“Book clubs?” he rumbled.
“We have book clubs six days a week. They’re held in the stockroom.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t comment. Just nodded and looked toward the door leading to the back.
“Let’s start with the basics,” he rumbled. “Show me how to work the register.”
“Sure.” Taking a deep breath, I headed over there, the beast of a man shadowing along closely behind me. “Have you ever used one before?”
“Naw.”
“Done customer service?”
“Naw.”
“Stocked shelves?”
“Naw.”
Great. Marlene’s nephew might be the most unqualified person on Red Oak Mountain to help me run this bookstore while she was gone. But he was the only help I had, evidently.
I snuck a glance at his faded flannel shirt and the way the muscles in his arms filled it fully. He looked like he belonged at the sawmill. Or out in the woods wrestling a bear into submission.
That was a sight I’d like to see.
When we got there, and I started showing him the register, his hand settled on the counter beside mine, close enough that our knuckles brushed… and he didn’t move away.
Being this close to him felt electric, like a summer thunderstorm, lightning flashing between us every few seconds. My poor, neglected pussy fluttered back to life, asking when we were going to have somefun.
I smoothed my hair back and started training the man. I wasn’t sure how I was going to survive a month in this man’s presence. I wasalreadycoming undone.
Chapter 2
Flint
The space behind the counter wasn’t built for two people.
It sure ashellwasn’t built for someone my size standing next to a woman as soft and curved as Avery Fisher.
She’d positioned herself in front of the register, and I’d stepped up beside her to watch, which put us close enough that I could practically smell the innocence wafting off of her.
Thiswas the woman my aunt had been trying to hook me up with for the last six years?
She was too young. Too sweet. And absolutely devourable. Some primal part of me wanted to bend her over the counter right here at the register, and fuck the prim-and-proper right off her face.
The green cardigan she wore was buttoned all the way up to her throat, modest and careful, and her skirt flowed loose around her hips in a shade of mint that made me think of spring even though the mountain air outside still bit with the last edge of winter.
Yellow ballet flats. Who wore yellow shoes?
Apparentlyshedid.
My eyes snagged on her curves while I fought the desire to step in closer and growl into her ear. She was plush and curvy andexactlymy type. I liked a woman with something to hold onto, and Avery had some well-developed love handles attached to her hips. I dragged my attention back to the register as she started explaining the process.
“It’s pretty simple,” she said, her voice steady now that she had something concrete to focus on. “You press here to open a new transaction, then scan the barcode on the book. If there’s no barcode, you can type in the ISBN manually, or use the search function to find it by title.”
Her fingers moved across the keys with practiced ease, and I watched the way her hands worked, quick and sure. She knew this machine the way I knew my trapping routes. Muscle memory built from years of repetition.
“Once everything’s scanned, the total shows here.” She pointed to the screen. “Then you ask how they’re paying.”
