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I grab a broom from the back closet and head to the front then begin sweeping the area where the table I just loaded up used to be. Time to do some rearranging then look at the pieces I have waiting in the shop to fill the empty space.
Out of my peripheral vision, I catch sight of a blonde head of hair walking past my window, and I jerk my head to the side, though my shoulders dip slightly when I realize it’s theothersuper blonde Mitchell, Bellamy, walking down the street holding hands with Rusty Fuller. Sighing, I sweep up the collected dust and take it to the trash in the back then return the broom to its spot.
“Hey, Heather, I’m gonna head back to the shop,” I say, looking to my store manager. “Gimme a call if you need anything before close, okay?”
She beams at me. “Sounds good. Thanks, Reid.”
I spin and step through the back door, back into the alley that stretches behind all the Main-facing stores, heading back toward my warehouse. I spot Busy at the end of the path, walking away from me over to the trash bins at the end of the lane, carrying a stack of cardboard.
I’ve been thinking of nothing else but our kiss since it happened. The taste of her tongue, the plump heaven of her lips, the way it felt to hold her in my arms and press her against me. Kissing her was one of the most gratifying moments of my life.
And the greatest mistake I could ever make.
It’s one thing to imagine how it would feel to hold a woman you have developed feelings for in your arms. It’s quite another to hold her and then have to let her go.
Busy chucks the cardboard into a large green bin then dusts off her hands before she spins around to head back, her movements easy and relaxed, until her eyes lock with mine. She freezes for a second, like a scared cat, before she waves and gives me that fake smile.
“Hi, Reid. You surviving the heat?” she asks as we come to a stop right outside the back door of the bookstore.
I nod. “Barely.”
Busy laughs. “Same. The forecast says it should dip again in a few days.”
“I’m hoping for a summer storm to break the humidity some.”
She clasps her hands together. “That sounds amazing. I hope you’re right.”
We stand there silently for a beat or two before she speaks again.
“Well, good to see you.”
I nod. “You, too.”
She walks past me and tugs open the door, heading back inside.
It’s been two weeks since our kiss, and it’s also been two weeks since things between us have felt the way they used to. Casual. Comfortable. Busy is friendly, sure—I think it’s just in her nature—but the ease isn’t there anymore.
Our interactions always feel a little forced, a little awkward, a little too much like friends who have caught feelings tiptoeing around each other for the sake of…something, though who the hell knows what. I want to say for the sake of the friendship, but I can feel that slowly sliding away from me. Like so many otherthings, it feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, and I’m not sure there’s much I can do to stop it.
When Nick invites me out for a beer with the guys at The Mitch on Friday night, I reluctantly say yes, knowing I need to get out of the house. When I sit down at a table with him, Jeremiah, Teddy, and Carlos, my hope is that I’ll have a drink or two, laugh a bit, and break out of this weird funk I’ve been in for the past few weeks.
But two drinks becomes three, then four, and before I know it, my inhibitions are much, much lower.
And then Busy Mitchell walks through the door.
My eyes dip down to where she’s wearing those cowboy boots and then slowly rise, taking in her frayed jean skirt and tight top that dips just enough in the front to hint at the tits I’ve been hyperaware of since that night on the dock. She doesn’t see me as she strolls across the bar with both of her sisters, and for that I’m actually grateful. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle seeing that fake smile aimed my way again. Not today.
It feels like my brain is split in two as I try to keep my attention at the table while simultaneously staying constantly aware of her as she moves about the room.
“Reid.”
My eyes zip over to Nick, who is watching me intently.
“Yeah.”
“You look like you’re a million miles away,” he says, chuckling, but I see the layer of concern there, too.
“Sorry, man. Just a lot on my mind,” I say. And it’s true. There’s always a lot on my mind.
