I frowned and looked at my phone screen, which showed that I still had two more hours to go. “Edith, you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. Now go and show Brock around. Make sure he enjoys his very first Holiday Grove festival.” She made a shooing motion before she pressed one hand to my back and another to Brock’s, then shoved us toward the booths. “Go on. Have fun. That’s an order.”
“Uh, thanks, Edith.” I looked over my shoulder to see that same twinkle in her eyes.
“Take care of our girl, Brock.”
He laughed and wrapped an arm around me. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered.
I looked around for a way out, but there was none.
“Don’t be scared, Sela. I don’t bite.” He chuckled again. “At least, unless you ask.”
I suppressed that last shiver and turned to look up at his tall frame. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Too bad, because you scare the hell out of me.”
The only thing sexier than a big, strong man with piercing grey eyes and broad shoulders?
An honest man.
Chapter 6
Brock
“You’re not obligated to stay with me, Sela.” She’d gone quiet after the admission I hadn’t meant to make. “I’m perfectly capable of wandering the booths on my own.”
For another few minutes, Sela said nothing, but she didn’t move, and she didn’t remove my arm from around her shoulders. She was just quiet. Unsettlingly quiet. Then she sighed. “I’m not here out of obligation. I’m just not sure how to handle you.”
“So you want to be here?”
She nodded. “I shouldn’t. I know that, but I do.”
I understood perfectly. I didn’t want to be so drawn to Sela, especially since I hadn’t even technicallymovedto Holiday Grove yet. It was a done deal—I’d already given Lee my word—but it wasn’t done yet. But this woman, as sweet as she was beautiful, had some internal magnet that pulled me to her whenever she was around. “I get it,” I finally said.
“Good. Let’s get some roasted corn.” She pointed to a little booth shaped like a corn cob. “Extra butter, unless those abs don’t do butter.”
I laughed and pulled her closer. “I’ll just work out a few extra minutes to burn it off.” I almost asked if she wanted to help me burn it off but thankfully held myself back. “Garlic pepper butter,” I requested, ignoring the way Sela’s gaze swung to me.
“Make that two,” she said. “Please.”
Next, we moved on, and she bought corn jelly and pumpkin syrup, chatting with each vendor and asking questions about their crafts, which she listened to carefully. “Corn jelly? Sounds weird.”
She laughed. “Wait until you taste it,” she said without thinking, and I didn’t correct her.
“I do love jelly on toast,” I added just to tease her.
Sela stumbled but recovered quickly, pointing to a booth filled with wreaths. “These are incredible, Rhona.” She picked up a wreath in fall colors that didn’t look ridiculous, not even with the knitted turkey sitting cross-legged over the cornucopia. “I have to have one.”
“I have the perfect one for you,” the woman said as she produced a wreath with what could only be described as a Thanksgiving crown on it. “For your birthday.”
Sela blinked, suddenly emotional. “Thank you, Rhona. This is perfect.” She pulled out her card and tapped it to the reader attached to the woman’s smartphone. “Thank you. Oh, wait!” She turned to me. “We have to get you one.”
I blinked in shock. The last time a woman offered to buy me anything was when my grandmother offered to buy me an apartment in her building in New York.
“Come on. They’re gorgeous, and it’s for a good cause.” She turned back to the selections, mistaking my silence for hesitation. “That one is masculine and subtle.”
“Aren’t you forgetting that I don’t have a door yet?”
