Page 44 of That Rush

“Every single one.”

She marches toward the booth as if the success of the entire event depends on her.

Aiden looks at me. “Good delegation.”

“Children’s librarian.”

“Bossy.”

“Says the man who arrived thirty seconds ago and took over my delivery.”

“You gave me the boxes.”

After the conversation at the library, I should stop being surprised when he pays attention to my wording. He carries the first load to the booth, returns for two more, then angles his chin toward the remaining pair.

“Those too?”

“Yes, please.”

He waits instead of deciding he knows better, then does exactly what I requested. It’s a small correction, and my stomach does something ridiculous in response.

By the time I join him, Josie has placed bookmarks on the chairs, the table, and one corner of the sidewalk.

“I had extras,” she says.

“Excellent use of resources.”

Aiden crouches beside the folding display rack, which has chosen today to develop a drunken lean. He tests the hinge, pulls a multi-tool from his pocket, and tightens something underneath.

“You carry that everywhere?” I ask.

“I work on a ranch.”

“Do cows require tiny screwdrivers?”

“Constantly.”

I laugh, and his eyes lift to mine. He holds my gaze, and for a second I’m back in the library stacks, his body close to mine, the almost-kiss a breath away.

He rises and grips the side of the repaired display. “The ground is flatter near the front. Can I move this?”

“You think it needs to move?”

“I think it’ll tip when people start pulling books from the top shelf. Your booth, your call.”

The reminder is deliberate, and I feel a flicker of reluctant respect.

I point toward the open space beside the table. “Put it there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think I liked it better when you called me ‘lady.’”

His eyes sharpen with amusement. “You liked arguing with me.”

“I still do.”

“I’ve noticed.”