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A positive note on which to end an already awesome day.
CHAPTER TEN
Daff watched Spencer approach her shop the following afternoon and wondered if he was bringing lunch. It seemed pointless, since it was Saturday and they would both be closing shop in half an hour. They could go to MJ’s or something instead. Like they had just a week ago. She shook her head, unable to believe how much things had changed, not just with Spencer but in her life over the last seven days.
“Hi, there,” she greeted with a small smile when he finally stepped into the shop. He wasn’t carrying any bags, so he definitely wasn’t bringing lunch. He looked a little green around the gills, and she laughed. “A bit hungover today, are we?”
“Hmm.” He sat down on his favorite chair and folded his arms on the counter, resting his head on them for a brief moment.
“I have some aspirin if you think that will help,” she offered, hoping she sounded sympathetic. She definitely didn’t feel sympathetic—she really just wanted to laugh. The man looked pathetic.
“Had some already,” he grunted, lifting his head with effort to look at her.
“How did you manage to get through the day like this?”
“Claude took care of everything,” he said succinctly. “I hid in my office all morning.”
“For the love of his thighs, give that man a raise. He sounds like a saint.”
“Oh, it’s in the cards. Raise and promotion.”
“Doesn’t he already hold the highest position you can give at your store?”
“I’ve got some stuff in the pipeline. Will tell you when I can think straight.”
“You done for the day?” Keeping her curiosity at bay. What stuff?
“Fuck yeah. I was just dead weight anyway.”
“Lunch?”
“Hmm. Later. Will you go somewhere with me first?”
“Where?”
“Just a place I want to show you. I want your opinion. Please?”
“Yes, of course. I’m closing in twenty-five minutes.” He snorted and looked around the empty shop pointedly.
“Close early. What’re they gonna do? Fire you?”
“I’ve never closed early,” she huffed. “Not once since I’ve been the manager here, and I’m not about to ruin my perfect record now.”
“Fine. Wake me up when you’re ready to go.”
“God, you’re such a baby. I drank last night, too, you know? You don’t see me whining about it.”
“Ten-minute nap. It’s all I need . . .” His voice trailed off and the last word was followed by a light snore. She gaped at him, unable to believe that he’d fallen asleep just like that. She’d pay money to have that talent.
She shook her head and went back to her seat next to the till, digging out her romance novel—which she’d made very little progress on since Monday—and tried to concentrate on her reading. It was a lost cause. All she did was contemplate the top of his head and marvel at how shiny and silky that mane looked. Her eyes trailed down to the side of his face, the only part visible to her. The way his narrow, neatly trimmed sideburns met the line of stubble that darkened the lower half of his face. All uniformly short except for the ever-so-slightly darker patch beneath the center of his bottom lip, where his razor hadn’t done as meticulous a job. Her eyes lingered on his mouth. He had the most beautifully shaped lips she’d ever seen on a man. Gorgeous, sulky curve on the bottom lip and the deep, shadowed groove of his pronounced philtrum with its accompanying thin Cupid’s bow upper lip. Her eyes moved up from his mouth over the sharp, straight blade of his nose, that dimpled, lean left cheek—the only one visible to her—to his closed eye. His thick lashes were so long they cast shadows over the blunt curve of his cheekbone.
For a man who looked half-savage most of the time, he had surprisingly refined features. His heavy brows and deep-set eyes were what gave him that intense, untamed look, and when his hair was longer it definitely added to the image.
His eye cracked open, and he pinned her with a penetrating look. His gorgeous green eye looked somewhat bloodshot.
“I can feel you staring at me,” he accused.
“Just wondering if you shaved this morning. This stubble is out of control.” His eye slid shut again.
“Hmm.” For a moment she thought that was all she would get, but he continued, “My five o’clock shadow tends to make an appearance at about nine thirty every morning. I should probably just embrace the beard.”
“No, don’t,” she said so quickly she nearly sprained her tongue, and his eyelid lifted with seemingly great difficulty.
“Why not?”
“You’ll look completely primitive with a beard, Spencer,” she began derogatively, before stopping herself and adding honestly, “and you have a great jawline. Why hide it?”
“You think so?”
“Definitely.”
“Stop interrupting my snooze.”
“You only have fifteen minutes left.”
“I’ll make it a power nap.”
“So where are we going?” she asked twenty minutes later. They were in his truck. He looked surprisingly refreshed after the short nap he’d taken at the boutique. Daff was still confounded by his ability to fall asleep seemingly on command. Who did that?
