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Candice looks like she’s trying not to laugh. Simone isn’t even trying—she just cackles into the box. I’m mostly trying not to have my whole head burst into flames from blushing so hard.
“Have you been moping?” a deep voice says near my shoulder.
I scream.
Mac chuckles, his eyes sparkling when I turn to see him standing there. Stillness settles over the ladies at the table, the sound of crinkling paper and clinking pottery going suddenly quiet. My skin feels too tight. I have visions of Mac’s hands doing delicious things to me, and now is not the right time to be having those kinds of visions.
I need to say something. Mac is right here, and he just asked me a question. Stop looking at his lips. Oh, God, he just licked them. Did I just have a mini orgasm? Stop looking at his mouth. “No! I haven’t been moping. I’ve been busy.” I’ve been real busy in the twelve hours since he had his hands down my pants. Since I had my mouth—
“Oh, please.” Agnes snorts.
Dorothy, in an act that defies the blood feud the two women have maintained for many decades, lets out a loud belly laugh. “She’s got you there, honey,” she tells me.
My cheeks are burning. I close my eyes for a beat, try to regain control over my rioting body, and finally meet Mac’s gaze again. “You…made…pottery?” I thrust my thumb toward the box.
Smooth.
Fiona walks over from behind the counter. “Remember, I mentioned it after our pottery masterclass? I ordered all new crockery for the café from Mac.” She shakes Mac’s hand, and even though I know she’s about to be married a couple of months from now, a spear of jealousy still pierces my gut.
There’s something wrong with me. This is out of control.
Mac isn’t in his pottery-making garb. He’s all motorcycle badass now, in black jeans and boots with a worn tee hugging every strong plane of his chest.
When did my mouth get so dry?
I clear my throat. “Oh, you ordered all new mugs for the café. Of course.” I nod at Fiona. “I remember now. It’s great that you guys promote local artisans so much.” Is this how small talk works? Am I doing it right? Does my smile look weird? What do I do with my hands? When did it get so hot in here?
“I was actually hoping I could grab someone to help me with the rest of the first order. If you’re happy with the samples, that is.” Mac glances at Fiona, who nods.
“Couldn’t be happier. It’s got the stamp of approval from the ladies who matter most, doesn’t it?” Fiona looks at the table behind her.
Dorothy beams. “Fantastic work, Mr. Blair. And oh, I wish I could help you with bringing the pottery over to the café, but look at the time!” She glances at her bare wrist. “I need to go see Margaret. We’re meeting Hamish at the Grove. Agnes?”
“Well, what do you know? I’m parched. I need a drink. I’ll come with you.”
“I’ve got work to do,” Simone says with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m late for a deadline.”
“Allie’s waiting for me at home,” Candice throws in.
“I’ve got to watch the chicklets,” my mother calls out, nodding to Katie and Toby.
Glancing at Fiona, I realize what’s happening. They’re setting me up.
“I have to stay here, I’m afraid,” Fiona says with a mournful look. “Someone needs to work the till.” She starts walking away and says over her shoulder, “Trina, would you mind helping Mac out?”
Yes, I would mind. I stare at the ladies, feeling utterly betrayed.
Do they not realize how much this man ties my stomach in knots by his mere presence?
Evidently not, because with barely a word of goodbye, Dorothy and Agnes are out the door and heading toward the hotel. Fiona is walking back to the counter, and Simone and Candice are avoiding my death stares by carrying the box of pottery back toward the kitchen. My mother winks at me, then walks over to the kids’ table and gives Katie a kiss on the top of her head. She says something to the kids, who call out goodbyes without looking up.
Looks like they’ll survive without me.
Heart thumping, I turn to Mac. “I guess that leaves you and me.”
“Lucky me.”
I blush, but secretly, I’m delighted. I gesture to the door. “Lead the way.”
