Page 45 of That Rush

He moves the display, then helps me load it without touching a single book until I tell him where it belongs. Hardcovers on the bottom, picture books at eye level for the children, summer-reading sign on top. He follows every direction. “First I’ll get the sparkly pencil,” Josie announces, “and then the dragon bookmark.”

When we finish, the booth looks organized, colorful, and ready with six minutes to spare.

“You saved me at least twenty minutes,” I admit.

Aiden leans one hip against the table. “Careful. That almost sounded grateful.”

“I said you saved time. I didn’t say I enjoyed watching you do it.”

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth. “You didn’t have to.”

I turn toward the last open box because staring back might tempt me to do something reckless at a library booth.

We reach for it together.

Warm and rough, his hand closes over mine on the cardboard edge, his fingers brushing across my knuckles. Neither of us moves.

His gaze lifts from our joined hands to my face.

I leave my hand exactly where it is. His thumb moves once across my knuckle.

“Miss Paige, people are coming,” Josie calls from the other side of the table.

Aiden releases me slowly enough to make it clear he chose to. I turn toward the first family approaching the booth and blame the warmth under my skin on the morning sun.

The lie gets less convincing as the market fills.

Aiden stays. He answers a mother’s question about the ten-book prize while I’m busy, and carries a case of water from the van without being asked. When Deven stops by to take Josie to see the goats, he’s in the middle of directing a family toward my table. Josie grabs her grandmother’s hand. “Goats like stories too,” she explains seriously. “It’s not their fault they eat the books after.”

“You know you’re allowed to go enjoy the market,” I tell him.

“I am enjoying it.”

“You’ve spent two hours listening to children debate whether graphic novels count as reading.”

“They do.”

I look up from the stack of registration forms. “Correct answer.”

“I’ve been paying attention.”

He’s watching me with the same steady appraisal he gave the broken display rack, and the attention makes my skin prickle.

The lunch crowd thins, leaving wrappers, half-empty cups, and a display that looks as though thirty children tried shelving books at once. I hand Aiden the empty tote and point toward the bookmarks scattered beneath the chairs.

“You wanted to volunteer.”

“I don’t remember using that word.”

“I assumed, since you refused to leave.”

He stoops to gather bookmarks. “Careful with assumptions, Paige.”

“Mine are based on evidence.”

“So are mine.”

I turn toward the library van with the cash box, putting a physical stop to the conversation.