Page 4 of The Irresistible Distraction

I head to the front door and walk a little ways away before I let the creature go and return to the shop.

“Any particular reason you decided to release it?” He’s sitting again, though his large body remains tense.

“It’s what my father used to do for me. I accidentally locked myself out of the house one day because I was running from a spider I found in our bathroom sink.” Dad changed the types of locks we used afterward so it wouldn’t happen again, before embarking on an entire campaign of helping me overcome my fear. Setting down the cup and journal, I move a chair, stretching to get rid of the web, smiling as I remember the details. “He initially, very patiently, explained to me how useful spiders are and how to differentiate between the actually dangerous versus common household ones. When that didn’t work, my father read Charlotte’s Web to me, hoping it would cure me of my arachnophobia, but Charlotte didn’t make me less scared of spiders, just less willing to kill her progeny.”

“But you, uh, finally did get over the fear?”

Yes. Because I had to.

Because after my parents died, after Jesse moved away, there was no one else to rid of spiders for me. More importantly, I didn’t want to appear scared in front of Sebastian. Maggie complains my life is too structured, overstuffed with lists and responsibilities, as if it was my choice.

The truth is, I had to become responsible.

Present tense: I have to continue being the adult.

But I’m not about to admit that to a total stranger, so I share a different version of the truth. “Took a photography class at the local community college where we had to take nature photos and decided it could be my own version of exposure therapy.”

This is normally where I’d let the conversation die, but this man is such a good listener. He nods at all the right beats and looks so wholly invested I find myself wanting to continue; I point shyly to the small wall space dedicated to my framed photography prints.

He stands up carefully (and dammit, the booth is a little wobbly now, another to-do for my list) before walking over to the frames.

“You took these?”

I nod. It took Vera months of cajoling before I was willing to display the pictures. He bends over, examining each carefully, and even though I’m five foot eight, I feel dwarfed next to him in the crowded space leading into the kitchen. He’s got to be at least six foot three, with swoonworthy forearms that suggest he’s a dedicated gym rat.

Sexy Tourist glances at me briefly, focusing his attention on a nighttime exposure I had felt particularly proud of. “This is a dead corner, traffic-wise.”

“Is it?”

“And there are no price tags.”

“They’re on the back,” I tell him, flushing as he carefully flips one over. The stickers are tiny, and I’ve priced them barely above what the film, developing supplies, and frames cost.

“Are you purposefully underpricing?”

“Of course not.” My cheeks warm at the implied compliment.

“A quick, defensive answer. Always the sign of truth.” His voice is a warm blanket I want to snuggle in. He continues to flip other pictures over, shaking his head. “This is normally the type of thing I’d charge for, but considering the fact that you’ve saved my life⁠—”

“That’s a bit hyperbolic.”

“Brown recluses are venomous.”

I chuckle, exasperated, wondering what his day job is. “Except we’ve already established it wasn’t a brown recluse.”

“Considering you can’t definitively prove it wasn’t, that was basically Schrodinger’s recluse.”

It takes a moment for me to place the scientist’s name. “Physics teacher?”

“Physics major, a lifetime ago.” His smile fades for the briefest of moments before he steps past me to claim a stool, gesturing to the one next to him. “I’m ready to exchange life stories if you are.”

It worries me, how much I want to give in, to flirt with this man as if an afternoon of idle chat is a luxury I can afford, as if it wouldn’t make me even more behind in the race against my ever-expanding to-do list. “Counterproposal, I politely remind you the diner technically closed three minutes ago⁠—”

“The life debt must be repaid, if not in orgasms⁠—”

I choke, trying to stall his rapid escalation, my voice a little shaky as I ask, “Is this the type of thing you do, normally?”

“Orgasms? Daily, when possible.”