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The masculine voice behind me can be no one else but Smitty. I've been making some stops in town on the way back to the ranch this morning to see what of decorations I can get my hands on for Sam and Wren's wedding. It turns out this mom and pop place is even better than the chain party stores I sometimes lean on when I'm squeezed for time.
My face goes completely starry-eyed when I turn to watch my cowboy friend reach up and fetch me the spool of the good tulle that I need. His eyes squint, giving the impression that being indoors and looking directly into fluorescent lighting is harsher than sunlight. What is he doing here? I thought he had ranch chores to do in the mornings.
"Ma'am," he says with a nod, handing it over.
"Thanks," I reply. "They should provide step stools if they're gonna put the good tulle on the top shelf."
One side of his mouth turns up and my gaze zeroes in on the whiskers right there. "They could, but then I wouldn't have the honor of helping you get your tools."
"Oh, not tools. Tulle. T-u-l-l-e. It's this." I point out the gauzy soft material on the spool. "But very cool of you not to think it was weird I was calling fluffy wedding decorations 'tools.' You're very kind."
"Oh, I see. My mistake. Wedding nomenclature is not my strong suit."
How badly do I want to hug him right now for using that word? So bad my arms ache.
"Stop it. You're a great assistant wedding coordinator," I tell him.
Smitty stares down at his boots, his fingers in his belt loops. "Thanks," he says. "You'd be a pretty good ranch worker."
I shake my head because I know this compliment is just him scraping around to think of something to say. After all, he's feeling awkward and I make him nervous. "That's nice of you to say but, no. My skill set is quite limited to party planning and not much use around a ranch."
Smitty looks up and looks me in the eye. "Me, I'm just good at getting things from the top shelf, so together maybe we make something productive."
We both nervously look away when the double meaning hits us at the same time. My face feels hot. As a rule, guys don't make me blush. The guys that hit on me at weddings are usually half-drunk and don't mean half of what they are saying. This guy is dangerously close to making me catch real feelings for him.
A scratchy voice squawks over the store loudspeaker, something about needing additional cashiers to the front.
"So…things not busy on the ranch today?"
Again, his eyes go to his boots and then back up to me. "I sorta…got done early so you could dominate the rest of the day," he says. I watch as his cheeks demonstrate a time-lapsed tomato ripening. My god, someone put this boy out of his misery.
My dopey grin has nowhere else to go; I have to let it out. "Dominate? Sounds delightful."
"That's not what I meant," he says, rubbing his eyelids with his thumbs.
"It's OK!" I say reassuringly. "It was meant to be. I needed you, obviously." I wave the tulle in the air to remind him of how necessary he is.
"I meant to say I enjoyed meeting you in person, and I enjoyed your company, and I'm happy to be of service," he explains, his fingers seemingly trying fruitlessly to wipe away his fierce blush.
I'm still smiling; my hand goes to his arm to steady myself. "How are you allowed to be so adorable?"
"I…uh…"
"I mean it."
He steps away from me to make room for a shopping cart being pushed by a harried mother with two toddlers climbing the basket. I watch as he nods and tips his hat to the mom, giving her an encouraging smile. Oh my god. I can't handle how pure this man is. I don't think I've
ever witnessed anyone behaving this conscientiously toward other people. Well, anyone except my Gramps.
And then he tips his hat at the little kids.
How? How is he still single?
You know the answer to that, Campbell. Because he's yours. Now go and get him.
Shut up, I say to my lizard brain. I don't want to spook him. What if he's one of those emotionally unavailable dudes, just like the rest? What if he's one of those guys who "doesn't like to put a label on things"? You don't know what you're getting into.
After the mom and kids pass, he turns back to me, and all embarrassment seems to be gone. His shoulders are square and a look of determination has taken over his countenance. "Where were we?"
