Page 21 of That Rush

He keeps his eyes on mine while Josie chatters between us, and the quiet reassessment in his expression makes something low and warm uncurl in my stomach.

Apparently, Aiden Slade has decided I might know what I’m doing.

Josie stays in the reading nook until she finishes the first chapter, then races toward the checkout desk to announce the development to everyone within hearing distance.

“The horse can talk, but only to the princess.” She clutches the book against her chest. “Her dad thinks she made him up.”

“That seems inconvenient.”

“It’s very inconvenient,” she agrees.

Aiden follows at a slower pace with her backpack hanging from two fingers and the discarded books tucked beneath his arm. He's more relaxed now, though his eyes remain fixed on Josie as she climbs onto the stool in front of the counter.

His gaze tracks her every move. Her feet swinging beneath the stool. The backpack strap dragging near the floor. She keeps one hand pressed over the horse on the cover, as if someone might take it from her.

That attentiveness makes it harder to hold on to my irritation.

“Library card, please,” I say.

Josie beams as she hands it over. “Daddy didn’t remember which pocket.”

“I remembered eventually,” Aiden says.

“I told you.”

“You told me it was in the backpack. That only narrowed it down to twelve pockets.”

She looks at me. “He forgets things.”

I laugh despite myself. “I noticed.”

Aiden places the other books beside my keyboard, then rests one large hand on the counter. His fingers are long, his knuckles scraped, and a pale line crosses the heel of his palm. They are strong working hands, and my gaze lingers until I turn to the computer screen to keep him from catching me.

I scan the book and slide it back to Josie. “Three weeks, though I suspect you’ll finish it before then.”

“I’m going to finish it tonight.”

Aiden leans against the counter. “That is why bedtime exists.”

“Bedtime is for sleeping.”

His mouth twitches. “Thank you for clarifying.”

Josie hops down and moves toward a display of bookmarks. Aiden watches until she is a few feet away, then turns back to me.

“I owe you an apology.”

His voice is lower when he is speaking only to me. Rougher too, though that may be my imagination getting unnecessarily involved.

“For which part?”

“The part where I was rude to you while you were helping my daughter.”

“Excellent choice. I had others in mind.”

“I figured.” His gaze holds mine. “I was worried about her, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

He offers no defense and makes no attempt to charm his way around it. He owns what he did, and the honesty is annoyingly effective.