Page 24 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“I know how to read.”

“Then you know how to read a story.”

“To children?”

“They’re less judgmental than adults.”

“That hasn’t been my experience so far.”

“They’ll love you.”

The words slip out too easily. His gaze returns to mine. Heat creeps up my neck.

“I mean, they already seem to like you,” I add.

“Please?” Ava asks, clasping her hands beneath her chin.

“Please?” the others echo.

Grayson exhales heavily. “All right.”

The children race to the rug. He turns toward the bookshelves, scanning the colorful covers as if selecting a story is more complicated than rebuilding an engine.

“Choose something short,” he says.

“You’re very demanding for a guest.”

“I have work to do.”

“You could have stayed at the garage.”

His gaze holds mine. “I could have.”

My heart stumbles. I turn to the bookshelf before he can see what those three words do to me.

I pull out one of the class favorites, a story about a grumpy bear who refuses to share his cave until a storm forces several woodland creatures inside.

“Try this.”

Grayson takes it.

Our fingers brush. Neither of us moves away immediately. His hand is warm and rough, the pads of his fingers callused from years of physical work. Mine look pale and small beside his. I think about what those hands could do. Fix an engine. Cup my face. I snatch my hand back.

“What?” he asks quietly.

“Nothing.”

Grayson lowers himself into my reading chair. It’s built for an adult, but it still looks too small beneath him. His knees spread wide, his heavy work boots planted firmly on the carpet. The children gather around his feet. I take a seat at one of the tiny tables and fold my hands in my lap. He opens the book.

“The Grumpiest Bear,” he reads.

“You have to show us the pictures,” Ava says.

Grayson turns the book toward them.

“You’re holding it too low,” Ethan says.

He raises it.