by Viv Royce
…
Suntanned, strong… Cleo stared at Mark’s hands. His entire physique suggested he wasn’t a guy who sat in an office all day long. Would he like outdoor running? Maybe they could go for a run together sometime? Within ten minutes, they’d be on the outskirts of Wood Creek, hearing nothing but birdsong. The energy running gave her was amazing, but she always did it alone. To share the experience with someone else…
Nah. Mark probably pushes weights in the gym. Or maybe he even has a stationary bike in his office where he can cycle while making phone calls. Don’t kid yourself into fantasizing that you have anything in common.
The way in which he crinkled that little heart sticker with an almost disgusted gesture reinforced what he was here for. Business. Assessment of whether her ideas sold books.
And of course there were no book sales in sight tonight. The kids were making bookends, so hopefully they would be used for books, but whether those would be purchased at her shop… The bookends might go to support books already in their home or borrowed from the library or given by grandparents living far away who bought them at stores there. That didn’t even matter to her. As long as these wonderful imaginative kids had access to books and the joy of reading.
But that won’t mean anything to Mark. He’s all about sales and figures to prove the value of things.
“Thanks for having me around tonight,” he said softly.
Cleo looked up, not quite sure she’d heard right. His suit has been ruined and he’s grateful for the experience?
Did he mean it in a sarcastic way?
“I used to lead a Boy Scout group. Back when I was in college. The past few years I have been caught up in work and…” He seemed to think a moment. “I lost touch with that side of me.”
“What side of you?”
“The side who likes to build things and get his clothes dirty.”
Really? Cleo bit her lip a moment, not knowing whether to burst out laughing or suppress a groan. In any case, she wasn’t going to hold out hope this meant they had things in common. They didn’t, and that was for the better, because she was definitely not going to like him more than she already did. “I don’t believe for a sec that is an old suit. I hope you can get it dry cleaned.”
Mark shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He startled upright when his phone rang, pulled it from his pocket, and looked at the screen. There was something eager and almost anxious in his look. Could be his girlfriend. Did you really think a gorgeous man like him is single?
Mark swiped to reject the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “That can wait.”
He looked irritated that the call hadn’t been what he expected.
See? There must be some kind of flame somewhere. He’s in love with someone. Remember that before you go thinking about a run with him. There’s no together with Mark.
“Yes, well…” Mark rubbed his hands together as if he tried to recall an earlier point of conversation.
“Do you want a snack?” Cleo pointed at the buffet, which had been plundered by the kids and duly restocked by Mrs. Barton. “The blueberry muffins are delish.”
“Yeah, I’d better have something. I skipped dinner.”
“That’s not good.” She leaned closer to him, concern churning in her stomach. “You’re too busy. You should take time to unwind. Wait a sec.”
She went to the buffet and picked out the biggest blueberry muffin, wrapped it in a napkin, and asked Mrs. Barton for another coffee. As Mrs. Barton poured, she told Cleo, “I told all the kids when they grabbed at the marshmallows to take a tomato or cucumber as well. And they did.” She beamed as if she had conquered Mount Everest.
“Great.” Cleo glanced around her. She bet those tomatoes and cucumbers would show up again in some inventive hiding places.
“There you go.” Mrs. Barton handed her the coffee. “Such a nice young man.”
I know that tone. Run! She gave a skittish smile before walking away as fast as she could with the hot coffee in her hand. The last thing I need is Wood Creek’s matchmaking committee trying to pair me off. She gestured with her head for Mark to follow her out of the room.
In the community center’s hallway, a bench sat beside a model of the town’s old center. She gestured for Mark to sit there and handed him the coffee and muffin. “Break time.”
Outside, it was dark, and the light overhead cast a friendly glow over the empty hallway.
Mark lowered himself onto the bench with a sigh, stretching his legs. His neat leather shoes were covered in sawdust. He smiled up at her. “Come sit with me.”
Cleo hesitated. Was this smart? Being close to him, listening to something he might want to tell her. Wrapping the bad news in some friendly conversation?
“Come on.” He patted the bench beside him. “You need a break as well. I bet you’ve been on your feet all day, too.”
“Right.” She sat down beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. Why does it have to be such a nice guy taking away everything I love?
“It’s my own fault I didn’t have dinner. I did have time for it. I just didn’t feel like it.”
“It can be a chore to eat alone.” Cleo fussed with her bracelet’s clasp. “I do cook for myself, else it would be takeout every day or a banana with chocolate ice cream.”
“I love chocolate ice cream.”
Cleo slowly turned her head and looked at Mark. “Are you here to tell me you won’t consider the shop? Because you have much better options?”
“Not at all.” His brows drew together, and he gave her a probing stare. “Why would you think that?”
“I wondered if you were saying all the nice things…gearing up to bring bad news. You know, create a nice atmosphere first, then…”
“Slip in the dagger.” He shook his head with an impatient, almost disgusted gesture. “I wouldn’t prolong the tension but simply say it. You can take it straight. Besides, I gave you a chance to prove to me that your approach is working. That means the entire Valentine’s campaign.”
The entire campaign. More nights in his presence. Yes! A grin fought its way up, but she wrestled it back. They were discussing a serious topic.
“I wouldn’t say at the first event, ‘Look, it’s not working, I’m bailing out.’ I don’t go back on my word like that.”
He sounded genuinely angry at the idea that he might.
“I’m sorry.” Cleo folded her hands to stop herself from fidgeting. Courtroom training had taught her that the hands often gave people away. Gesturing too wildly was distracting and betrayed emotion. Better to keep your hands in a position where they could do no harm. Straighten up. Relax shoulders.
She shouldn’t show her nerves to Mark. No matter how nice and considerate he acted, breaking the ice with his remarks about his interest in kids and loving chocolate ice cream. So he also had a human side, fine. But she was here for a purpose.
She had to exude confidence that her ideas would make the bookstore a success. She could make it work.
“Nice dress,” he said.
She turned her head to look at him again. He had put the coffee cup on the bench beside him and was biting into his muffin. He chewed, swallowed, and then observed drily, “Not exactly kid-proof, either.”
Caught red-handed. Her face flushed. Normally, she would have selected something practical and no fuss to wear to the crafting event tonight, but deep down inside she had wondered whether Mark would show up and…
Did I actually dress up for him?
Yes, of course, to show professional capability.
“Is that the town as it used to be?” He nodded at the model they were sitting beside.
“Yes. You can see the old post office.” She got to her feet and moved around the model to point out buildings to him. “This was the library then. It’s now in a building here. They knocked d
own what was here and then built new houses there.”
Mark ate as she explained all the changes, talking too fast and adding in too many details he probably didn’t want to hear about. But this was their moment, away from the rest, in a quiet that suggested there was no one else in the center. Outside it was pitch black, with some friendly twinkling streetlights, like a universe expanding away from them, and she was here, with a handsome man who listened to her like her story were the most important thing in the world. Like he wanted to drink in every word she said.
It’s magical.
Cleo stopped and stood, looking at him. Mark had finished his muffin and gotten to his feet. He hesitated a moment, as if to make up his mind, and then came over to her. She remained where she was, motionless, her heart beating fast in her neck. He only wants to see the model up close, ask a question about it.
But Mark ignored the model. He stood right in front of her and looked her over, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”
“What for?” she breathed.
“Tonight.”
She waited for him to come even closer. To say more. Or say nothing and…
The door into the crafting room burst open, slamming into the wall with a resounding crash, and a kid came running for them. “Cleo! Cleo! Look what I made!”
It was Casey, her eyes alight, her whole posture tight with expectation. Her braids bounced on her shoulders. Cleo leaned over to her and admired the bookends, which were full of fake gemstones forming flower patterns. Casey had to have spent ages pasting them all on, trying to get them identical on both ends. She hadn’t painted the bookends first, so the wood made sure that the glue stuck and the patterns didn’t wander. It looked great, and Cleo said so, but her every fiber was attuned to Mark hovering over her. She had been so tempted to…
Casey ran back inside, passing Emma, who came up to them. “I should really get this paint off my hands.” Mark excused himself and went to the restrooms.
Don’t, she wanted to say. Don’t turn back into that neat, groomed businessman again. The one I have to be wary of, the one who can take my livelihood away from me. Someone I can’t trust.
Or care for.
“Sorry about Casey barging in like that,” Emma said with an apologetic smile. “I hope she wasn’t intruding?”
“Why would she have been?” Cleo laughed nervously. “Mark happened to mention he hadn’t had dinner, so I offered him a muffin.”
“Yes, of course.” Emma’s tone suggested she didn’t believe her.
Facing Mrs. Barton’s interest in “a nice young man” was one thing, as elderly ladies always detected romances everywhere, but…Emma, too? Am I that transparent? Cleo straightened up, determined to set the record straight once and for all. “Mark is here for business, to decide whether the bookshop can become part of the Stephens chain. I want him to have a good impression of the town, the shop, and…”
“You,” Emma finished in a knowing tone.
Her face was on fire, but she nodded. “Of course. He has to trust me to be able to run a shop the way he likes it to be done.”
“Of course. I hope you succeed.”
“I’d better go see if the kids are all finished. Someone might have fallen behind and need a hand.”
Mark came from the direction of the restrooms, walking slowly as he was looking at his phone. His frown suggested he wasn’t happy with the message he was seeing on his screen.
Or not seeing?
He does have a girlfriend somewhere or he’s broken up with someone recently and he hopes she will want to try again. Something like that. Saying your dress is nice and listening to your rambling about the old town center doesn’t mean anything…
But her heart fluttered, and her feet itched to dance a few steps. Even cleaning up after the event was over seemed like fun.
What’s happening to me?
Fantasy is not reality, Cleo, her father’s voice echoed at the back of her head, pounding down the happy sensation inside. She shouldn’t let her guard down and make herself vulnerable.
So he’s staying for the entire Valentine’s campaign, fine, but I’m not spending any more time alone with him.
It was too dangerous. To her business prospects and her heart.
Chapter Six
Cleo waved goodbye to a little girl with a pair of butterfly bookends. In the now almost empty room, Mark moved a table back against the wall. It looked like it weighed nothing.
“I think you’ve got enough help,” an amused voice said from behind her back. She swung around quickly, caught red-handed. Grant winked at her. Emma had taken Casey home already, telling Grant to stick around and help with clearing all the tables and chairs away.
“Mr. Stephens is our guest. We can’t really expect him to…”
“That’s settled then. Good night,” Grant said with an infuriating smile and walked away. The door fell to a soft close. Sounds from the nearby kitchen betrayed Mrs. Barton was still there, washing the bowls used for the buffet and packing up leftovers.
We’re not really alone. Everything’s fine.
She walked over to him. “You don’t need to help with cleaning up. I mean, it’s great you were here tonight and took the time to help the kids and…”
He turned to her. “My mother taught me that when you have a good time together, you also clean up together.”
“And Mom always knows best?”
“My mother does.”
She couldn’t quite make out the tone in which he said it. Tongue in cheek? Or was he serious? Did Mark’s mother interfere when he brought a girlfriend home, assessing the woman and then giving her opinion about the prospect? How would I do on a scale of one to ten? Probably a four. A girl without a high-paying job, no interesting hobbies, had never travelled to faraway places. She could guess what lifestyle the Stephenses were used to. Flying down to Florida for the weekend. European city trips. Expensive clothes and shoes. Jewelry and designer bags. Personal trainers. Not a morning jog full of bird song.
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t ever going to meet them. She need not worry what to say, how to fit in. Fitting in had never been her thing anyway. She had given up her law career, hurt her parents, to follow her own path. She wasn’t going to care about someone’s opinions now.
She swung her arms, watching as Mark put the last table away. “There. Hey.” He leaned forward. “Seems something is stuck underneath it.” He squatted and felt with his hand, then burst out laughing. With a tearing sound of tape disengaging, he pulled an object away and held it up for Cleo to see. A mini cucumber. “I guess someone doesn’t like his greens. Creative place to put it.”
“Don’t let Mrs. Barton see it. She tried so hard to make the buffet healthy. Give it to me and I’ll put it in my breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“A smoothie to start off the day?” He came over and put the cucumber in her hand. His fingertips brushed her palm a moment. The warmth of that touch sent a new wave of flutters through her stomach.
She had to recall what a smoothie was. Oh, yes, of course. “Maybe. Uhm, uh, can I get you another coffee?” She didn’t want him to leave yet.
“Nah, I won’t get a wink of sleep. And I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
She itched to know more about the other shops, the other contenders, the people she’d be up against for inclusion in the chain. But she didn’t want to ask about it, look anxious. Besides, he probably wasn’t allowed to tell her anything about it. It was his job, and he was professional enough to…
He’s professional. Period.
“I, uh…” Mark almost stammered. “I need your opinion about something. It’s in the window of a shop down the street. In the direction of Rook, so I could walk with you and show it to you. If that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Does he want to make it last as well? “Let me grab my coat.” Shrug
ging into it, she said goodbye to Mrs. Barton. “Thanks so much for helping out tonight. Everything was delicious.” She held her hand on the pocket containing the rejected mini cucumber, as if Mrs. Barton might see right through it. “Good night.”
With Mark by her side, she crossed the silent hallway and went out the double doors. It was so quiet in the darkness, with just the soft yellow glow of the Victorian-style streetlamps. A twinge of frost hung in the air, biting into her cheeks.
Mark looked up a moment. “The advantage of a small town. Less artificial light, more stars.” He glanced at her. “I bet your parents taught you each and every one of them when you were a little girl.”
“You’re wrong. I didn’t grow up in a small town at all but in the suburbs of Boston.” And Mom and Dad never had time for something like stargazing. Their law careers formed the sun around which everything else revolved. The night chill ate its way into her, freezing her inside.
“You mentioned you weren’t a local, but from Boston to here? Why?” He tilted his head. “I can’t imagine a bookshop in the middle of nowhere was your childhood dream.”
She shook her head. “In kindergarten, I wanted to do something with animals. Become a dolphin trainer or a zookeeper. As soon as I could read, I loved books. They were an escape to me.” She noticed he was listening intently and added quickly, “Not that I had a bad childhood. But both my parents worked a lot of hours, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I was often home on my own. Books gave me this imaginary world to disappear into, where I was never alone. All the characters were my friends and took me on adventures.”
“And now you work with books all day long.” He walked with his hands folded on his back. “So you’re never alone?”
The question punched her gut. She loved her book boyfriends, but they couldn’t compare to him. Her palm still burned where he had touched her. “As a kid, I didn’t even know you could do something with books for a living. My parents encouraged me to join them in their firm. They’re both lawyers.”
