. His jaw tightens as he scribbles in a tiny notebook he pulled from the rear pocket of his torn jeans. Note to self, check out his back pocket. Only to be certain the book full of important notes doesn’t fall out. Not at all because I’m curious if his butt fills out his tight-around-the-thighs jeans the way his legs do.
“On this side wall,” I pick up the conversation again. “Do you think it’s possible to, I don’t know, build the walls out a little to make it look like alcoves so customers feel like they have a little bit of privacy?”
His eyes narrow on me. “What sort of business is this?”
“A bakery.”
The grim look on his face, paired with the sudden rise and fall of his chest, makes me feel like the floor beneath my feet is about to disappear.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me. Did I say something wrong? Are people in this town allergic to dessert?” Or is it something about me? I don’t say the last part, but I silently scream it.
He taps his pen against his plump bottom lip, calling my eyes to ogle his mouth and wonder about it, before he scribbles furiously once again.
“It’s nothing, just sounds like a lot of work.”
“That’s why Mr. Nightingale gave me your number. He said you were the best.”
The man’s eyelids drop to shade his gray eyes for a moment as he tucks the pencil behind his ear. When he raises the curtains covering his magic worlds, my breath catches.
“Let’s get this straight.” His voice rumbles low and deep, and makes me worry that he’s going to say he isn’t interested in taking on the job. “Mr. Nightingale didn’t give youmynumber. He gave you the number to Eternal by Design. I happen to work there and was assigned to get your measurements.”
My eyes widen and lock on him. I wonder if that was a slip of the tongue. He is a construction worker. It’s possible his buddies saw me walking by and know I’m new, so they sent a living sculpture of perfection that they thought I wouldn’t be able to resist in order to get the goods on me. It’s not like I haven’t metmen who thought I’d be desperate for them because I’m curvier than the supermodel wannabes they date.
“I mean the measurements of the store.” He clarifies, his cheeks shading pink. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your measurements. In fact—” he’s quick to add. His eyes rake down my neck, over my chest, all the way down to my toes, and back to my eyes again. He doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t assessing me. I only hope he isn’t literally sizing me up.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him, and not in a friendly way.
I hear him swallow as the lump in his throat bobs up and down. “I mean, if we’re talking about you, you have great measurements. Really great measurements.” Once again, his eyes drop to my chest, where they appear to be stuck. He bites his lip and looks down at his empty hand, flexing it open and closed.
“Are you serious?!”
“What?” His wide eyes look frightened.
