“What can I get for you, hon?” she asked when he took a seat at the counter. Her nametag read “Peggy”.
“Coffee, black.”
“For here or to go?”
“That depends. Is Amy around?”
The older woman looked him up and down, then smiled. “That depends. Who’s asking?”
“Jamie. McCullough. Jamie McCullough.”
For a brief instant, her eyes widened almost unperceptively before she nodded and turned away. He wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that, but when she returned a moment later with a takeout cup and lid, he got it.
Or thought he had.
“It’s on the house. And she’s in the back,” the woman told him, handing him the cup and winking.
Unsure what to expect, he took his cup toward the back room, stuffing the five bucks he had out to pay for his coffee in the donation jar for the local no-kill animal shelter instead. Maybe he’d get himself a dog for companionship. They were supposed to be loyal and loving, right? He made a mental note to check out the condo’s policies on that when he got home later that night.
As he entered the back room – the same one in which he’d done inventory – Amy was leaning over the large, plank-top “desk”, comparing the contents of the two papers she held, one in each hand. When she glanced up, she self-consciously tugged off the half-moon reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. He almost wished she hadn’t, because they were kind of cute in a naughty librarian kind of way.
“Jamie.”
“Amy.”
It struck him then, how their names were so similar. She must have realized it too, because the corners of her lips quirked a little. She straightened to standing, rolling her shoulders in a bit of a stretch. He wondered how long she’d been at it. Though it was still early in the day, she looked tired.
He walked farther into the room, noting the pile of collapsed boxes, the wheeled carts with piles of books, organized by section, and the stacks of boxes yet to be opened.
“How long have you been up?” he asked.
“A while,” she said vaguely. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure. Did you get my voicemail?”
A hesitation before she said, “Yes.”
“You didn’t return my call.”
“No, I didn’t,” she confirmed.
Disappointment surged, but he pressed on. “May I ask why?”
She shifted her weight and looked down at the papers, as if weighing her next words carefully. “You can, but I’m not sure you’ll like the answer.”
Well, that didn’t sound promising. He was half-tempted to just agree with her and leave it at that, but a more insistent part of him wanted more of an answer than that. “Try me.”
“I like you, Jamie.” Here it comes, he thought, inwardly preparing himself for another ego-crushing blow. But several seconds later she hadn’t said anything more.
“But?” he prompted.
She shrugged. “There’s no but. I like you.”
“You like me, and that’s why you didn’t return my call?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not getting it.”
Amy exhaled heavily. “I like you, Jamie. As in like you, like you. The timing sucks, I know. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks, and I get that, but... I don’t want to be just a rebound, you know? I mean, if you want to talk or something, I’m here for you. I’m a good listener, and I can do the friend zone thing. But going to the movies, that’s too much like a date.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, but he wasn’t sure he saw at all.
She shifted again, biting her lip. “So... yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I just didn’t know how to explain that.”
“You did a pretty good job just now.”
She laughed a little, blushing. “Clearly I perform better when put on the spot. Clutch player, remember?”
He smiled at that. “Well, thanks for being honest.”
“I don’t know how to be any other way.”
Jamie looked at his watch, frowning when he saw the time. “I’ve got to get to work.”
She nodded, but her eyes held a note of sadness. “Have a nice day, Jamie.”
“You, too, Amy.”
Jamie made it through his two morning meetings – one a group status, the other, a work session on new business prospects. As the youngest member of the executive team – and the only single male – Jamie was often selected to visit potential new clients, and this time was no different.
It was a compliment, in a way. His boss, a senior partner in the family-owned publishing company, often said that Jamie’s all-American good looks and boyish charm gave them an advantage when trying to sign female authors, who were the fastest growing sector in the marketplace. Now that self-publishing was becoming easier and more popular every day, new authors were no longer beating down the doors for contracts. His firm was being proactive, trying to maintain a solid footing in the rapidly changing industry.
By lunch, the administrative assistant had already made the arrangements. First, he’d fly down to South Carolina to meet with a new indie author who was steaming up the best seller lists. Then to Vegas to represent the company as a traditional/indie hybrid choice at one of the bigger writer conventions for two days.
Jamie was glad to go. Maybe the change of scenery would help ease some of this restlessness he couldn’t seem to shake.
No such luck, though. When he returned a week later, he felt more unsettled than ever. Mostly because of an evening he’d shared with a remarkably bawdy group of romance writers in the Vegas hotel bar and lounge. They were old enough to be his mother (which was slightly disturbing), but they’d taken him under their collective maternal wing when they’d seen him drinking alone at the bar. And, after loosening him up with copious amounts of alcohol, had coaxed the whole sordid story out of him.
They’d cheerfully taken it upon themselves to show him the error of his ways (rather brutally, in fact). A man didn’t propose because a woman met a series of criteria, or because they were compatible. No, they insisted, a man proposed to a woman because he couldn’t bear the thought of being without her.
Then, then, after they’d thoroughly eviscerated him, they’d bonded together and set him on the Path of Enlightenment (their words, not his).
This so-called path consisted of three rather unnerving truths.
The first was revealed after a lot of very personal questions (which he never would have answered had they not plied him with double-shots of Connemara). The ladies concluded that he was more bothered by Celina’s “betrayal” than he was by actually losing her. It was his ego that had been badly bruised, not his heart. (Apparently, this was a common and wholly male offense.)
The second came to light via an intense and serious debate among the women, to which he was more of a spectator than an actual participant. Their subsequent psychoanalysis proved (according to them), that while he and Celina might have been compatible intellectually, they were not meant to be lovers. When he’d asked for clarification, he’d gotten another passionate earful about alpha males and primitive instincts and “the one”.
When he’d laughed at that (not the wisest response amongst the purveyors of happily ever afters), he’d received a whole table’s worth of evil eyes, sadly shaken heads, and clucking tongues, informing him that what happened with Celina was fate’s way of keeping him on the right path. The path that would, they insisted, lead him to the right one.
That was when he’d started telling them about Amy. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe because she was the first one he’d gone to after leaving Kyle’s that day. Maybe because, for those few hours he’d been with her, he’d felt better. Or maybe because he couldn’t stop thinking about her and what she’d said.
That she liked, liked him.
It was then, as a group, that they jovially declared him to be an idiot of the highest order, and proceeded to give him a lecture on e
xactly what he needed to do. He’d forgotten most of it, but the gist remained: get over himself, do it quickly, and don’t let Amy slip away.
Was Amy The One? They seemed to think it was a distinct possibility, based on his drunken confessions. Him? He didn’t know. A couple of weeks ago, he might have thought so, but now his confidence was shaky, at best.
He did like Amy. She was sweet and kind, and he had felt instantly at ease around her. She was easy to talk to and fun to be around. When he was with her, his failures didn’t seem to weigh as heavily upon his shoulders. And when he wasn’t with her, he thought about her. A lot.
It was a good start. One he would be a fool not to build upon.
With that in mind, he began drafting a plan, step by step.
Step One was easy enough. Stopping at Amy’s for coffee became part of his morning routine. Sometimes he saw her, sometimes he didn’t. On those occasions when he did, she’d smile and chat with him if she wasn’t too busy. Amy was nice to everyone, but he liked to think that maybe she smiled at him just a little more, and that her eyes didn’t light up for everyone the way they did for him.
As far as he was concerned, those fifteen minutes were some of the best of his whole day. It got to the point where five minutes after he left, he was already looking forward to the next day.
When he saw the familiar colorful posters suddenly appearing on telephone poles about two weeks later, he moved to Step Two.
“What are you smiling about this morning?” Amy asked suspiciously as she slid a small plate in front of him. Jamie looked down at the contents of the shallow bowl. Not his usual pastry.
“What’s this?”
The color rose in her cheeks. “Non-fat Greek yogurt with fresh berries and organic granola.” At his raised eyebrow, she cleared her throat self-consciously. “Well, I was thinking. Some customers might prefer a healthier alternative to pastries. So I did a bit of research and hit the local farmer’s market.”
“Ah,” he said, trying to hide his grin. “A business decision then.”
“Exactly,” she nodded. “A smart one, I hope.”
It was smart, and not just for the other patrons who might enjoy a healthy alternative to the decadent goodies she usually served. The knowledge that she would do so for him filled him with a sense of ... what, exactly? Pleasure? Triumph? Encouragement?
All of the above.
“It’s good to have options,” he agreed.
“Yeah.” She reached beneath the counter for a spoon. “So what’s got you in such a good mood this morning?
“You mean besides the new healthy breakfast option at my favorite café?”
“Yeah,” she laughed. “You were smiling before you knew about that.”
“Ah, so I was.” He slid the paper, neatly folded into quarters, across the counter.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
He watched her expression. Excitement lit her pretty hazel eyes, mixed in with a healthy dose of curiosity. They scanned the paper, then looked back at him, bemused.
“A flyer for the county fair?”
“Yeah. I haven’t been to one in years. I was thinking maybe I should. Go again, I mean.”
Amy nodded, some of her earlier excitement fading though she retained a pleasant enough smile. “You should. It’s a great time.”
She began to walk away. He let her. He’d seen the question in her eyes, but according to his dedicated staff of personal advisors (three of the romance writers he’d met in Vegas were emailing him daily for updates), a bit of mystery and suspense was a good thing.
“So, what time should I pick you up?” he asked when she’d completed her service loop.
“What?”
“For the fair. Tomorrow. What time?”
“Tomorrow?”
She was so cute. He maintained eye contact while clearly enunciating each word. “Fair. Tomorrow. Saturday. You. Me.”
Amy bit her lip, clearly recalling the conversation they’d had after he’d asked her to the movies. “Jamie...”
“I know what you said, Amy, and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. The truth is, I like being around you. Like your delicious coffee, I find myself wanting more of it.”
She smiled a little at that, though her eyes remained serious. “What about Celina?”
“I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t still hurt. But it hurts less when I’m with you. And before you say it’s a rebound thing, I don’t think it is.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because some very wise ladies informed me otherwise, and told me I’d be a fool to let you get away just because I had my head up my ass.” When her eyes widened, he added ruefully, “Their words, not mine.”
Amy smirked. “Sounds like these ladies know you pretty well. I think I’d like to meet them.”
“You will,” he grinned. “They’re romance writers. I told them about your place, and they thought it sounded wonderful. As a matter of fact, I’ve been tasked with cajoling you into a multi-author book signing event. They’re a meddlesome lot, but very, very persuasive.”
At her questioning look, he added, “Long story. I’ll tell you about it if you agree to go to the fair with me. I even promise to eat a corndog.” He gave a mock shudder. “But only after we’ve ridden all the rides.”
She laughed, but shook her head. “It sounds wonderful, but I can’t.” She waved her hand around. “Book Shoppe, remember?”
“Can’t you get someone else to close for you? All work and no play makes Amy - ”
“- a responsible small business owner,” she finished with a grin. “But... maybe I could close up a little early,” she said slowly. “I mean, a lot of local businesses do that when the fair’s going on.”
“That they do.”
“And business will be slow anyway on Saturday with the battle of the bands. Nothing I can’t handle,” Peggy added helpfully, grinning from ear to ear.
“Peggy! How long have you been eavesdropping?”
“Long enough.”
“All right then,” Amy said, laughing. “Looks like I’m outnumbered. County fair it is. Tomorrow. Four o’clock. With you.”
It was more fun than he’d had in a long, long time. They rode the rides, enjoyed some truly unhealthy but delicious foods, and listened to some good local bands. The first time Jamie took her hand in his, he hadn’t missed the soft gasp that escaped her lips.
But she hadn’t pulled away.
There was only one awkward moment, when they spotted Kyle and Celina. Amy had tugged him rather urgently into the antique tractor tent.
“I didn’t realize you had such a thing for Massey-Fergusons,” he’d teased. He’d followed her gaze and realized the reason behind it. The familiar blade of betrayal sliced through him. Then Amy squeezed his hand and the pain faded as quickly as it had come.
“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she apologized.
“It’s not your fault.” Hell, Birch Falls was a small town, and Kyle was his brother. Deep down, he knew that was more important than his bruised ego, and someday soon he’d face that head on, but not just yet. Not today.
“We can leave,” she said quietly, dropping his hand. Those warm tingles he’d been enjoying all afternoon evaporated, leaving his hand (and the rest of him) feeling bereft.
He quickly reached out and snatched it back, earning himself a wide-eyed look in the process.
“No. I want to stay,” he said, looking into her eyes, realizing he meant it. Then his gaze fell on her lips. Full and dark pink, the lower one was trapped beneath the bite of her upper teeth. Jamie tugged her hand to pull her closer, lowering his head until their lips touched.
Hers were so warm and soft. Sweet. Tasting of cotton candy. And capable of making everything else go away until there was only the two of them.
After her initial surprise, she softened and returned the kiss. The initial jolt he’d felt eased into a less intense, but no less potent current of energy passing between the
m. Only when he groaned did she seem to come to her senses and realize what they were doing. She pushed lightly against his chest and backed away.
“Jamie...”
He blinked rapidly as the noise of the crowd rushed back into his ears. If he thought her eyes were big before, they were now huge.
He knew why she had that panicked look on her face. He was a bit shocked, too. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. It just happened. Even more so, he hadn’t expected it to be like that. Blood surged through his veins. His nostrils flared. His hands itched with the desire to grab her, pull her close and do it again.
But the timing sucked. If only he’d kissed her before they’d seen Celina and Kyle. Now it looked like nothing more than a knee-jerk, rebound reaction.
That’s exactly what she thought, too. He could see it in the way she was shuttering her eyes, putting a silent barrier between them. It was unacceptable.
He decided to draw upon another sliver of advice his romantic advisors had given him (so far, they’d been eerily accurate). Sometimes a woman needs to know that she’s wanted. Don’t allow doubt to gain purchase in her mind.
“Amy,” he said, trying to explain, “I know what that seems like, but it’s not. The raw truth of the matter is, I’ve been wanting to kiss you all afternoon. I’m not going to apologize for it. And unless you can look me in the eye and say you didn’t like it, I can guarantee you it’s going to happen again. And sooner rather than later.”
Outwardly, he maintained his game face, the one that projected confidence and conviction. Inwardly, he held his breath, his heart thumping wildly against the inside of his chest while he waited for her response.
“Okay,” she said finally, tilting her chin up in a show of courage and warning. “But if you break my heart, Jamie McCullough, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Fair enough.” After that kiss, he didn’t think that was going to be an issue. “Now let’s go find a good spot to watch the fireworks.” He held out his hand, and she slipped her much smaller one into it.
Judging by the oohs and aahs of the people all around them, the fireworks show was pretty spectacular. As it was, Jamie barely noticed. The grassy slope was packed, which kept Amy pressed close to his side. For the entire twenty-minute show, he felt the silk of her hair tickling the side of his jaw. Inhaled the sweet and creamy scent of vanilla. Saw the reflection of fireworks sparkling in her eyes.
Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Page 19