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Before he could talk himself out of a potentially bad idea, he drove to PB Coffee Shop and picked up two iced coffees and a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies in a clear bag marked with the Shore to Please logo. One of the things he’d forgotten about his hometown was how local businesses supported each other by selling each other’s products in select stores. It was common to find items like pastries, candy, and saltwater taffy in a coffee shop or market.
Back in his truck, Connor drove into the lot behind Erickson Arcade and parked. Grabbing the coffees and cookies, he walked up the ramp to the boardwalk and over to Abby’s store. As he raised his hand to knock, a loud crash came from the other side of the door.
Abby had always been a clumsy kid with more scrapes and cuts on her legs and arms than her sisters. Her mom used to laugh and say it was a good thing she was a nurse, because all three of her daughters kept her in a regular state of applying bandages and antibiotic ointment.
Now, as Abby lay halfway in the tray of paint, the ladder half covering her, she wondered if she’d made a wrong decision about starting her own business. Clearly, she couldn’t do something as basic as paint. How could she sell her products to customers?
She scooted off the paint tray and did her best to slide out from under the ladder. Difficult, given her shorts and the right side of her lower half were drenched in paint.
Could her day get any worse?
The door jingled as it opened, and Connor appeared in the doorway. He wore a navy-blue Maguire Brothers Renovations T-shirt with khaki cargo shorts. With his hair windblown, like he’d driven with the windows down, he carried two iced drinks and a bakery bag.
She lifted her head to the sky and wondered what she’d done in life to make her have the worst luck in the world.
“Whoa, you all right?” Tossing his purchases on the counter, he hurried to remove the ladder from her.
Abby pushed a stray hair out of her face. “I’m fine. Just a new way I found to paint.”
“Uh huh.” He offered his hands to help her up.
She hesitated.
“Jesus, Abby.”
Expelling the breath she’d been holding, she let him take her hands, nearly jumping at the spark from his touch.
As he guided her to her feet, she swayed, and he placed his hands on her waist to steady her. At five feet eight, she stood only a few inches shorter than him, which lined up their bodies perfectly. And right now, standing close to him, her body responded to being pressed up against his deliciously firm one.
Traitor.
When her legs buckled, he pulled her more firmly against him. It was impossible not to feel his arousal, and despite her own good sense—which was clearly on break—she lifted her eyes to meet his. The green irises bored into hers, dark with desire, and her arms naturally held on to his shoulders for support.
God, she’d forgotten how good it felt in his arms. All she had to do was lift her chin a fraction of an inch and she’d be able to taste him. The thought of pressing her mouth to his ignited a fiery desire within her.
His lips parted, as though he was going to kiss her.
Then he did something unexpected.
He leaned his forehead against hers—as though he was trying to gain control—before taking a deep breath and stepping back, keeping a loose hold on her waist.
“What happened to you not using a ladder?” he asked.
The distance and lack of his warmth against her was like being hit by an unexpected wave, and Abby pulled away, further separating her from his hold.
“Nat had been using it when she was here earlier. It fell onto me when I slid in paint.” Now her face flushed with embarrassment. Not only had she fallen—again—she was covered in paint and had almost kissed Connor.
The day kept getting better and better.
“Why don’t you get changed while I clean up here?”
She opened her mouth, prepared to argue, but gave up, since he’d started wiping the sodden plastic. Hobbling to the back room, she made her way to the area where the washer and dryer were located. When she’d first seen the space, the realtor mentioned the past owner had a toddler and installed a tiny laundry room on the main level to save her from running up and down the stairs all day.
Abby hadn’t been living there more than a couple of months and had found it came in handy when cleaning up spills from making her products. The downside was that she had a tendency to forget to bring her clean clothes upstairs and often had to come downstairs in a towel to get underwear.
She pulled off her shorts and tossed them into the washbasin next to the appliances. Turning on the water, she rubbed at the paint, pleased to see it washing away. After wringing them out and hanging them over an empty basket, she used a washcloth to wipe at the paint on her legs.
She’d turned off the water and was drying her legs when her name was called. She opened her mouth to tell him to give her a minute, but it was too late.
