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By contrast, I never buy a new pair of shoes unless they’re versatile and sensible enough to wear with just about every outfit in my closet.
Actually, I don’t really have “outfits.”
I just have clothes.
Owen’s wearing his uniform. A pair of navy blue pants with a tucked in navy T-shirt and red suspenders. I’m guessing this is what Liz told him to wear, and it summons all kinds of feelings inside me. Not because of how he looks in it, but because it reminds me of his job—which reminds me of the way he saved me—which reminds me of the cleanup day he organized just to be kind.
And also because of how he looks in it.
Well, crap.
There’s no way around it. The crush is back. Full force. Which means I not only lied to Mack about it, I lied to myself. It not only feels like it never went away, it feels like it intensified. Back then, I wouldn’t have thought it possible. . .
Now I know better.
My fingers tingle at the realization.
Liz walks over to me. “So, Emaline—”
“You can call me Emmy,” I say, forcing myself to smile.
“Emmy.” She clasps her hands in front of her mouth. “Adorable.”
I glance at Owen. He’s standing off to the side looking like he wants to do this even less than me, and all at once I’m not sure either of us is going to be able to relax.
It’s also slightly disconcerting that he seems so miserable about having his photo taken with me.
“Okay, you two,” Liz says. “I love that we’re doing this in Emmy’s bookshop—love to give a local small business a little extra exposure. What I’m picturing is the two of you in the aisle over here with bookshelves on either side of you, maybe Emmy, you leaning up against one, Owen, you with a hand on the shelf behind her, facing her? Sort of a ‘stolen moment in the stacks’ kind of feel?”
Nobody moves.
“Okay?” Liz’s eyebrows shoot up, like she’s trying to lead the witness.
Objection!
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds good.”
She turns to Owen. “You okay? You look like you’re going to throw up.” She laughs. “This will be painless, I promise.”
Owen grunt-mumbles a response.
“Great.” She glances at the photographer, a woman I heard Char call Godiva, but who nobody has introduced me to. They seem to be communicating, and I think they’re worried. I’m worried too. When she was doing my hair, Char told me to “just relax and be natural.” I don’t think she realized that for me, those two things were in direct opposition to each other.
I think I’m going to be really bad at this.
We all move out of the coffee shop area of the store and toward the books, which happens to be my favorite part of my shop. Godiva has set up lighting around the space where they’ll have us stand, and as awkward as this whole thing makes me feel, it’s a great backdrop.
Surrounded by books, what could be better?
Owen’s lips an inch from mine, that’s what.
“Your shop is cool,” Owen says as he comes alongside me.
Liz is chatting with Godiva to set up the perfect background for our shot, giving Owen and me a brief second alone.
A stolen moment in the stacks.
“Thanks. I am cool.” I keep my eyes straight ahead, as if I’m driving up the side of the mountain and don’t want to veer off of a cliff.
