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The impressionof Duncan’s lips on my hand tormented me with every step I took. We walked together along Eureka Springs’ sidewalks, stopping at an antique shop, a quilt shop, and a comedy club. We even paused at the approach of a psychic reader who offered to foretell my future.
I wanted to ask the psychic what the heck was going on with my boss and me because things between us were changing so rapidly, I could hardly keep up.
He’d never shown this much emotion on the surface. He’d wielded the tougher, masculine, manly emotions and brandished them like weapons at every one of his business ventures. But when it came to matters of the heart, Duncan kept those close.
And yet, he was showing them to me now. That fact endeared him to me more than I wanted to admit.
I found myself softening toward him even more. First, his thoughtfulness toward me, now this new realization. Duncan cared about things. He’d worked hard at his business the best way he knew how; he’d donated to charities just like his parents had. Little pieces I’d always noticed but had never paid much attention to before started clicking into place.
I’d accused him of wanting to buy others’ affections, but a new thought crossed my mind. I’d read this book once, about love languages and the ways people expressed and received love.
“I think you’re a gifts kind of guy,” I said as we passed a large window labeling the beautiful brick building asThe New Orleans Hotel.The building did, in fact, look like something that belonged in New Orleans, with its multi-level brick interrupted by balconies above.
“What does that mean?”
“That’s how you show you care. You like to buy things for people. I’m sorry about what I said before. I guess I always thought you thought you could just buy your way into anything, that having more than someone else was a power struggle for you, but that’s your love language. Giving gifts.”
He scowled. “You say that like there are other…love languages.”
“Sure,” I said. “There’s acts of service. Physical touch. Quality time. Mine is words of affirmation.”
“Words of…what?”
“I like to be told I’m pretty. Please and thank you. To be complimented when I do a good job.”
“You do a good job,” he said. “No—you do agreatjob.”
I tucked my lips between my teeth, trying to ward off the unexpected heat in my chest and face. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“I’m serious.” He paused near a sidewalk sandwich board. Its white painted frame surrounded a chalkboard on which the words “It’s the little things” were scrawled with calligraphy.
The neighboring shop was labeledLittle Things Souvenirs and Gifts.Duncan gestured to it, opening the door and waiting for me to enter first.
“I could tell after a single day that I’d never find a woman as capable as you.”
He’d complimented me when he’d given me the flute earlier, but I didn’t know how to accept it now any better than I did then.
“If coffee-making is my only skill, then that compliment is severely lacking.”
He scowled again at the contents on the tables, hands in his pockets, an internal battle taking place inside. What was bothering him so much?
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.” I didn’t want him to close up. Not again.
He turned toward me and opened his mouth. Then he clamped his teeth shut. After shaking his head, he gave in to whatever was going on inside.
“I know I mentioned the other woman couldn’t handle my coffee, but there were more issues than that. She didn’t organize the papers on my desk or open the blinds in my office, so the sunlight spilled in. She didn’t turn my plant three-quarters, so the other leaves got their fair share of light.”
My cheeks heated even more. “I never knew you paid so much attention.”
“She didn’t have a breakdown of my day ready for me.”
“How could she have known to do that if she didn’t plan your schedule the day before?”
“She didn’t greet others in my office even though they said nasty things to her behind her back. She didn’t answer the phone pronouncing herself as my assistant.”
