A throaty chuckle slips out of him. “I’m just kidding.”
“Is there something you came in to buy?” I ask, instantly regretting the subtle push for him to finish up here and get going. But he does look so utterly warm and inviting, and if I let him wrap his strong arms around me right now, I’m not sure I’d ever let go.
Instead of answering my question, his gaze shifts to my laptop on the counter, where I was working on our new online store before the Burners came in. Sunny gave me the idea for Quinn Brothers Online when she asked for our website. To increase our revenue streams, we need to be able to sell stuff to locals who are immobile or sick, or when the weather’s horrendous and no one wants to come out and shop. Kings has offered a home delivery service since it opened—it’s time we got out of the dark ages and did the same.
“Are you building a website?” Dylan asks, stepping toward the computer.
“I am. Apparently, the internet is becoming a thing now. We’re also thinking of getting a transistor radio and maybe one of those stick phones where you hold the receiver up to your mouth.”
He chuckles, but a flash of horror strikes me when he takes a closer look at the site that looks like amateur-hour beside the King’s professionally built website.
“Did you take these pics?” He squints at the product images I snapped with my phone.
“Sure did. You want to license them? Enter them into one of those Nat Geo competitions? I think that toilet roll portrait could really sweep the board this year.”
He throws me one of his crooked smiles that’s so damn sexy I have to look away. Someone should thoroughly kiss that lethal weapon right off his face.
Dylan turns to rest his back against the counter, folding his arms. “So, you’re doing all this yourself, huh?”
“All this?”
“Managing the store, building the website, taking the photos, fixing the furnace, making the shit coffee... all by your sweet self.”
The way he’s looking at me—like he can see the burning ball of pressure living behind my chest wall—has my gaze scattering. “I’m good at multitasking.”
When I glance back at Dylan, he locks me in a silent staring competition. “What can I do to help?” he asks softly.
A bewildered laugh gathers in my throat because I have no idea what to say to that other than… “Nothing. I’ve got it all covered. But thanks. And I’ll remember—three breaths in, four breaths out.”
I force a smile because I can’t think of anything more mortifying than one of the multimillionaire Kings knowing that my tiny, second-rate store can’t make ends meet.
“Actually, I did come in here to buy something,” Dylan says, suddenly pushing off the counter.
“Cool.”So, it wasn’t to see me then.“What is it you need?”
He grabs the shopping cart with the squeaky wheel and pushes it down the first aisle, tossing in random items. I don’t want to crowd him like a stalker, so I inch back to my stool and begin absently clicking buttons on my laptop until Dylan reappears, his cart loaded up with groceries. I run my gaze over the fancy laundry detergent that hardly anyone buys, the giant jars of pickled olives, the Belgian chocolate boxes, the frozen organic berry bars… This haul is going to cost him a fortune.
“Your store running low on stock or something?” I ask suspiciously, swiping each item across the counter until they beep.
He fishes his wallet out of his back pocket. “Nah, it’s just easier to get it all here.” He reaches for one of Magnolia Sloane’s gruesome clay sculptures and plonks it before me. “Plus, we don’t sell these, and I’ve always wanted one.”
He’s gotta be bluffing, but I keep a straight face and bag up the distorted head while he bites away a smile.
I consider offering to help him carry his mountain of bags next door, but the last thing I need is to end up alone with Dylan in his apartment. Especially after he obviously just bought all this stuff to help boost our sales for the day. If I follow him next door, there’s at least a seventy-five percent chance I’ll try to climb him like a tree and burrow my nose into that heavenly spot in the crook of his neck.
Instead, I watch Dylan slide his wallet back into his pocket, trying to kick the stupid hearts out of my eyes. “Oh,there was one other thing I came in here for,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“What?”
“I know we can’t have a date-date,” he adds quickly, “but we can have a friend-date. You like food;Ilike food. Maybe we can do food together. Given we’re friendly neighbors and all.”
If only there’s some way to will my blush away and play it cool, but I’m sure I’ve turned as red as a tomato.
“Something out of town, so it’s just us with no spies or rubberneckers?” Dylan adds, leaning his forearms against the counter so we’re at eye-level. It takes a Herculean effort not to swoon.
