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“I’m probably heading up there myself. Is Clare around?”
“Down in the annex, putting things back together. Don’t step on the toddlers.”
In the annex, Clare packed art supplies into a chest. She wore black pants today, snug through the butt with a white, lacy blouse that cuffed at her elbows.
He thought he’d like to kiss her there, in that tender crease at her elbow. He thought he’d like to kiss her anywhere. Everywhere.
A couple of women chatted as they considered a display of candles, one rocking a stroller back and forth with the kid inside it sucking its thumb with fierce intensity. The other woman carried an infant sleeping in one of those slings across her chest.
The stroller kid gave Beckett a hard, suspicious stare, as if he might steal the precious thumb. Probably not the optimum time for kissing the inside of Clare’s elbow, Beckett decided.
“Hiya.”
She looked over, colorful strips of felt in her hand. “Hiya back.”
“I heard you had a successful return to Story Time.”
“We did, a sure sign summer’s over. It’s the first one I’ve done without one of my own kids here, and that’s another transition. How are things going?”
“Moving along. You should come over later, see the changes.”
“I’d like to if I can manage it. I’m going to email you the file on the copy once I finish up here. I think we can do better, once we see everything in place. But I tried to make it fun and appealing.”
“Great. I’ll take a look. Here, I’ll get that.” He picked up the case before she could.
“It’s not heavy. I’m just going to put it in the back.” Since he didn’t give it back, she glanced at the customers. “I’ll show you where it goes. Are you finding everything all right?” she asked the women.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m crazy about these handbags.”
“Made from recycled video tape, plastic bags. Clever, pretty, and green. Just let me know if you need any help.”
She led Beckett around to the little alcove outside the back room. “I keep it on the top shelf there since I only use it once a month. I always thought I’d be crafty, like one of those mothers who can make a toy car out of a cereal box and rubber bands.”
“MacGyver Mom.”
“Exactly. But that didn’t work out.”
“I always thought I’d pitch a no-hitter for the O’s. That didn’t work out either.”
“Life’s a series of disappointments.” She smiled when he gave the dangle of her earring a flick. “And surprises.”
“Kids okay?”
“Back to normal and in school. Praise Jesus.”
“Why don’t we have a dry run of Friday night? I’ll buy you lunch.”
She thought of Sam Freemont and his damn country club, and how much she’d have preferred to grab a hot dog at Crawford’s or a slice at Vesta with Beckett.
“That’s a nice offer, and I wish I could. The girls and I are getting delivery and finalizing our holiday orders. Christmas,” she explained.
“Christmas? We just had Labor Day five minutes ago.”
“Which shows you’ve never worked in retail. We need to get the card order in this afternoon.”
“There’s that series of disappointments again, so I’ll have to settle for this.”
He leaned down, found her mouth with his. With the women on the other side of the wall laughing, the phone ringing, the infant squalling awake, he sank in.
Too long, he thought. Too long until Friday when he could, for a few hours at least, have her to himself. Everything about her called to him, her taste, her scent, the shape of her body as he drew her closer.
“Hey, Clare, there’s a—Oops, sorry.”
Laurie cast her eyes, very deliberately, at the ceiling when Clare and Beckett broke apart.
“Is there a problem?” Clare thought she pulled off casual. Or nearly.
“There’s a man on the phone who insists on speaking to the owner. I could tell him you . . . stepped out, take his number.”
“That’s all right. I’ll take it in the back room.”
“All right. Get you anything, Beckett?” Laurie batted her eyelashes. “A cold drink?”
“No, I’m good. I’d better get going.”
“See you soon.” Laurie walked off humming.
“Sorry,” Clare told him. “I’d better take care of this.”
“I’ll head out the back. Come on over if you get a chance.”
“I’ll try.” She watched him go, wished, as he had, for Friday. She laid one hand on her fluttering stomach, the other on the phone. Maybe he was good, but she could use that cold drink.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said into the phone. “This is Clare Brewster.”
When she finished the call, she walked back to the main store. After the bustle and noise of the morning, she found the quiet lull welcome.
Until she saw the gleam in Cassie’s eye.
“I called in our lunch order,” Laurie told her.
“Great. Let’s get the catalog and order sheet so we—Stop,” she demanded as both women grinned at her.
“I can’t help it.” Laurie bounced in her chair. “You can’t expect me to walk into you and Beckett Montgomery in a major lip-lock and not react.”
“I wished I’d answered the phone, then I’d have come looking for you,” Cassie complained. “Damn customers. I knew there was sparkage, and everybody knows you were going out last week before the kids got sick.”
“Booted right on his shoes.”
Clare winced. “And everybody knows that, too?”
“I ran into Mrs. Ridenour in the park on Sunday and asked how the date went. She told me. Sucks for everybody. Anyway, we can’t miss how he comes in here pretty much every day—nothing new there—but lately the two of you have been flirty.”
“Flirty?”
“Discreetly flirty. Or so I thought until I find you sneaking off to the back room to fool around.”
“We weren’t fooling around. It was . . . It was just a kiss.”
“Smoking-hot kiss.” Laurie waved her hand in front of her face. “So, is it serious or just a little thing?”
“Laurie, we haven’t even officially gone out yet.”
“If a guy kissed me like that, I wouldn’t go out either. We’d stay home. But then, you’ve got the kids so—And I’m being really nosy. I’ll zip it.” She mimed zipping her lips. “I just liked seeing the two of you together. Plus, smoking.”
“And on that note, I’m getting a soda.”
She didn’t snicker until she was out of range. She imagined her rep had just taken a huge leap.
And Laurie was right. It had been a smoking-hot kiss.
She’d like more of the same. Soon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TAKE TWO, BECKETT THOUGHT AS HE BANGED THE knocker on Clare’s door. This time he carried a cheerful bouquet of white daisies. No point in jinxing things by bringing her the same flowers as last week.
It struck him as a little weird, not just the deja vu, but especially the intense anticipation for the evening because of the postponement.
Just dinner, he reminded himself. He had to stop making such a big deal out of it in his head, or he’d screw up. He’d played it all over in his mind so often you’d think they were winging off to Paris to dine at . . . wherever people dined in Paris.
He’d have to ask her if she’d been there. She’d done so much more traveling than he had. Maybe she spoke French. Hadn’t she taken French in high school? He seemed to remember—
Good God, cut it out, he ordered himself.
He didn’t know whether to cheer or run when she opened the door.
She hadn’t wanted to jinx it either, he decided. She wore a different dress, this one with pink and white swirls topped with a thin pink sweater that stopped at her elbows. And made him think about kissing that spot again.
Should he have brought the pink roses? Was this a signal?
>
“I’m going to get spoiled.” She reached for the flowers. “I’ll start expecting flowers every Friday night.”
“Thought I’d mix it up.”
“Good plan, and thanks. Come on in. I’ll put them in water before we go.” As he did, she eyed the little shopping bag in his hand. “More?”
“Not for you.” As if to keep it out of reach, he shifted it to his other hand. “You’ve had enough. It’s a bribe so nobody pukes on me. A game for the PlayStation. I got a pretty good look at what they’ve got when I hung out with them, and I didn’t see this one. Where are they? Did you lock them in a closet?”
“No, but my parents may have by now. They’re having a sleepover at Marmie’s and Granddad’s.”
