When the front door clicked closed and locked, John and I burst into laughter.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself smiling into my black coffee, as John tried to reassemble the sofa.
Otis smirked, unboxing a stack of books. “Fun night?”
I couldn’t have stopped the grin if I wanted to. “It was rather eventful.”
I would’ve thought John would run off first thing, busy with being famous and all, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Between glueing wood and screwing…things, he kept stealing lingering glances my way.
“Good lord, I’m trying to work here,” Otis said, but he was smiling when John left the shop to take a call outside. “How many times?” he added, wiggling his brows.
“Too many to count,” I said, not missing a beat.
He nodded. “Nice. You needed a good banging.”
I slapped him with a book.
He leaned against the counter, watching me.
“What?”
“How is your heart?” Otis was more serious than I’d ever seen him.
I pulled non-existent lint off my sweater. I didn’t know what to say that wasn’t an outrageous lie, and I knew he could tell right away.
So I changed the subject. “How’s your play?”
Otis straightened, but the usual gleam in his eyes that appeared whenever theater was mentioned was absent. “Great, fantastic. I’ll probably get an Oscar.”
“Not sure that’s how it works, but okay.”
“Well, you would know how outstanding I am, if you’d been at the dress rehearsal last night as promised.”
“Oh, shit.” I clasped my hands over my mouth. “I totally forgot. John brought me home and then he met Mom, and then we…” I waved my hand around the room. “I’m sorry, Otis. I was?—”
“Busy getting your muffin buttered, I know,” he said, but stopped when a woman who had just entered the shop put her hands over her toddler’s ears. Otis ignored her outraged expression.
“It’s just a temporary thing. After this week, we’re going back to normal, just hopefully a lot richer.” I put clearance stickers on a stack of slightly damaged books.
Otis leaned on the counter, trying to catch my gaze. “And you’ll be fine? With him gone?” He nodded toward the shop window, where John was pacing, still on his phone. He saw me watch him and winked.
It did unfair things to me. “Yes, absolutely.”
I was sure even the toddler currently eating his own booger could tell I was lying.
I sighed inwardly. If I didn’t win this competition, I’d lose the store. It would be the end of the road. There was no plan B because I’d never once allowed myself to think that Skye’s could actually close. What a future without it would look like. If Jeremy and May won this, it would hurt. But if John won—even though right now the mere thought of hating him seemed a galaxy away—I didn’t know if I could stop myself. The thought that he could take this away caused me physical pain. And for what? He had still not told me.
John stepped back into the shop. “I’m afraid I have to run. Didn’t think dropping you off would cause such a delay.” He smirked sheepishly. “Can I see you before the week is over?” His hand reached for mine.
I let him take it but couldn’t shake the question that had been nagging at me.
“Why, John?”
He tilted his head. “I can imagine a whole lot of things I’d like to do to you before?—”
I shook my head. “Not what I meant. But good to know you have an itinerary at the ready.” I tried to push the thought away and got to the question that had been swimming in my brain ever since John stepped into the cabin. “Why this competition? What is it to you?”
John’s eyes shadowed.
