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“Two of the old school and some new ones my dad refused to acknowledge as part of the franchise.”
“You up for a triple feature?”
He seriously wanted to spend the rest of the day with me?
“Sure.”
“This requires more snacks.”
We replenished the supplies, and I queued upMad Max 2: The Road Warrior.
Gabe stretched his arm out on the sofa behind me, and my stomach did a shimmy. Was this a move? What was happening here?
But he made no attempt to touch me. He seemed to just be trying to get more comfortable.
Right. He’s just your roommate. Chill out and watch the movie.
And somehow, I did.
The afternoon wore on, and the rain continued. But inside, we were warm and cozy and highly entertained by old-school Mel Gibson badassery.
I don’t know how it happened, but by the end ofThunderdome, I found myself sprawled on a pillow in Gabe’s lap. His fingers idly played with my hair in a soothing rhythm, and I was no longer worried about the rain.
As the movie ended, I rolled to my back and looked up at him. He looked down at me, his fingers tangled in my curls. Suddenly, whatever I’d been about to say evaporated, and a fresh tension sparked as my gaze fell to his lips. How would he taste? What could he do with that mouth that held just the faintest hint of a smile?
He wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking. He was probably waiting for me to move, and I was misreading whatever signals I thought he was throwing off.
Swallowing hard, I sat up, and whatever spell I’d beenunder effectively shattered as his hand fell away from my hair. “Thanks for a really great day. I appreciated the distraction.”
“You feel better?” His voice was a rasp, as if he had to work to clear something out of his throat.
“Yeah. And it was nice not to spend the day alone.”
“Same.”
At that, my eyes tracked back to his. In the reflected light of the TV, I couldn’t read the expression there.
“I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I’m expecting a specialty shipment for the shop first thing. I should head up to bed.”
“Yeah. I should probably do the same.”
As my brain started waving pompoms and shouting that we should invite him to come up with us, he switched off the TV.
“I’ll clean up down here. Goodnight, Felicity.”
Right. Just roommates.
“Goodnight, Gabe.” I didn’t let myself look back as I headed up the stairs, regrettably alone.
NINE
GABE
Tuesday afternoon, I parked at the far end of Main Street, two blocks from my destination, because I was on a mission, and I didn’t want to get caught. Stupid, maybe. If Felicity stepped out of her shop for any reason, my work truck was in plain view. But the hardware store was at this end of town. So was Pie Hard. I could come up with an excuse to cover up my true purpose.
Pocketing my keys, I strode down the sidewalk at a brisk pace that telegraphedplaces to be, my head on a swivel but not actually meeting anyone’s eyes. I didn’t want conversation. I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible.
The trees that shaded most of this section of town were just starting to show the first gilding of color on their leaves to go along with cooler temperatures that were finally lasting beyond the wee hours of the morning. Autumn was coming to northeast Alabama. It was the kind of weather that called for ghost stories and camping and long hikes in the mountains. For me, anyway. Felicity would probably say it was sweater and fuzzy sock weather and maybe pull out some kind of suitably witchy-themed decor. I wondered if she was one of the pumpkin spice girls or if she was an apple cinnamon kind of woman. Given therate my renovation of her house was going, I’d get the chance to find out.
