Page 56 of Falling for Keeps

“All the chairs for the waiting room are outside.”

“Didn’t Emma just stain them?”

“Exactly. I’ll be back.” I hurry out and immediately regret not returning to my room for a sweatshirt. Cold slams into my nose and drives goosebumps all down my skin.

Emma is rushing to move the chairs into the garage, but there isn’t enough space for all of them.

“Stack them,” I call, lifting a chair as the rain picks up in speed, pelting my exposed neck with icy droplets.

She listens and we work together to pyramid the chairs, resting their legs on each other’s seats to create a few stacks. We manage to get the last of the chairs into the shelter before the sky opens up fully, pouring rain on both of us. My white Henley sticks to my stomach, and Emma’s hair is plastered to her face when we end up in the tiny open space in the garage. It’s pantry two-point-oh. We’re close enough that I could reach out and feel the cozy set of thick sweats she’s wearing in deep green, a great color against her red hair.

My chest heaves while I try to catch my breath. Emma’s eyes trail over my chest, dipping down to my stomach, and I feel her gaze on me like the wet cotton sticking to my skin.

“See something you like?”

“That’s obscene,” she says, cracking a smile and lifting her eyes to my face. The garage lights glow yellow against her skin, but I can still see a rising blush. “You must be freezing.”

I am, but I don’t move. Her glasses are spotted with rain so I reach for them, sliding them off her face. When I go to clean them, I realize my entire shirt is soaked.

“Here,” she says, sounding slightly breathless and plucking at her sweatshirt. “It’s dry on the inside.”

I take the hem of her sweatshirt and she steps closer, waiting while I rub her glasses against the soft interior. My knuckles brush the skin of her stomach and she hisses. “Cold.”

“Sorry.” When I hand back the glasses, the lenses are blurry. The water really only got moved around. “It’s not much better than before.”

“It’s better,” she says.

“Are the chairs ruined?”

“No. The clear coat was mostly dry, anyway. I’ll blot them with a towel to remove any excess water.”

“I’ll help.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t move, her eyes still on my face, her breath shallow. Friction buzzes in the air and pulls tight between us. I already know how great it feels to tug her close and press my lips to hers, but now that I know Emma, the enticement is almost more than I can bear. She’s going to have to move, because there is nothing in the world I want to do more than kiss her.

But she isn’t moving. Apples invade my senses. If I lean forward, I’ll be able to taste her, and I know how good she tastes. Which isn’t fair, because she has a date tomorrow night with a man who isn’t me, and I’m not looking to date anyone.

Mom’s warning flashes in my mind. Emma could have different expectations than you. I don’t want her being strung along.

I don’t want to hurt her, either. I inhale a deep breath, rain and dust and stain filling my nose, and take a step back. “Do you have an extra towel?”

“Yeah. Right in here.” She slides past me, pressing against my shoulder as she goes, and reaches for a cupboard up on the wall. There’s a stack of old towels inside, the ones I’m guessing she uses to dry her car after washing it.

I take one and start drying the chair frames. We work together in silence and when I’m finished, I hand back the towel. “I’ll see you in the morning to pick these up.”

“Good night, Carson. Thanks for running over to help.”

“Hey, anytime.” I flash her a smile. Her eyes are warm and there’s real danger she’ll drag me back under her spell, so I need to get home now. I lift a hand in farewell and take off, jogging across the wet road.

Tomorrow my business opens. I need to take a hot shower, put Emma out of my head, and get to sleep.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

Barb is parked at the front desk, ready to take calls. The jar for Kiss the Pig is front and center, with the library logo on it and pocket change from the patient we had today. The treehouse I’m going to show Penny after school is full of books and toys I ordered off Amazon a few days ago, but no other child has been by to use them.

It’s not just slow, it’s dead.

“You sent those emails to Vance patients about our soft open?” I ask, leaning against Barb’s desk.