Page 85 of Small Town, Big Storm

“Helping you clean up.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m selfish.”

My eyebrows drag together—because him helping me clean up is selfish?—and he’s suddenly in front of me, stroking a finger over the furrow there.

“I like being with you, Pop,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”A beat.“Oh.”His mouth hitches up as he goes back to cleaning the tables.“Plus, if I get you to bed at a reasonable hour then maybe you won’t fall asleep when I take you out for lunch tomorrow.”

Now my brows flyup.“We’re having lunch tomorrow?”I thought he was going to meet Holly and me at the Pioneer Museum after camp.

A sexy smile.“Considering you work every night, I gotta take what dates I can get.”

“So long as it’s not salads from Molly’s.”

“Those salads are kickass,” he declares.“Even Rain said so.”

“They’re alsosalads,”I protest, not entirely sure why I’m allowing this conversation to continue down this path when alarm bells are blaring and my brain is reminding me that he left.And also…knowing—for better or worse—it’s that small part of me that never fell out of love with Storm that’s talking now.“If we’re going on a date, I expect wooing,” I say, doing some declaring of my own.“And there’s nowooingin salad form.”

He laughs, and it’s almost as though it takes him by surprise.

The sound is rusty, a little rough, and, damn, but it feels good to make him laugh.

“Noted,” he says once he’s gotten a handle on himself.“I’ll make sure there’s a proper amount of wooing during our lunch date.”

I giggle.

And that feels a little rusty too.

But it also…well, it also feels nice.

He goes back to wiping down tables and chairs, and I watch him for a second.

Then I realize it’s late, and he’s working, and I’m staring, and?—

Yeah, I need to do my part in this.

I load up the racks with dirty glasses, pop them in the dishwasher, and start it up.

I restock what’s needed.I clean and wipe down the bar and all the various accoutrements I use on the daily.Then I cash out the drawer and stow the cash and receipts in the safe.

Then I’m hurrying back out, intending to help Storm with the chairs?—

“Oof,” I grunt.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, catching me by the shoulders.

“Sorry, I…” But my gaze flicks behind him and my apology falters when I see that the bar’s been mopped, the chairs put up, and the lights dimmed.“Wow,” I whisper.

“What?”he says.

“You’re done.”I glance at my watch.“I’mdone an entire hour earlier than normal.”

“Good.”He starts guiding me to the apartment door.“Then my plan for you to get more sleep is working.”