I walk over to my product shelf and return with a few small jars. “These are some of my top sellers. This one here has niacinamide and licorice root extract, both amazing for brightening the skin and fading spots over time. And this one is a gentle exfoliant with lactic acid, which helps slough off dead skin and encourage new, even-toned skin to shine through.”
Their eyes go wide like I just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
“Try these samples on the back of your hands,” I say, offering them each a small wooden spatula. They begin rubbing the creams onto their skin, murmuring about the texture and scent, and of course, that’s when the gossip kicks in.
“Speaking of spots,” Henrietta says, lowering her voice with a mischievous glint in her eye, “did you hear Megan’s back in town?”
Mirtha snorts. “I saw her at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday. She looked like she’d been dragged through the emotional wringer and dropped off at heartbreak hotel.”
“I heard she came back alone,” Henrietta adds, whispering now like we’re on the set of a spy thriller. “After that mess with the married man from Sweet Springs, what was his name?”
“Brian or Brent or something slimy,” Mirtha mutters. “Wife found out and kicked him to the curb. Word is Megan thought she was moving in for good, but now she’s back here licking her wounds.”
I blink. “Wait,seriously?”
Henrietta nods solemnly. “Mayor’s daughter or not, she’s always had a thing for trouble. Remember when she tried to flirt with Austin? Right after he and Violet started talking?”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” Mirtha says, frowning. “That girl walked into Josy’s coffee shop like she owned the place, trying to stir up problem between Austin and Violet.”
“Violet almost lost it,” Henrietta says. “And we all know how composedshenormally is.”
I shake my head as I cap the cream jars again. “Wow. I’ve only been back a few weeks and I already feel like I’ve missedsomuch.”
“Stick with us,” Henrietta winks. “We’ll keep you updated.”
After the last round of laughter with Mrs. Mirtha and Mrs. Henrietta, mostly about which one of them used to be the town heartbreaker, I finally walk them to the front and wave goodbye as they shuffle off arm-in-arm, still bickering about whether a certain Mr. Thompsonactuallywinked at Henrietta at church last Sunday.
With the shop quiet again, I take a deep breath and head to the back to my station to check my inventory. I’ve sold out of three moisturizers and the lip balm display is looking pitiful. I make a mental note to restock as I scan through the products, half-focused, until the sound of the door chime pulls my attention back to the front.
I turn around and freeze.
Esteban is standing just inside the entrance, and he looks… ridiculously good.
His dark green shirt brings out the green in his eyes, making them gleam beneath the overhead lights. His khaki work pants are stained with dirt and sawdust, like he just stepped off a job site. There’s something about him, like thisrugged, casual, completely himself that makes my stomach dip and twist in a way I wish I could control.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal. “Hi. How are you?”
He grins. “Hey, Eva. I was having lunch with Noah at the coffee shop and saw you through the window. Thought I’d come by to say hi. You want me to bring you something? Coffee? Food?”
God bless this man.
“Yes, actually. I’d kill for an iced coffee and a chicken wrap,” I say, letting out a breathy laugh. “It’s been non-stop all morning. I didn’t even realize I skipped lunch.”
“Got it,” he says with a soft smile, already turning for the door.
Before he can leave, Ashton waltzes in like he owns the place because he does, immediately eyeing Esteban with a theatrical grin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Muscles. You taking orders today? Because I’ll take an iced chai latte and a chocolate muffin,” he adds with a wink.
Esteban just chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As soon as he’s out the door, Ashton spins toward me, fanning himself dramatically. “If that man gets any hotter, I’m going to have to install a sprinkler system in here. And not for fire safety.”
“You’re impossible.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“And you’re flustered,” Ashton says, wagging a finger. “Don’t even try to deny it. You were practically drooling.”
“I was not.”
