Forcing my smile to stay firmly in place, I muster my courage, fully believing he’s going to be either unbearably smug about our earlier encounter or incredibly lost at having accidentally found himself in a quaint bookstore, face-to-face with, for all intents and purposes, a flasher. He’s definitely not going to mention what he observed . . . right?
“H-hi there, can I help you?” My voice squeaks a bit with nerves and a Southern twang I’ve spent too many years trying to eradicate from my diction. At this point, it only escapes if I’m on edge or upset about something.
“You must be new in town.” His voice is gruff as he moves closer, allowing the door to close with a click. A smirk lurks at the corner of his full, deliciously edible lips.Do not, I repeat, do not look at his lips.Why on earth is this man affecting me so much?
“Observant,” I mutter quietly to myself while raising an eyebrow. “I’m Olive. Can I help you find something?”
“If I have observed anything, it’s that you”—he points his index finger at my chest—“are new in town.”
Shoot! He heard that.“Yes, I am. Does it matter?”
“Not particularly, I just didn’t want you to think for even a single second that it wasn’t painfully obvious.” A cool and impartial tone laces his words.
“Okay. Are you on the welcoming committee or . . . something?” I ask, trying and failing to tamp down a small huff as I cross my arms. It’s out of character for me to be this worked up, but in my defense, he’s acting like there should have been a flyer passed out introducing me. I know this is a very small town compared to Mobile, but I really don’t believe it’sthattiny. Also, can we address the elephant in the room? I’d rather we don’t, but if I have to deal with it, then let’s just get on with it.
“No, Olive, I’m not. But I do know almost everyone here, and there is zero chance that if you were a local you wouldn’t have held certain things in place while coming around that corner.” A smirk paints his face amused. “Everyone that’s local knows it’s a brutal crosswind.”There it is. Jerk!
“I-I’m . . . well, now you have me flustered. I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen, and I would be really grateful if you did too. Now, is there something I can do for you, sir?”
He flashes me a smile so breathtaking that heat zaps up my spine, releasing a wave of shivers across my skin. My cheeks warm, turning what I can only imagine to be an embarrassing shade of pink.
He steps closer, yet again, nodding toward my strawberry blonde hair. “Still a little mussed, if you ask me. Heck of a first impression, princess.” His gaze lingers on my face. “But I’m here to pick up an order, not talk about your hobby as the new town streaker. Name’s Sam O’Reilly.”
Holy mother of Pearl. The sound of his name tumbles around in my head turning it to soup. I should be pissed that he’s outright mocking me, but I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to someone. I’m a little out of my depth.
“I-I hardly think that qualifies as streaking. If I was planning to make a name for myself, I’d like to believe it would have been a better show. And, uh, please don’t call me princess.” I smile as sweetly as I can—fake it till you make it and all that.
“Sure, princess. Whatever you say. Now my order . . .” It seems like Mr. Smug, motioning toward the counter, would like to end this conversation, maybe even more than I would at this point. I take back what I said about there being something important about him. He’s like every other man, managing me and telling me what to do.
“Um, one second. Let me find it.” I dash behind the desk to look on the shelf reserved for pickups. He clearly isn’t going to let my morning mishap go or stop calling me that ridiculous nickname, so I need to get him to leave pronto while still being polite. The last thing I want is Beau catching wind of me being anything less than helpful to a customer.
I start pulling books out and placing them in my free arm. Each one is labeled with the customer’s name, but I don’t see any marked Sam. “Are you sure you have an order?” I ask, the pile in my arm growing more difficult to hold by the second.
“Yep.” One word, that’s not helpful at all.
I dip my head lower, checking to see if I missed any books shoved to the back of the shelf, and at the same time the pile in my arms starts to falter. In my moment of panic—I can’t let these fall, they are fragile and Beau will literally fire me on day one—I lean forward, wrapping myself around them to make somewhat of a cocoon. I’m so focused that I don’t notice Sam moving toward me until he growls out, “Jesus, let me help you.” My eyes jump to his, horror most certainly painted across my brow.
“I, uh, maybe just—” I don’t have to finish. He wraps his arm around my front and slowly pulls each book out of my grasp. My breathing is unsteady in this close proximity, but it worsenswhen he reaches for the last book and his fingers lightly graze my forearm.
Good gravy.
When the books are lined carefully on the counter, Sam grabs one, clutching it in his long fingers. “Here it is . . . O’Reilly, just like I said,” he quips, smirking at me. I glance at the label. It reads Mabel not Sam.
“It doesn’t say your name. I’m sorry, I can’t let you take that,” I protest, my stomach queasy with the idea of giving someone the wrong purchase right off the bat.
He ignores me. “It’s my mom’s. I’ll see you around town. Oh, and a word of advice. Wear something a little less breezy next time.” Sam turns and walks confidently out the door—as quickly as he arrived, he’s gone. And me? I’m left wondering who the hell Sam O’Reilly is and how the heck I’m ever going to live this one down.
Shaking it off after a hearty dose of self-deprecation, I decide that I can’t let this ruin my day. And I should probably tell Ariella before word gets out. I can assume I’ll be the talk of the town in record time, if I’m not already, and that’s the very last thing I need. I grab my phone and shoot off a text.
Sooo . . . first day’s going great. I flashed all of Mage when the wind blew my dress over my head and Beau already left me to run the shop.
Ari
OMG! Was it when you turned the corner by the candy shop? Sorry, babe . . . should have warned you. Tell me you don’t have on period panties, puhleeease.
They are the only ones I could find in all my boxes.
Ari
