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But she is in the office with a stack of bills and invoices.
So, I sip my tea, swirl the lightly sweet, floral flavors on my tongue, admire the man outside, and pretend to tend to the flowers at the front of the store. Flowers that need no organization whatsoever.
When lunchtime approaches, Devlyn steps inside. Perspiration glistens his brow, his temples, the line of his jaw, his philtrum, and I forget how to use words in the correct order. At least I stop myself from speaking early enough. No need to embarrass myself further. My hot cheeks have already done more than enough.
“I’m ordering lunch,” he says before dabbing his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “Would you like anything?”
The leftover spaghetti I stowed in the fridge calls out. Tells me I should save my money and not waste food. Whispers that I should gracefully decline his offer. Especially since I need to save every penny with the shop purchase next year.
“I… uh…” I fumble for the answer.No, thank yousits on the tip of my tongue, yet the muscle won’t curl properly to say the words.Dammit.
“It’s my treat,” he adds, a half smile pushing up the corner of his perfect lips and tempting me further.
My cheeks heat and I tuck my lips between my teeth. The action does nothing except make my embarrassment more evident.
Way to go, Shelly. He probably thinks you’re batshit.
Get it together. Jesus. Take a deep breath, thank him and carry on.
“You don’t have to buy lunch. I brought leftovers.” I point toward the back, where our office-slash-break room resides.
Many moons ago, the shop was a house. But when the streets widened and the neighborhood became more commercial than residential, some of the houses turned into small businesses. At first, it was odd seeing houses turn into real estate agencies and restaurants and veterinary offices, but it didn’t take long to become normal.
When Elizabeth purchased the building, it still had many of the interior walls. The previous owner ran a beauty salon. Hair, nails, facials. They may have had a massage room too. Completely understandable why the previous owner wanted the separate rooms.
Elizabeth had a vision when this place became hers. To have it as open and airy as a field. To make the atmosphere inviting. For the business to not look like an old home, but a unique storefront. Slowly but surely, she brought her vision to life. Watching the changes, small as they were, happen over the years has been wonderful. And I am so fortunate to have such an amazing business to step into when it changes hands.
The only original walls Elizabeth left intact were ones for a bedroom, bathroom, and the short hall leading to the garage. Now, the bedroom is the office-slash-break room—the bathroom en suite—and the garage is set up for storage and cooler space. All other walls were removed. Beams were erected to stabilize the ceiling wherever necessary. But now, over two thousand square feet are an open, usable storefront.
“Will they last another day?” I scrunch my brow, confused.What were we talking about?“Your leftovers,” he clarifies, deepening that small half smile.
Right.Dumbass.“Oh, yeah. Probably. It’s just spaghetti.”
“Then eat it tomorrow. Let me get you lunch today.”
Three. Freaking. Letters. Say yes. You know you want to eat lunch with him. Not just to sneak closer looks, but maybe to strike up a conversation. One where you use your words. In order. And not too quickly.
Say it!
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Lunch would be nice. Thank you.”
He retrieves his phone from his back pocket, unlocks it, and scrolls. All the while, I simply stare at him. Watch as he hunches over the phone, the thumb of one hand scrolling while a finger of the other hand presses his lips.Oh, to be that finger.His head pops up and heat hits my cheeks at being caught.
He simply smiles.
“Sandwiches or sushi?” I laugh a little too hard and he leans closer. His scent hits my nose and I stop laughing. Remind myself to breathe, slow and steady breaths.God, he smells good.“Maybe over lunch, you can tell me why that’s so funny.”
Suddenly, lunch feels like a date. But I don’t know Devlyn. Not really. Not that I knew the guys I dated either. So I brush off the notion and think of it as two friends eating a meal together. Like I would with Gavin or Jonas or one of the guys from the tattoo shop.
“Sandwiches. And yes, I’ll let you in on the joke.”
Devlyn picks a delicatessen two miles up the street and we both choose sandwiches. He asks what Elizabeth likes and I give him her typical order.
See, Shelly. Just friends. He’s buying Elizabeth food too.
He places the order for delivery, then says the food will arrive in a half hour.
The next thirty minutes take hours to pass.
