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Back in the storeroom, he picked up the second box, the service bell sounding with a high-pitched ding across the store.
Maureen looked over her shoulder. “I’ll go see who’s at the counter.”
The older woman hobbled away, her years of back issues apparent in her stride.
“Hey, Maureen.” A woman’s voice cut through to the storeroom and a light tingle traversed up his spine, that clear and direct tone unmistakable. “The heat’s really climbing outside. Could I get a refill on my water bottle?”
Dean struggled to hide a deadly-as-sin smirk as he ventured through the plastic curtain and out into the store, a moving box in hand. Sarah’s calm gaze darkened.
“Hello, Sarah.” He kept his voice bright, even though the tense look on her face brought a dull pain to his chest.
“Hi,” she mumbled, quick to divert her attention to Maureen.
“Oh, how wonderful.” Maureen directed a cheery grin at Sarah and then him, before swiping a see-through blue water bottle from Sarah’s hand. “You two have met.”
Sarah shook her head. “Not really. Just—”
“Oh, yeah, we’ve met.” He made a show of looking her over in her fuchsia-pink running shorts and white tank top, her brows pinching together, suggesting that if she got anymore pissed at him her brows might snap and fall off completely. “Sarah was quick to welcome me to Harlow.”
He broadened his grin, perhaps his attempt at testing his theory about her brows, even though right now the memory of her “welcome” took up fast real estate in his brain.
Maureen slipped past him and into the storeroom with Sarah’s bottle in her hand, the sound of running water overlapping her next words. “Sarah here is the manager over at Maynard’s, don’t cha know? She’s a natural at making our newcomers feel welcome.”
He held Sarah’s glare, and his lip wobbled, even as he chimed in with another golden opportunity to take a dig at her. “Her personal approach is impressive.”
He bit the insides of his cheeks and curled his fingers hard around the corners of the box in his hands, trying hard not to drop it while he fought for composure. If she insisted on the frosty greeting, much less denying she even knew him, then she’d get ten times the frostiness she gave.
Her face turned red, and she leaned over the counter toward him. Maybe her brows wouldn’t fall off after all. Maybe her head would outright explode.
“Stop it.” She hissed through gritted teeth.
He shrugged and whispered back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She turned to look over her shoulder, as if worried someone else might have entered the store and would hear what she had to say. “First your intrusion at the bar, and now this? Why are you trying to ruin my life?”
“No one noticed anything at Maynard’s and same goes for here.” He kept his whispered tone, at least giving her that. “I’d be happy to call a truce if you’d just stop being so unfriendly.”
His gaze dipped from her hypnotizing amber eyes, to her defined collarbone, and down to the soft line of cleavage peeking from her low neck-line. He’d never enjoyed looking at a woman this much. Even if she was set on being perpetually pissed at him. She was majestic and magnificent, in spite of having sweated it out in the midday heat.
“My eyes are up here.” She pointed to her face before jutting her chin toward the box in front of him. “So, you’re staying now?”
He didn’t need to answer for the strain on her face to grow, which only served to open a hollow in his stomach, leaving him somewhat gutted and deflated.
She really can’t stand living in the same town as me, can she?
He stared down at his box with yet more of Ramos’s writing scribbled atop it, unable understand why his staying annoyed her so much.
“I don’t know how you do it, Sarah.” Maureen burst back into the conversation, the clutter of plastic strips smacking in her wake. She slid the water bottle across the counter to Sarah, while addressing Dean. “Running full-pelt in this sweltering heat. It must take her close to an hour to cross the distance between her place and town. She runs most days too, you know. Always been Harlow’s sporty lil’ miss.”
“Yeah, well…” Sarah’s voice turned gruff, her glare flicking back to Dean. “Running keeps my stress levels down.”
She swiped the water bottle from Maureen’s hands and turned for the exit. Maureen gave Dean a heartened smile. “Poor girl’s had a rough life.”
Sarah stopped in her tracks, her ponytail swishing as she swung around, her unguarded and wide-eyed stare hitting Maureen. “Could you not—”
“Your hard work shows,” Dean cut in.
The sudden ashen tone to Sarah’s skin, her frozen stance—Maureen had clearly struck a sore spot—and he wanted to stop any potential further pain for Sarah, while halting the chance of an argument breaking out. Besides, he had no desire to pry into anything she didn’t want to talk about, especially since he knew all about “rough lives”.
Then again, he wasn’t a total saint either, so he added, “I like running too. Maybe you’ll invite me along one day?”
Her lips pursed and her habitual glare—at least where he was concerned—returned, before she slowly mouthed the word, “No.”
Box still in hand, he lifted his elbow and turned his head to his arm, giving a fake cough. Fake because he wanted to cover his laugh.
Maureen wandered over, ending his coughing fit with a squeeze of his bicep. “Dean’s hard work shows too, see? What do you say, Sarah?”
Sarah merely growled and turned on her heel. “I’m late for work.”
Maureen squeezed Dean’s bicep again before giving it a prolonged stroke, her gray eyes twinkling up at him with zero qualms about copping another feel. “Sarah’s ex-fiancé was the one injured in that shooting the other day. She let him go so he could be with Miss Emilia. Before that, well, let’s just say she’s not always been so gruff.”
