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She choked off the laughter before it could become hysterical. “Oh, yes. Today he told me how I would twist and burn in the fire of his passion, and then…how did he put it? That soon we would be as one. That our union would be explosive. All written in this sticky, pseudo-poetic prose that makes my flesh crawl.”
Sean made a sound in his throat, like a wild animal’s growl. It made her hairs prickle up. “That sick fuck needs to be disemboweled.”
She gaped at him, then forced her mouth to close. “Ah. Thank you, Sean, for putting that lovely image in my head.”
“Sorry,” he murmured. “You haven’t been in town very long?”
“A few months. Ever since I bought the Old Brewery. I just opened the store about six weeks ago.” Her voice quivered again. “It was going well. It was a great location. I had the college crowd, the writing workshops at the Arts Center, and they’ve been spiffing up the historic downtown for the tourists, too. It would have paid off. I’m sure of it.”
“So am I,” he said. “I’m sure it still will.”
He was just humoring her, but it was all rushing out, dignity be damned. “I always wanted to do this. Always, since I was a little girl.” Her voice was almost defiant. “Bookstores are my favorite places. They’re like wonderland. Endless goodies. A candy shop for the mind.”
“It’s good to know what you want to do,” he said. “You’re lucky.”
“Lucky?” A bitter laugh hurt her. She looked around herself. “Excuse me? You call this lucky?”
“You’ll get past this,” he said. “It would take more than a can of kerosene to keep you down, Liv. This is just a blip on your screen.”
She felt her spine straighten, her chin go up, her lungs fill. His words gave her a jolt of energy and pride. She didn’t dare examine the feeling too closely. She might kill it, and she needed all the help she could get. “I did a lot of renovating myself,” she hurried on. “I’ve studied woodworking. I can handle big power tools. You name it, I can use it.”
“Wow.” His eyes widened, impressed.
“Yeah, my folks about had kittens. And there was the café. Picking out fixtures, bar equipment. Ordering books. I was in hog heaven. I’m so deep in debt, it’s not even funny, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t give a shit.”
“Good for you,” he said gently.
“I painted the murals in the children’s corner myself, did you know that? Of course you didn’t. What a silly question. Why would you?”
She was barely making sense, at this point, but Sean was taking it in stride, his face calm and attentive. She rubbed furiously at her eyes. “They turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself,” she said, voice wobbling. “Scenes from fairy tales. I’m no Leonardo Da Vinci, but those murals weren’t half bad. They really weren’t.”
“I’m sure they were beautiful. I’m sorry I never got to see them.”
Oh, God. His words were so exactly what she had needed to hear.
Her parents had seemed hardly surprised by the disaster. What did she expect, when she went against their well-meant advice? They’d been tapping their feet, waiting for her to fail from the beginning.
One crumb of genuine sympathy, and she fell right to pieces.
She covered her face with one hand and fished with the other one in her pocket for tissues. All that was left were wet, soggy wads. Bleah.
She would stay like this forever. A cautionary tale for unwary entrepreneurs. Birds could come to roost on her. She didn’t care.
Sean’s warm hand came to rest tentatively on her shoulder. Awareness sparkled through her nerves at the gentle contact, and the sobbing eased down. Startled into hiding, no doubt. She peeked over her hand. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a tissue? I’m leaking.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was full of regret. “I’m not the kind of guy who carries packs of tissue around.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled. She couldn’t use her too short, too tight shirt to blot her face without flashing her bare tits to Sean McCloud and the rest of the Endicott Falls business district, but hey, why not offer the gawkers a final act of public indecency to round off the day’s array of entertainments? It was just that kind of a day.
She blinked to bring her vision into focus, and sucked in a bubbly gasp of shock. Holy crap. Sean McCloud was pulling his shirt off. Right out here, in front of God and everyone. Talk about public indecency.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
He stopped partway through the act, the tight microfiber shirt jerked up high enough to show off his thick, broad, muscle-bound chest.
Oh, man. Amazing. The tight brown oblongs of his nipples adorned hard, cut pecs. His fuzz of bronze hair thickened into a treasure trail over his washboard belly, vanishing into jeans that hung low on lean hips. Hard muscles moved beneath the gold skin of his abdomen. A jagged scar gleamed silvery, on his side. She wrenched her gaze away.
“It’s clean,” he said earnestly. “Just out of the dryer. And I took a shower and smeared perfumed goop over myself,” he checked his watch, “just three hours ago. Use it for a handkerchief. Go ahead. Please.”
